"My heart suspects more than mine eye can see."
Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus
Anderson insisted on being present for the interrogation. Hackett had stared at him with that blank look of his, the one that was always so impossible to read, before giving a minute nod. The only condition had been that Anderson was not allowed to be in the room during the actual interrogation. Something about letting his feelings for Shepard get in the way. Anderson had very nearly argued that Hackett was nearly as prejudiced as himself, but he could see the smoulder behind his old friend's eyes that said he was damned lucky as it was.
They'd wheeled Patient B's bed into a room with a two-way mirror. It was an inelegant solution, but it was the only way they could figure to have both he and Shepard observe the proceedings without being visible. If they'd woken the woman under the guise that she was in a shared hospital room, she would never have believed it for a second – nobody interrogates a prisoner when there might be a breach in confidentiality. This was also the reason the two-way mirror was going to cause questions. If she were even half as crafty as the real Shepard, she'd question its purpose right away.
Shepard stared through the window at the woman in the bed. The more the bruising receded, the more her flesh knitted together, the more Patient B looked like the woman she claimed to be – the woman her DNA said she must be. The woman she couldn't be. The woman who was currently sitting next to him.
"You all right?" asked Anderson, placing a hand on Shepard's shoulder. His protégé looked weak and pale, though whether it was anxiety over the interrogation or due to her deteriorating condition, he didn't know.
She nodded, though her body listed off to one side of her chair. "Yeah," she said. "Or as much as can be expected."
"If this starts to get too much for you, I'm going to remove you," said Anderson.
"And miss what she has to say?" said Shepard, raising her eyebrows. "Are you kidding? I can't wait to hear this."
That made two of them.
The door open and Hackett strode into the room. For once, he wasn't wearing his Alliance blues, but rather standard-issue fatigues. It was odd to see him that way, but even for his age, he looked dangerous, like a great cat that had grown quiet but not complacent. His eyes sifted over Anderson and Shepard, mouth drawing tight, before he strode into the room. The door clicked closed behind him, and Anderson couldn't help but clasp the butt of his pistol.
"Expecting trouble?" asked Shepard.
"Something about this sets me on edge," he admitted.
Shepard raised an eyebrow at him. "I'd be pretty concerned if it didn't."
Hackett squeezed the contents of a syringe into Patient B's IV drip and then pocketed the needle, backing up to a chair positioned at the foot of the bed. He took up a datapad and crossed one leg over the other, the picture of casualness. Anderson forgot sometimes that Hackett wasn't a man to be trifled with. He'd never seen the Admiral raise his voice in anger, never seen him made a violent move outside battle (the same, alas, could not be said for Anderson himself), but in that moment, in that utter ease with which the Admiral waited for their prisoner to awaken, Anderson couldn't help but think that this, right here, this was why Hackett had made it to Admiral already despite the relatively few years between them.
Patient B's eyes began to roll around under her eyelids until those lashes fluttered open like butterflies. Comprehension was slow to sink in as she reached out her limbs to stretch, only to retract them quickly. Pain winced across her face as she realized not only the extent of her injuries, but that she was cuffed to the bed as well. When she noticed the man at the foot of her bed, her brows sank over her eyes.
"Where am I?"
"You're in the high security section of the Alliance hospital on the Citadel," said Hackett without looking up from his datapad.
"Very funny," she snarled. "Now where am I really?"
Now Hackett set the datapad in his lap and raised his eyes to the woman. "Is there a particular reason you don't believe me?"
"Maybe because the Citadel was turned into a morgue by the Reapers?" snapped the woman. "Or because you and Anderson were staring at me like I'd grown a second head the last time I woke up?" Her lower lip trembled slightly. "Or the fact that after what Anderson and I just went through, he should be in worse shape than me, not better."
The weight of Shepard's eyes came to rest on him, but Anderson focused ahead. His fingers drummed against his pistol.
"Care to elaborate?" asked Hackett.
"If you were really Hackett, I wouldn't have to," she retorted. She strained against her cuff, her eyes lingered on the mirror. "Best guess is that one of us is indoctrinated, and my gut says it's not me."
"Indoctrinated?" asked Hackett. He leaned forward. "And just who would indoctrinate me?"
But Patient B screwed her lips shut and glared at him. She swiped her good hand in his direction, then frowned harder when nothing happened. Anderson had no idea what she was doing until Hackett reached into his pocket and pulled out an amp barely larger than Anderson's thumbnail. "Looking for this? I had it removed after your little display last time. It really is remarkable technology. Far better than anything we have now."
"You don't even recognize the amps you helped commission." Patient B shut her eyes. "They're trying to get into my head, that's it. This is all some delusion. I don't know what the Reapers are hoping to achieve. Maybe it's just payback because I keep blowing up their shit."
Anderson frowned. This woman kept talking about the Reapers like she had intimate knowledge of their existence, and that raised another concern – was she somehow affiliated with Saren? Or had she found some other Prothean beacon? Or had she just heard the reference somewhere – though God knew where – and her deluded mind had filled in the gaps?
"The asari on Feros," said Shepard quietly, face crumpled into concentration. "She said that she underestimated Saren's influence on her. That she and Benezia started believing in his cause once they joined up with him."
"Indoctrination?" queried Anderson.
Shepard shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. But if he's able to brainwash people into believing in his cause, and he's able to somehow engineer doppelgangers that think they're the people they imitate…" Her silence said it all. A chill ran down Anderson spine, as though someone had come in from the cold and run a finger the length of it.
Hackett appeared to be having the same thought. "Tell me," he said, "what do you know about Saren Aterius?"
Those brown eyes flew open and stared at them with unabashed befuddlement. "Saren?" she repeated. "What the hell does he have to do with anything?"
"Answer the question," said Hackett.
Her lips quirked to one side, and Anderson felt a resurgence of that undefinable emotion. It was something he'd seen Shepard do all too often when annoyed. "What do I know about Saren?" she said. "I know that he was working for the Reapers that he attacked Eden Prime. I know he led Geth heretics on a killing spree across the Terminus Systems. Oh, and I know that I shot him in the head three years ago."
There was a line of tension between Hackett's shoulders. "Mostly right," said Hackett, "but how could you have killed him three years ago when the attack on Eden Prime happened only a month and a half ago?"
Patient B started to laugh. "God, either they're laying it on real thick here or I've finally cracked. I always suspected it was just a matter of time." She ran the back of her uncuffed hand over her brow. "He couldn't have attacked Eden Prime a month and a half ago. It would've been utterly pointless. The Reapers were already using Earth like their own personal snack bar." This was said utterly nonchalantly, but Anderson had spent enough time with soldiers to see that fragility behind her eyes. Whatever she thought, whatever she said, something had happened to this woman. Even if what she said was completely ludicrous, some part of it was real for her.
Silence hunched over the three of them expectantly. Hackett kept his cool. "You want to explain how you learned about the Reapers? Their existence is classified."
"Did I not just tell you that they'd invaded Earth?" demanded Patient B. "Not to mention Palaven, Thessia, Sur'Kesh and pretty much every other inhabited planet. I'd hardly call that classified." She scoffed.
"Humour me," said Hackett. "From the beginning, if you could." It was a test – a test to see how much this woman knew. How much Saren might know.
She ran her tongue over her teeth, and Anderson was sure, for half a second, that there was no way any operative could've learned about that tic of Shepard's. He did his best to dismiss the notion.
"As I told the real Anderson when it happened," said Patient B after a big breath, "there was a Prothean beacon on Eden Prime. Saren's geth were trying to destroy what was left of it when Kaidan Alenko, Ashley Williams and I arrived. We took them out, but the Lieutenant got too close and some sort of tractor beam threatened to pull him into the beacon's radius. I pushed him out of the way and was caught. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the medbay of the old Normandy with Doctor Chakwas looking over me and some muddled and disgusting visions swimming in my head." She looked between them. "Happy?"
This was entirely too strange to be allowed. Anderson tried to stave off the gooseflesh that threatened to crawl up his back. She'd gotten not only the gist of the situation on Eden Prime, but some very real details as well. Nobody but the Council, the Normandy crew, and the upper echelons of the Alliance government knew the full sitrep. If she knew these things, it meant that she had an inside contact, a mole somewhere inside. Why this shadowy menace – Anderson couldn't stop his mind from swinging back in Saren's direction – would have use of a decoy was a major question. The amount of information they must've amassed would surely be enough to hinder Shepard's efforts.
What could be gained? So far, the woman seemed utterly unhinged. Perhaps the explosion had done something to her brain? There was no invasion on the home planets. There was no Reaper invasion underway. The Citadel was perfectly fine… Yet she seemed well-versed not only in factual events, but highly classified factual events. She was combining true facts with utter fabrications, and what's more, she believed every word she said.
"Then," continued the woman, "Saren led us on a merry chase around the galaxy until we found the Conduit. We stopped the Reapers from invading – at that point, anyways – and the day was saved for another two years until shit really started to hit the fan."
"She knows about the Conduit?" breathed Shepard.
"If she's really an agent sent by Saren, it's hardly surprising," said Anderson, trying not to sound as troubled as he was. "But why is she discussing things like they've already happened?"
"What year do you think it is?" inquired Hackett.
Patient B frowned, lines fingering across her face. "2186," she said, "though since you say Eden Prime happened only a month and a half ago, I'm guessing you won't accept that answer."
"Somebody's been messing with your head," said Hackett.
"No, really?" retorted Patient B. She gestured between herself and the Admiral. "I thought that this was an entirely normal conversation."
"If you tell me who you really are," continued Hackett, "then we can help get you back to normal."
"I told you," said Patient B, sliding once again into irritation, "I'm Commander Devyn Shepard. Mindoir survivor. N7 graduate. Commanding Officer on the Normandy."
Hackett sent a look through the window that Anderson didn't fully understand. "Tell me, does the name Deirdre Shepard mean anything to you?"
Shepard sucked in a large breath, her hands clenching white on the armrests of her wheelchair. Her eyes stared intently at the two people in the room, and she leaned forward, face intent.
Patient B appeared to stop breathing. She swallowed loud enough that Anderson heard it clear across the room. "Deirdre Shepard died on Mindoir. She doesn't exist anymore."
"That's what the official records say," said Hackett. "but Councillor Sparatus put forward the theory that you were Commander Shepard's lost identical twin who somehow survived the attack on Mindoir. That the batarians had, well, to use your word, indoctrinated you for some covert mission."
Digging her head into her pillow, Patient B said, "Now I know I'm dreaming. Sparatus believing a crazy conspiracy theory that flies in the face of all evidence? Yeah, I'll just dismiss that claim." She swallowed again. "If you're trying to convince me that this is real life, you're doing a piss poor job. The Reapers have finally gotten their paws on me, and they're trying to break me. That's what's going on. You're some figment of my imagination, some tendril of psychosis they've snaked into my mind. But I know that this isn't real life, know that it can't be."
"And why not?"
"Because Anderson's alive," she said, her voice clogging with emotion. Anderson was startled to see her eyes sheen with unshed tears, to hear that in some roundabout way, those tears were for him. "Because the Citadel is intact. Because there are still human beings alive. Because as much as I want it to be true, as pretty a lie as it is, I can't accept it." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't believe it, because I watched it all burn."
000
Lieutenant Bailey didn't look overly surprised when Garrus told him the bad news. In fact, if Garrus' ever growing repository of human facial expressions was correct, he was the exact opposite. Bailey reached underneath his desk and pulled out a bottle, pouring himself an amber coloured drink. He swirled it around. "I'd offer you a glass, but, well, you know."
Now, Garrus didn't consider himself a good turian by any stretch of the imagination, but seeing a C-Sec officer drinking on the job rankled something in him. It was yet another reason why C-Sec couldn't be counted on to do the work that mattered. Bailey must've been better at reading alien expressions than Garrus, because he said, "I only pull this out when I know I'm going to be filing reports for the rest of the day, and only when the day up until that point has been far from pleasant." He sipped at his drink.
"Whoever or whatever they've got in there, I'm not getting in to see what it is," said Garrus. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He'd been sure that Shepard would back him up on this, but she'd toed the line.
"I'm not surprised," said Bailey, and raised an eyebrow at the expression he got from Garrus. "I don't know your Commander Shepard personally, but from what I understand, she's pretty much the ideal Alliance soldier, right? It would make sense that she'd back away from causing a commotion with her own people."
"But she's a Spectre," objected Garrus.
Bailey shrugged. "She's been one for a hell lot less time than she's been a marine. Maybe she's just settling into her new position." Here Bailey took another sip. "Or maybe she's just too damn loyal to the Alliance and won't do anything to compromise them."
"She said that the Council knows."
"Yeah, that I believe. Got the word from the higher ups to drop the case and surrender any and all evidence. Apparently, this thing is way above my pay grade. But that doesn't change anything." Bailey set down his glass. "Human beings are the new kids on the block. We haven't learned to play well with others yet. Hell, we barely know how to keep it civil on our own planet. It would make sense that Shepard's trying to keep it hushed up to protect her own species. As a fellow human, can't say I really take offense at it."
"Then why are you telling me?" demanded Garrus. "You're essentially claiming she's choosing humanity over the rest of the galaxy." It wasn't that he believed what Bailey was saying, not exactly, but Spectres were supposed to work for the betterment of the galaxy. They were supposed to root out corruption and crime where they found it, no matter the consequences. If Shepard wasn't prepared to do that, and was only prepared to safeguard the other species only so far… No. Shepard wouldn't do that. How many times had she pushed him out of danger? Warned him of hostiles? She couldn't be like that.
Bailey frowned. "Don't put words into my mouth. I have no doubt that Shepard cares about the rest of the galaxy – I saw that interview between her and the woman with fifty names – but she's Alliance through and through. You really think she'd step up if it were her military doing the evil deeds instead of letting internal politics run their course?"
Admittedly, Garrus hadn't known Shepard long – just over a month – but she didn't seem the type to lie down and let bad things happen. If he were being honest, she reminded him a little bit of himself (though he was sure he was giving himself a bigger compliment than her, there). Both of them wanted to do the right thing, and both of them knew that the rules wouldn't always allow them to do that. But where Garrus thought the whole rulebook should be tossed out the airlock, Shepard was more reserved – she broke those rules only when she had to, and she broke them with careful calculation. He was coming to see the beauty in that, in picking your battles, in letting ideals lead you, but not at the expense of either common sense or decency.
He thought of her in that hospital bed. He was no expert on human illness, but the Commander… she didn't look well. She was far from the vibrant woman he'd met in the Council Tower, and though she still kept that steely flint behind her eyes, there was something else there too: fear.
"Yeah," said Garrus, "I do. If the Alliance was up to something, she'd be the first one to step in if she thought it was wrong."
Bailey nodded a few times and then stared at the wall a few moments. He tapped his fingers against the desk. "I've already turned over most of the evidence to the Council officials," he said.
"Most?" echoed Garrus.
"I could get fired for this," said Bailey with a sigh as he reached for a drawer. "Hell, I could get thrown in prison with the scum I helped put there." He removed a small bin and handed it to Garrus. Inside were small bits of electronics. Though they were in rough shape, the turian had been around omni-tools enough to know what they looked like after being blown up. He looked a question at Bailey who answered, "I won't insult your intelligence by telling you what that is but I will tell you that according to all those reports I filed, it doesn't exist."
The only question Garrus could come up with is, "Why?"
"Something's changing," said Bailey. "Don't quite know what it is yet, but my gut tells me it's going to be big. First an attack on a human colony, then the first human Spectre down for the count, now some strange detonation on the Presidium where the only witness is caught in the human Alliance military system? Something's up, and I don't like being kept in the dark." He jerked his chin at the remnants. "Won't get much out of that. Primary chip would be in the arm, so a lot of the data won't be in those bits there. You might be able to dig around in the recent history though, find a trail of impressions left behind."
"I meant," said Garrus, "why are you giving this to me?"
"I hear you're a rule breaker," replied Bailey, the corner of his mouth twisted upwards. "But more than that, you've got the ear of a Spectre – and one you think is honourable. If you're right about her, and the data you collect sheds light on what the hell is going on, you and she might have a chance to root out whatever's going on."
Garrus thought about that. He trusted Shepard, really, but he couldn't shake the sense that she knew more in that hospital room than she was letting on. He gently put the lid back on the box, and nodded at Bailey.
000
Hackett hadn't gotten as far as he had by being sentimental. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was well known for being a hard ass, for expecting the best, and for doggedly pursuing his interests until the end. So when Patient B came close to tears, he told himself that the sooner he got to the bottom of whatever the hell was going on, the better it would be for everyone.
"Burn?" he said. "Watched what all burn?"
"When I woke up and saw you, I thought… God, I don't know what I thought. I thought I'd done it. That I'd saved the day, just in the nick of time, like usual. But then you didn't know me, and…"
Hackett leaned forward, clasping his hands together. He resisted the urge to run his hands down his face. "Listen, I don't doubt for an instant that you believe what you're saying, but it's not true."
"Is this the part where you pull the good cop card on me?" she asked.
"If you knew me half as well as you seem to think you do," he said, "you'd know that I've been doing the good cop since you woke up."
Surprisingly, that garnered him a smile as she opened her eyes. "True enough." The smile melted away and Patient B took a deep breath. "It's different, you know."
"What is?" asked Hackett, unable to help himself.
"You not trusting me," she said, a hairline fracture weaving through her words. "You and Anderson, you've always had my back, even when I made it tough." She ran a shaking hand through her hair. "It's weird, even if you're not really you."
This was moving into dangerous territory. A road diverged before him, and once again, it came down to this woman's motives. On one side, there was a damaged woman who'd undergone God knew what and come out firmly believing that she was Commander Devyn Shepard. Hell, even her DNA said as much. With the level of genetic and psychological reformatting needed for either of those things, it was entirely possible she had no idea she was an imposter. Alternatively, if she were simply an exemplary actress, that opened up a whole other slew of problems, the most notable being what sort of game she was playing. If she knew Shepard was in trouble, knew that ties with the Council were rapidly fraying, what could she hope to gain?
Hackett did not enjoy being in the dark. He didn't like dealing with unknowns. It was part of the reason he was keeping such close tabs on Shepard's pursuit of Saren. Anderson was sure that this was all the turian's plot to take out humanity, but there was some lingering undertone in the air that Hackett distrusted. This woman, as nonsensical as some of her ideas were, seemed to have some intimate knowledge of the Reapers. Either it was pure speculation, or someone was feeding it to her.
And since the details she provided were a little too on the nose, he had to assume that she had an external source, whether or not she knew it. He wished he knew the specifics, because he'd handle them in exceedingly different ways. As it was, he was going to have to err on the side of caution.
"How about," he said, crossing one leg over the other, "we make a little deal. You answer one of my questions, and I'll answer one of yours."
Distrust spiked across her face. "And what's to stop you from lying? I don't even believe you're who you say you are. "
He almost smiled. "I could say the same."
Patient B slumped her shoulders. "And I guess you're going first, are you?"
Rather than answer her question, he jumped right in. "How do you know you're Commander Shepard?"
She thought about it a lot longer than he expected. "How does anyone know who they really are?" she asked finally. "What makes us, well, us?" Hackett opened his mouth to tell her to skip the philosophical meanderings, but she cut him off. "Assuming that you're really Hackett from 2183 – and I'm not saying I believe it, because I sure as hell don't – I can tell you honestly that I'm not the Devyn Shepard I was then. I'm sure you've noticed my upgrades?"
"I'm going to ignore the fact that you just asked me three questions there," said Hackett, ignoring the thunder that roiled under Patient B's skin at the condescension. "But yes, we have noticed."
Though her expression was still stormy, she twisted her lips into the semblance of a smile. "I always wonder how much you could change and still be the same person. Physically, I'm not the person I was when I stopped Saren." Her features folded up. "Psychologically… Maybe less so. But I remember living my life. I remember loving people. I remember making the tough calls. If we are our memories, then I sure as hell am Devyn Shepard."
That, at least, was something they could almost agree on, even excusing the liberal application of the past tense.
"And your question?" he asked.
She licked her lips, eyes skittering over to the mirror. "You said that it's been a month and a half since Eden Prime. You said that, but you're still treating me like I'm undesirable number one. You never told me, Commander Shepard doesn't exist so… I guess my question is, why not? How are you so sure that I'm not Devyn Shepard?"
Seconds ticked past as they stared each other down. Did he dare show his hand? Did she really have no idea? "I think you already know the answer to that question," he said.
There was a circle of white around her irises. "Say it."
"I know that you're not Commander Devyn Shepard," he said, "because she's sitting right outside."
Patient B turned her stare on the glass, and if Hackett hadn't known any better, he would say that she was trying to will it to disappear. She was the very picture of denial, down to the wobbling of her bottom lip. "I don't believe you."
"That's your prerogative."
Something inside of her seemed to crack, as though her foundation was unstable and her entire inner structure had begun to collapse onto itself. "What are you playing at?" she asked, though Hackett knew the question was not directed towards himself. "What if this was all some sick game that Cerberus was playing with me the whole time?" She shook her head. "But it was so real. How could they possibly know…? There's no way they could…" Patient B stared at her hands. "That's what indoctrinated people always say."
Hackett's ears perked up. He knew the name Cerberus better than he'd like. More and more cells were going rogue from the Alliance these days, disappearing under the radar. They'd lost valuable people, valuable equipment and more intel than was safe. The thought that Cerberus had done something to this woman, something to make her believe that she was Commander Shepard, to have even her DNA prove her right…
But how? Though he, Anderson and Udina had been in talks about Shepard as a potential Spectre candidate for months, that hardly seemed like enough time to genetically modify another human being, implant false memories, and engineer the least subtle infiltration in history. Unless their aim was to sow dissention amongst the races – but why? It was no secret that Cerberus was breaking away to tend to their xenophobic agenda, but a human Spectre was good for everyone. Why undermine the political significance, unless…
Unless her entrance had been mistimed. Unless this woman, this Patient B, was supposed to have been quietly slipped into Shepard's place. With Cerberus guiding her, with Council secrets at her disposal, she could've worked behind the scenes to advance, quote unquote, human interests.
But if the goal was to be a perfect impersonation of Shepard, why add all the upgrades? Why add the fake additions to the very real memories?
"What's your relationship to Cerberus?"
Patient B snapped out of her thoughts at the question as though she'd just remembered he was there. "I was injured once," she said, though her body language hinted at something darker. "Cerberus put me back together. I worked with them for a while when our interests matched but we… Let's just say the Illusive Man has a method I don't agree with." She frowned. "If I were programed by them, indoctrinated by them, why would they have put me at odds with him?" She sank her head down into her hands, flinching when she moved her arms.
"Did Deirdre Shepard really die on Mindoir?" asked Hackett.
To his overwhelming surprise, she started to laugh, though it crested and crashed in a storm of broken notes. "Deirdre Shepard died in every possible way but one that day," she said.
Hackett chewed on that for a moment. "So she's still alive."
"In a manner of speaking," said Patient B. "You see, there were never two Shepard sisters on Mindoir. There was a brother, though, a little boy who died when the slavers hit. And Deirdre watched it happen."
The revelation, the understanding was slow to come before it doused him like ice water. "A boy named Devyn."
"Bingo," she said, and a tear traced the curve of her cheek. Hackett barely had time to process that information before she leaned forward, her cuff clanging against her bedframe. "I want to see her. The other Shepard."
000
Ashley waited for Kaidan in the bar. It was a seedy little place not too far from the hospital. It catered mostly to soldiers like herself who were waiting for news. Her beer was a cheap bitter brew from somewhere near the Traverse, and Ashley wished not for the first time for a nice craft beer from Earth. Not that she'd ever say so. No, drinking this swill reminded her that she was a marine.
It wouldn't have been difficult for her to head back to the hospital after telling the others about Shepard, but she'd found herself a cheap hotel and holed up there instead. The mattress had been a welcome relief after the sleeper pods aboard the ship, and for a good six hours, she was dead to the world. When she'd first enlisted, Ashley had kept vigil for every one of her injured comrades. After a while, she realized that if she were going to have any chance at survival, she was going to have to learn to compartmentalize.
That was why, as worried and nervous as she was about Shepard (and, by extension, all of her Shepard-related missions), she shut down her brain and allowed her body to rest. She would need it if, God forbid, the worst happened. She would need to be more than a sleep deprived husk of a person.
And speaking of…
Kaidan looked like shit. If she hadn't known any better, she would've said he was the one being hospitalized. His hair was in disarray and it looked like he hadn't changed his clothes since the day before. He plunked down next to her, hand reaching for the menu.
"Hungry?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
A nod was her answer. Lines were woven into the skin of his face, and not for the first time in the past few days, Ashley was jabbed with sympathy. Poor guy was head over heels Shepard. Anyone with eyes could see it, and really, who could blame him? They'd talked a little – not a lot, because getting information out of the LT was like stripping paint – and from what she'd gathered, Kaidan wasn't great with that wonderful emotion called love owing to some serious trust issues. But Shepard, well, that woman garnered trust faster than anyone Ashley had ever met.
"How's she doing?"
Kaidan dropped the menu and ran his hands down his face, before sinking his elbows on the table. "Honestly, I don't know. They say she's awake but not able to see visitors at this time. That she's, quote unquote, currently unavailable."
Frowning, Ashley asked, "What does that mean?"
To look at Kaidan's face, you'd think his whole family had been massacred. "I don't know."
Ashley tried to imagine life without Shepard. More than likely, she'd be transferred away from the Normandy and thrown on some spit of a colony somewhere to serve the remainder of her career groundside. The thought filled her with a howling cavern of loss, and it wasn't just for her career. Though they had their own opinions and those opinions didn't always mesh, Ashley genuinely enjoyed Shepard's company. The woman was compassionate, but she knew how to get the job done. Ashley had to respect that.
She was also one of the few people to whom Ashley felt she could confess her lineage and have it make zero difference. If she got the chance, now.
"She'll be fine," said Ashley, and she was sure the mantra had slipped over her tongue so many times that she would be saying it involuntarily for weeks. "If Shepard can beat fifty thousand batarians, she can beat this."
"Yeah," said Kaidan with a sigh. "I just can't help but wonder… why her?"
Ashley raised an eyebrow. "Instead of you, you mean? With the beacon?"
"I mean," clarified Kaidan, "all of it."
This wasn't a new conversation for the two of them. They'd talked like this after the beacon had knocked Shepard out for a few days. Ashley had broached the subject of religion with Shepard recently, and Shepard had seem surprised but not judgmental to learn of Ashley's faith. When Ash had turned it back around, however, she'd seen for the first time that although everyone saw Shepard as a capable, charismatic leader, there was a part of her that was still, well, human.
"If you'd been on Mindoir that day," Shepard had said, "you wouldn't believe in God either."
"But what about Elysium?" Ashley countered. "Don't you think that would qualify as a miracle?"
"What? That I managed to hold off a horde of batarians?" Shepard scoffed. "Hardly. I did that all on my own. I still have some scar tissue around the base of my implant, you know, from where I nearly fried myself to keep up my biotics. There was no divine hand interfering there, Ash. There was just me and my stubborn resolve to win."
That last part, at least, they could agree on. Ashley sipped her beer. "This is the part where I say that God has a plan for everything, right?"
"You believe that?"
Ashley looked Kaidan dead in the eye. "Absolutely."
"I wish I had your faith," said Kaidan.
"Yeah? Well, sometimes I wish I had your ability to hurl things at walls. As far as stress relievers go, I would think that would be great."
"I wouldn't know," said Kaidan, eyes down.
Ashley shrugged and watched as the LT ordered a sandwich. She almost mentioned that ordering food from this scummy little place wasn't a good idea, but she held off because he looked like he needed something edible more than something good. Though, who knew? Maybe this place didn't have either.
She wondered what it would be like to be in love with your CO. Probably hard as hell. Silence stretched over the table as she considered what sort of couple Kaidan and Shepard would make. They'd have damn attractive children, that's for sure – Kaidan was easy on the eyes, and Ashley knew from co-ed barracks that more than one marine thought Shepard wasn't too bad either. Shepard was more assertive, more likely to be vocal, more likely to head in without thought for herself. Kaidan hung back a bit more, choosing his battles wisely, and offering a carefully rationed plan of attack when they encountered a problem. Both were too idealistic.
According to the couple scale the Williams sisters had come up with, they'd figure about a seven. Mostly because Kaidan had no idea what he was doing.
"You love her, don't you?" The question slipped from Ashley's mouth before she'd even fully committed to asking it. In response to Kaidan's wide eyes and gaping mouth, she rolled her eyes. "I hate to tell you, Casanova, but you're not exactly subtle."
His sandwich was set down in front of him and he huddled around it like she might try to steal it. "That would be against regs," he said.
"No, if you screwed Shepard in the CIC while we were on duty, that would be against regs," countered Ashley, taking no small amount of pleasure from the way Kaidan managed to be simultaneously offended and intrigued. "But being in love? You can't help that."
"I've got it under control," he said, though she required no defense from him.
"Okay, then," she said, finishing her beer. "But if you're curious, I don't think her feelings for you are strictly platonic, either."
Ashley didn't know what was worse: the way his face lit up like it had gone supernova, or how, seconds later, it dropped as though it had just rediscovered gravity, anxiety and fear smashing into pretty brown eyes.
000
Anderson couldn't help it; he stared at the side of Shepard's face. He watched the tears pool in the creases of her eyes, watched her shoulders hunch over, and for a moment, he could picture her after Mindoir, destroyed and grief stricken. He'd read the reports, he'd dealt with some of the refugees leftover from Eden Prime, but although he'd known, he hadn't known. He found himself wondering for a moment if he'd ever really known this woman next to him.
It passed as soon as it came, and then she was just Shepard again, eyes more intense than he'd seen them since Elysium.
"Who the hell is she?" demanded Shepard. If he didn't see the tears, he wouldn't have known there were any.
He licked his lips and meant to tell her that they were going to figure it out. What came out was, "Is it true?"
Shepard kept silent.
From inside the room, Hackett said, "I don't think that's a good idea."
Patient B jutted out her chin. Shepard had done the exact same thing when the Council had refused to listen, the same thing when he'd insisted she take the Normandy. "You're telling me I'm not Commander Shepard, that I can't be, but I just told you something nobody else knows. Everyone who could tell you about Devyn is either dead or rotting in batarian space somewhere. And if whoever is out there is Commander Shepard, she damn well knows it." Those brown eyes stared out at her counterpart.
Beside him, Shepard's hands went white around the armrests of her chair as she hauled herself to her feet, listing in one direction and then another before putting a hand up to the window to steady herself. Anderson reached out to steady her, but she batted his hand away almost at the expense of her own balance. She took one wooden step and then another past him, like some windup version of a soldier. Her hand gripped the door knob and she paused. Turning slightly, she wrenched his pistol from his holster and threw open the door.
Though weak, though barely standing, Shepard planted her feet and used a two handed grip on the pistol, aiming it at Patient B's head.
Hackett stood, not coming into the line of fire, not quite. He reached out a hand. "Commander, what are you doing?"
"Who the hell are you?" yelled Shepard. "Nobody knows about that."
"Isn't that what I said?" asked Patient B faintly. As Anderson rounded the corner, he realized it wasn't that she was afraid of being shot. In fact, there was a distinct lack of attention being paid to the gun. Instead, the woman's brown eyes scraped every nook and wrinkle and curve of Shepard's face. No, if there was fear, it was because she was now confronted with a possibility she hadn't fully considered. She swallowed. "As for who I am, I told you – I'm Commander Devyn Shepard."
"There can't be two of us," said Shepard, with a slight shake to the gun.
"No," agreed Patient B, "there can't."
"Shepard," said Anderson, "maybe we should put the gun down." When she didn't budge, he slowly stepped up behind her and put a hand on the barrel, pushing it down. Lips to her ear, he added, "We can't figure out what she knows or how she knows it if she's dead."
The Commander lowered the gun, but it was clear that she was less than pleased about the whole thing. "Somebody could've figured out about Devyn. There was a woman who escaped the batarian slavers. There could be another."
"Talitha," said Patient B, hand wrapping around her blanket.
Hackett and Anderson shared a look that said everything that needed to be said. Shepard hadn't said a word about the woman she'd helped talk down a few weeks ago, but Lieutenant Girard had sung her praises to anyone who would listen. If this woman had been in some way brainwashed, it was a very recent thing – more recent, even, than the attack on Eden Prime. The primary difference, however, was that Saren had access to all the available information regarding that particular event. How would he know about Talitha? He'd have to have more agents than they'd thought.
"You've been brainwashed to think you're me," said Shepard, "probably by Saren."
Patient B blinked for a few moments before frowning heavily. "I don't know why you're all so stuck on Saren. If it were anyone, it would be Cerberus, and I already know that's impossible, because if Cerberus wanted to brainwash me, they'd have done it and I'd have nice tingly feelings about them right now."
"You could be lying," said Hackett.
"Like I was about Devyn?" asked Patient B. "Look, you guys are the ones who are acting like the past few years never happened. Hell, you haven't even discussed indoctrination or the Reapers in any concrete way, but you're willing to jump on me the second I say anything remotely related. Tell me, where did you just come from? Feros? Because if you're supposed to be me, you sure haven't made it to Virmire yet."
"Virmire?" asked Hackett.
Patient B fixed her gaze on them one by one, then sighed. "Don't know why I'm bothering to talk to figments of my imagination," she muttered, "but… Virmire's important. That's where you see what indoctrination is capable of, but more than that, that's where you meet Sovereign."
"Saren's ship?" Shepard wasn't impressed.
"It's more than a ship," ground out Patient B. "Sovereign is a damned Reaper."
000
Tali poked through the pieces and was glad that Garrus couldn't see her expression. Her new friend practically thrummed with anticipation, his fingers drumming on the edges of his knees as he leaned forward. She didn't know what he was expecting. Everyone knew (okay, maybe not everyone but a lot of people) that quarians were masters with technology. They had to be; their very survival aboard the flotilla demanded it. But they weren't wizards, and that was too bad, because Garrus seemed to be expecting magic.
"It's in pretty rough shape," she hedged.
"I know," said Garrus, "but all the essential components are there. It's just a matter of recreating the original model. What can't be saved, we can salvage from other omni-tools."
She forgot sometimes that Garrus had a working understanding of electronics. Sure, he was nowhere in her league – and was probably willing to admit it, if he was coming to her for help – but he understood the fundamentals. She figured it must have something to do with his time in the military. She didn't know much about turians, but she was willing to bet that he'd learned electronics specifically to deal with the equipment used in warfare.
Tali, on the other hand, knew next to nothing about warfare. She'd be allowed to learn the maintenance of arms systems when she returned to the fleet after her pilgrimage, and not before.
She did know about omni-tools, though, and no matter what Kaidan said, the Nexus model far and away outstripped the Logic Arrest, period. Of course, it was sort of a moot point, since the omni-tool in front of her was neither. In fact, it didn't appear to be any tool she recognized. The size and shape of the computer microframe suggested that it was a Savant – only asari liked to use the smooth, round the edges on the anterior modem. It was purely aesthetic, though Tali was sure that a Serrice Council representative would disagree with her… But the fabricator was weird. It had nearly twice the capacity as was usual, even though the medigel extensions were roughly the same size and shape of the military issued components available now through Elkoss.
Perhaps the strangest thing, however, was the fact that there seemed to be no components for the production of omni-gel. Not even a valve that would hint that a storage container existed. Bizarre.
"Where did you get this?" she asked. "It's unlike any omni-tool I've ever seen."
"So I wasn't the only one who noticed," said Garrus, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.
"You'd have to be blind not to see it." Tali picked up the sensor analysis pack, which seemed lightyears ahead of anything that was on the market now. She would've said that it was custom – right before she went to the inventor and pleaded for his secrets – but the uniform nature of the cuts and the slight grooves on the outer edges suggested widespread manufacturing. "I notice you didn't answer my question."
Garrus ran a hand over his fringe. "Does it matter?"
Tali raised her eyebrows, and then so he could see her curiosity, tilted her head. "Garrus Vakarian, did you steal this?"
"I, no," he said, flustered. He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees. "You remember that weird explosion on the Presidium?"
This was going somewhere bad, very bad. "Yes," she said.
"I have a contact in C-Sec who wants to get to the bottom of this as much as we do. He smuggled this piece of evidence out of the official records."
Tali nearly dropped the small plastic container holding the pieces. Her people already had a bad enough reputation outside the Migrant Fleet. More often than not, they were seen as thieves and vermin. Every time she walked into those ship showrooms, she could feel the eyes of the volus and asari salespeople on her, watching for any sign of criminal behaviour. And now Garrus had handed her stolen technology, and not only that, but what appeared to be extremely advanced stolen technology. From a crime scene!
"First of all, there is no we about this," said Tali, shoving the container back to him. "Shepard said that they have this completely under control. She said that the Council is investigating, and that we should leave it alone." He wouldn't accept the container, so she set it down – gently, because as much as she was annoyed, the technology within was still amazing – on the table next to them. "Second of all, what are people going to think if they find me with stolen technology, Garrus? You're a C-Sec agent. You know how it's going to look."
"It's a risk," agreed Garrus, which really did nothing to squash Tali's fears. "But Shepard… You had to see it. She didn't look well the last time we saw her, did she?"
There was a pause, and Tali wondered if that was actual concern she read on his face, or simply the desire to follow the course Shepard had denied him. In the few weeks that Tali had known Shepard, she'd come to like and respect her acting captain. Shepard treated her fairly, and asked about quarian customs and beliefs without a hint of prejudice. It was refreshing and comforting, given the mistreatment Tali had gotten when arriving on the Citadel. She also knew that Shepard had helped Garrus figure out an old case, and if the rumours were true, it hadn't ended peacefully.
But Garrus wasn't wrong. Tali had never known any humans before joining the crew of the Normandy, but she was guessing that the Commander wasn't supposed to have those dark circles under her eyes or skin that pale.
"I guess not," conceded Tali.
"So it's possible, with that Prothean beacon in her brain, that she's not thinking clearly?"
Tali could feel the conversation veering in a direction she didn't like, but she had no choice but to nod.
"I just want to make sure nothing's up," said Garrus. "I just want the information. The second we find anything, we take it to Shepard."
"You know that we won't have access to the greater information stores, right? Those would be in the arm microchip."
"I know, but we could at least salvage the recently accessed data in the temporary memory, right? That's better than nothing."
Wringing her hands, Tali glanced at the omni-tool pieces. She couldn't deny that it would be wonderful to work on a tool of that complexity and novelty. And who knew? When she was finished reassembling the found one, there was nothing to stop her from implementing the changes to her own. Although she couldn't be sure exactly how it worked without it being fully operational, the fabricator alone had potential as yet unseen by anything on the market. If she could bring this technology back to her people, it might even be a more valuable gift than the spare geth parts she was hoping for…
"All right," she agreed. "But it will take time. I'll have to craft some of the missing components myself. I don't think the readily available ones will work in some instances."
Garrus sighed. "Just do what you can."
Despite herself, Tali began to wonder exactly who had ended up on that Presidium, and where they'd gotten such and advanced piece of tech.
000
"A Reaper?" said Shepard, frowning. Her body sagged in one direction, but she managed to keep her feet.
Hackett's mind tumbled over itself and the implications of this news. Whether or not Patient B's statement was true or not was irrelevant. If Saren had stumbled upon a Reaper, that meant his tactical advantage would be greater than anticipated. It would explain the unknown tech that the geth had used on Eden Prime, and it would explain how Saren always seemed to be one step in front of them.
"The vanguard of our destruction," agreed Patient B. Seeing the distrust on Shepard's face, she sighed again. "Look, I know you saw them. In the vision. After you got the cipher from Shiala, things clicked into place, didn't they? You had the organic conversion in the beginning, just like before, but then there were entire planets being engulfed and a looming shadow. You saw the footage on Eden Prime. Tell me that ship doesn't look like the thing from your vision." Every word came out with more force than the last, and by the end, the woman seemed to be daring the Commander to defy her.
Though he hadn't thought it possible, Shepard's frown deepened. "The shadow," she murmured. The words were barely out of her mouth before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed, her body convulsing. Anderson managed to catch her under the arms before her head hit the ground and held on as she bucked against him. His eyes swung up to meet Hackett's and his mouth all but disappeared in the middle of his mouth.
Patient B sat up, covers pushed away and arm straining against the cuff. "What's happening to her?"
Hackett didn't answer. He marched out of the room and went to the marines who were standing guard outside, ignoring that they all stood a little straighter upon seeing him. "Commander Shepard is in need of medical assistance. Baker, go tell the medical staff to get here asap." He ignored the yes sir and turned his attention back on Anderson, who was cradling Shepard's body in his arms.
There'd been some talk in the ranks, once upon a time, if the relationship between Anderson and Shepard was wholly copacetic. Some had wondered if the reason Anderson favoured Shepard so highly had less to do with her impeccable scores and more to do with, well, certain… extracurricular activities. From the get-go, Hackett knew that wasn't the case, that Shepard was simply that damned good, but it had taken until Elysium for the last murmurs to disappear completely.
But just because there was no romantic liaison between the two of them, didn't mean that their relationship was, strictly speaking, professional. Somehow, watching them, Hackett couldn't find it in himself to give a damn.
The doctors pushed past him with a gurney and loaded Shepard on top. If they noticed the similarities between Patient B and Shepard, if they wondered why the Commander was in the room with a chained patient, they didn't ask. Part and parcel of being Alliance military, it would seem.
Anderson followed with hurried footsteps, brow crinkled in concern. Only when the whole lot of them had disappeared down the hallway did Hackett wander back into the room. He closed the door behind him. Patient B was thinking hard, though she studied him through her lashes when he came in. It was clear she still didn't trust him, and if Hackett were being honest, probably rightly so. He didn't trust her either. She, like the Reapers, was an unquantifiable entity.
"What's up with her?" asked Patient B.
"The vision," said Hackett, "is burning a hole in her brain." He took his place on the chair. "That's not the medical term, but that's what it is."
"That… that didn't happen to me," said Patient B, troubled.
They sat in silence for a few minutes while Hackett watched her run her tongue along her teeth. He tried to think of a question to ask that could stop this farce and start getting to the meat of the issue, but after Shepard… With a deep breath, he stood, pulling the chair away from the bed. He turned to leave.
"What are you going to do with me?" asked Patient B.
That was an excellent question. "For now? Nothing. You'll wait here until a decision is made."
"You're running out of time," she said.
Something about the completely deadpan way she said it made the hairs on the back of Hackett's neck stand up. He turned to her, and decided that she should not look as dangerous as she did in her regulation pyjamas with her blonde curls frizzing about her face.
"Beg your pardon?" he said.
"Look, I don't know exactly how long I've been here," said Patient B, "and more importantly, I don't know how long she, that other-Shepard, has been here. My memories of this time, whether you want to believe in them or not, are different than what's happening. I'm telling you that unless you start heading off Saren's plans, he's going to attack and history, well." He watched her systematically shutter away all her emotion. "History is going to become a lot bloodier long before it's supposed to." She shrugged slightly. "Of course, if this is all a delusion, it's a moot point, right?"
Having nothing to say to that, Hackett chose that moment to make his exit. He felt her watch him as he left.
He locked the door behind him using the pad and then exited to the hall, locking that one as well. He could feel the weight of the marines' attention, even if they weren't looking at him. He turned to leave and was surprised to see the Ambassador standing in front of him. The man looked sour, but from what Anderson said, that was a fairly common occurrence.
"Admiral Hackett," said Udina, eyes boring a hole into the door. His brow shifted, the question implied.
"No answers yet," said Hackett, gesturing away the man away from the prying ears of the marines. He started towards his commandeered office.
"That's a pity," said Udina, though he sounded more annoyed than anything. "The Council is not pleased. If you don't give them something to work with soon, they're going to take the entire matter out of our hands."
"I'm aware of the situation," said Hackett. He rounded the corner and Udina followed.
"This matter is of more than just military import," continued Udina as though he hadn't heard. "The Council is afraid that that galactic security could be at risk. They're afraid we're the weak link in the chain." The man let out an explosive breath. "And Shepard's current condition isn't doing much to dissuade the notion."
Hackett's hand paused just above his office door's interface, before he punched the damn thing open. "Was there something I could do for you, Ambassador?"
The man held up a datapad. "The Council wanted to inform Shepard about a recent development, but were unable to get a hold of her. I was… volunteered to pass the briefing along. That was before I saw her being wheeled down the hallway."
An uneasiness clenched inside Hackett. He sat down behind his desk and held out his hand. "Do you know what the mission was?"
Udina shrugged. "More of the same, I'd imagine. The exact details are classified, even for me." He crossed his arms. "If I recall correctly, I believe it had something to do with a backwater planet called… Varmina? Vitrine?"
Hackett found it very hard to draw breath. "Virmire?"
"That's the one," said Udina. The man kept talking but his words fell away as Hackett leaned back in his chair. All the plans and theories and manoeuverings faded from the reaches of his mind, leaving only the image of Patient B, waking up and asking him if they'd won the war against the Reapers.
Firstly, thank you to the anon that pointed out I cited the wrong play last chapter. Embarrassing, especially since I had the quote cited properly in my notebook right next to me. This was right after I thought, "I'm going to mess up one of these during the course of this fic." (Of course, I didn't think it would be the second chapter. Sets an amazing precedent, doesn't it?)
Secondly, thank you to the rest of my reviewers! I've been wanting to work on this (and everything else), but I just recently had all four of my wisdom teeth extracted and so I've been flying high on T3s. If mental composition equaled actual, written words, I'd be much farther along. Writing just wasn't working while drugged. At one point, all I had for that last section was, "Hackett, realizing the pointlessness of the entire conversation, ushered everybody out of the room and left." I'd like to think the above is a tad more compelling.
Thirdly - Happy Holidays! :)