Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent.
William Shakespeare, The Twelfth Night
So all that shit that Ashley had gone on about compartmentalizing? Totally out the window. She stood pacing in the hospital waiting room, biting on her nails – a habit she thought she'd kicked when she was fifteen, but apparently not. God damnit, but it was like Eden Prime all over again, only this time, she didn't even have the benefit of shooting at something. She didn't often get angry at inanimate objects, but all her hatred was currently directed towards that stupid Prothean beacon.
Most of the crew was squished into a corner of the waiting room, with only a few exceptions. Pressly was holding down the fort and Tali had excused herself because of germs, but the rest of them had stayed. Not even the meanest nurse had the heart to keep them all away when news came about Shepard's attack or seizure or whatever the hell it was. Most were like her, jittering in their seats, sending worried glances at the doors that led into the ICU. It had been nearly four hours, yet here they all were.
And so was Kaidan.
The poor bastard was slumped over in his seat, head in his hands. When she'd first arrived, his eyes had been wild and it was the most emotional she'd ever seen him – and that included both when Shepard had been seized by the beacon in the first place, and later when she'd collapsed on Feros. That, more than anything he could've said, scared the bejesus out of her. The LT was known for being totally buttoned up, and to see all his worry and concern hanging loose… The third time the nurse had told them that she wasn't privy to the Commander's case and thus couldn't tell them a damn thing, Ashley had been sure that Kaidan was about to biotically throw her through the window.
Now, she almost wished he was still like that. He'd become, well, despondent was as good a word as any. In the moments before he'd lapsed into utter silence, he'd confessed that Jenkins was the first time he'd lost a squad mate. While some bitter part of her didn't think that losing even two people compared with losing your entire squadron, the fact that Shepard wasn't just a CO to Kaidan probably made this a thousand times worse.
"Damn it," she muttered. "What's taking so long?"
"I'm sure they're doing everything possible," said T'Soni timidly, and Ashley couldn't stop herself from sending the asari an annoyed expression.
The Doc hadn't been with them long, and so how could she know what the rest of them were going through? Especially Kaidan? Scuttlebutt said that T'Soni was interested in Shepard, but even if that were true, the two didn't compare in Ashley's mind. Kaidan had been with Shepard the longest, along with Joker – who was equally as quiet in his corner seat.
If Shepard didn't make this out of this – she would, she always did, but if she didn't – what would that mean for their mission? Ashley wanted payback for the death of her squad and for all those civilians back on Eden Prime. More than that, if Shepard was telling the truth about the Reapers – and Ash had never seen her lie, not even when it would've made their lives a hell of a lot easier – then they were ass backwards without her.
And yeah, okay, so maybe she was focusing on the mission because she didn't really want to deal with the possibility that she might lose another friend, but so what? She and Shepard were friends, sure, but they'd only known each other for a short time. It wasn't like they were braiding each other's hair or anything. Mind you, with Shepard's curls, that would be a task and a half…
"I hate this," said Joker, slumped in his seat. "It's kind of important for us to know if we have a CO or not. I don't know about you, but I don't really want Pressly leading the charge against Saren. No offense to the guy, but Shepard he ain't."
Ahsley couldn't really argue with that. The guy seemed all right, but he was a damned navigator. She pinched the bridge of her nose and paced. If there had been a punching bag, or better yet, a shooting range, that's what she'd be doing. Unfortunately, nobody had seen fit to include one in the hospital waiting room. An oversight, to be sure.
"She'll be all right though, won't she?" asked T'Soni.
Most of their eyes swivelled to Kaidan, seeing as he was the last person to see her, but if he noticed the attention, he didn't say anything.
"Yeah, of course," said Ashley in his stead, plastering a smile on her face. "C'mon, we're talking about the hero of the Skyllian Blitz here! Shepard's immortal." But even as she said it, the words seemed to hang suspended in the air for a moment before shattering down around them.
The doors at the end of the room opened, and Doctor Chakwas emerged looking disturbed. There were abnormally large circles under her bloodshot eyes. Ashley's heart slammed into her toes, because the doctor had the look of someone who'd been weeping. There'd been enough heartache and sappy movies in the Williams' household to recognize the signs. Ashley laid a gentle hand on Kaidan's shoulder, and when he looked up blearily, she inclined her head in Chakwas' direction.
Immediately on his feet, Kaidan marched over, followed behind by the rest of them. Chakwas' smile was forced, lopsided and not at all comforting.
"Is she okay?" demanded Kaidan, and he appeared to be three seconds from shaking the information out of the woman.
Chakwas took a deep breath, and Ashley couldn't help but rage internally that this was not the time for dramatic pauses. "Commander Shepard," she began, then licked her lips. "We managed to come up with a solution. Whatever problems the beacon caused, they've come to an end. Shepard is… Shepard is fine."
It felt like they all let out a sigh of relief at the exact same time, and Ashley herself felt absurdly close to tears. She pushed them away and instead slapped Kaidan on the back. "There, you see LT? She's fine. Nothing to worry about."
Kaidan didn't seem like he really believed it. He was searching Chakwas' face for something, and as Ashley peered over his shoulder to try and figure out what it was, it hit her. Chakwas didn't seem as happy as she should. Sure, she met Kaidan's stare with calm blankness, but where was the joy? The relief? There was being professional, and there was, well, whatever the hell this was. The first threads of unease stitched through her nervous system.
"Can we see her?" queried Kaidan, voice barely above a whisper.
If Ashley hadn't been paying such close attention, she might've missed the way Chakwas' lower lip trembled for a second before the woman shook her head. "Unfortunately not. As soon as she was able, she and Admiral Hackett convened to debrief. As far as I know, she's still there."
"Debrief? About what?" asked Ashley at the same time Kaidan said, "Already?"
Chakwas held up her hands in surrender. "I only know what I've been told. Shepard said she'd meet us at the Normandy tomorrow morning at oh-six hundred hours and that we should all be ready to go."
There was some grumbling, some whispered comments around Ashley, but she was too busy studying Chakwas. The woman was smiling now, obviously reassuring Kaidan that everything was going to be fine, but something… something was off. There was definitely something that the doctor wasn't mentioning, and Ashley couldn't help but wonder if there was some sort of serious complication that was being hidden from them.
God, please let Shepard be okay.
000
Shepard dropped her head wearily into her hands while Hackett considered what she'd said. He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that this woman, this impossibility in front of him, was for all intents and purposes Commander Shepard. There was dissent in the upper echelons of the Alliance over the matter, and considering the debriefing he just got, he doubted the Councillors were having a better time of it. While she flat out refused to tell him what information she'd used to, well, let's say coerce the Council, he was certain the three alien representatives weren't toasting her name.
"You do know you've just brought a world of trouble down on you," he said, and it wasn't quite a question.
Her eyes were fixed on an invisible spot on the table, brows furrowing together. She sighed slightly, her shoulders drooping. "I know," she said. Her laugh was off-kilter. "I keep expecting that I'll wake up and this will have all been a bad dream."
Hackett couldn't blame her. Even now, the body of the other Shepard was being secreted down in the Council vault, tagged with every confidentiality clause he could think of. At first, before the sucker punch of shock had worn off, he'd entertained the possibility that this Shepard had killed the other, but that was before he saw the wild frenzy in her eyes as she attempted resuscitation and the shattering hopelessness that followed when her efforts failed. Spy or not, future visitor or not, there was no way this woman had killed the other. No way.
But that didn't stop this conversation from being the weirdest of his life. He'd held Shepard's cool, dead hand and yet here she was, seated in front of him, brooding over politics.
Anderson hadn't taken it nearly so well. He'd remained with the body until Hackett had ordered him away, and following that, the Captain had disappeared down into the wards, presumably to drink his grief away. The concept was not wholly unappealing, but Hackett buckled himself down and made himself focus on the Commander Shepard he still had.
"You've undermined them," he said, "and they're not going to like that. Even if they give you command of the Normandy to take down Saren, they're never going to let it stand."
"I know," she said again, turning her frown on him. "There's a chance that the second I blow Sovereign out of the sky, they'll turn on me." She shook her head. "I just need to give Saren time to make it to the Citadel."
Hackett's mind pulled on the breaks. "The Citadel?"
She stared at him, perplexed before sharing a wry smile. "It's weird, you know. I just assume that you're going to know what I'm talking about, but…" She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "That Conduit that Saren's looking for? It's not a weapon. It's a miniaturized mass relay. Connects to that relay statue on the Presidium. Saren's going to hop on through while Sovereign instigates a frontal assault. That way, when everyone's focus is on the massive war ship, he can sneak by and kickstart the Reaper invasion." Now her smile was more genuine, and if he didn't know any better, if he couldn't see those ghosts staring out her eyes, Hackett would've said she was laughing at him. "Would you believe me if I said that this entire station is a giant relay, Admiral?"
Frowning, Hackett turned to look at the cars whizzing past his window. He sounded older than he would've liked when he said, "It's hardly the most impossible theory I've entertained recently."
"True enough," agreed Shepard, running a hand through her hair. "So Saren's going to use the Conduit to get here and prep the relay so that the Reapers can come flooding through. Once they trash the Citadel, the races will be left adrift without centralized leadership. Then it's just a matter of indoctrinating a few people here and there and picking off the planets one by one."
Hackett cleared his throat. "If that's the case, why even let Saren get to the Citadel? Why not cut him off beforehand and stop the invasion that way?"
"Because this is one motive we know for sure that Saren hopes to achieve. Even if the timeline has been a little skewed by my arrival, I know exactly where he's going to be and what he's going to be looking for. If we don't take him out then, if we don't take out Sovereign then, we might not have another chance. We know his plan now, and that means we have a tactical advantage. If try to divert his course, he could become a complete wildcard. We'd have no way to plan for that."
It wasn't that Shepard – his Shepard, the one who was now down in the vaults – was tactically inept. She'd survived Elysium, hadn't she? But this Shepard, you could tell from the way her eyes whizzed back and forth that she was trying to think through every possible scenario. Hackett couldn't help but admire the attempt.
"There's something even more important though," Shepard continued. "The last time, the Council believed me about the Reapers after Sovereign attacked. It only lasted for about five minutes, but they believed. My job is to keep a low profile until then."
"Even if they end up believing you about the Reapers, that doesn't mean they won't believe you're not a threat. Or that you're from the future."
Shepard waved away that last. "I couldn't give a rat's ass if they believe me about where I've come from. Hell, I'm not sure if I believe me yet. I've shanghaied them for now, and I'll deal with the fallout afterwards. I earned their trust the first time, and maybe I can do it again. It'll be significantly harder now that they think I'm dangerous, but there you go."
There was a disregard for her own life hidden under those words, and Hackett didn't like it at all. One of the things that made Shepard such a damned good soldier was her stubborn ability to keep going. If she lost that, well, he didn't want to think about that. He hid his concerns by leaning forward and saying, "Shepard, if they take you in, we might never see you again. You'll disappear, and so will all the knowledge you have about the Reapers."
A curt nod was his answer. "Which is why I've got a job for you while I'm of chasing Saren."
Something deep and heavy settled inside his ribcage. "Oh?"
"You need to assemble an archaeological crew and hide them inside a detachment of Alliance engineers. People you trust implicitly, all of them. Send them to Eden Prime. About thirty clicks east of the current colony, they should start digging. Official story should be that they're laying new sewage infrastructure for a future settlement on Eden Prime, and how we can't let the tragic events stop human expansion, et cetera. Meanwhile, the archaeological crew will discover an old bunker and get us honest to God, definitive proof of the Reaper war."
Hackett couldn't help but be skeptical. "Oh?"
"A stasis pod containing a Prothean," she said, and held up her hand. "And before you say it, I know it's impossible, but it's true. Find him, get him to me, and I can wake him up. I don't think even the Council will be able to deny a Prothean, do you?"
He wished he could share her conviction, but the truth of the matter was that her arrival was testing the bounds of the possible. The woman in front of him was, except for a few clear alterations, identical to the newly deceased Commander Shepard. If the Council were still unwilling to believe that she was who she said she was – and he couldn't blame them if that were so – then they might not be unwilling to consider the possibility that whoever had fashioned Shepard might also be able to do so with a Prothean. The thought was not a comforting one, but he hid it from her.
"You do realize," he said instead, "that secreting Prothean artifacts is one of the most severely punished crimes in the galaxy? We could tell the Council we're looking for Prothean tech. It's far from suspicious, given the beacon was found there only a few short months ago. They might not be pleased, but they wouldn't be able to stop us so long as we went through the proper channels."
Shepard's mouth had become a thin line. "It's not the Council I'm worried about. It's Cerberus."
"Cerberus?" said Hackett, frowning. "They've never shown a particular interest in Prothean technology before now."
"No, but they do have a certain inclination towards Reaper tech," said Shepard. "When I stumbled across their bases back then – or, hell, I guess it would be about now – they were making human husks from the tech found on Eden Prime. That didn't mean much when we thought it was geth technology." Seeing his frown deepen, she took a deep breath and tried again. "I mean, it was horrible, but it could easily be explained that they were trying to figure out a defense. But husks aren't geth technology, they're Reaper."
A chill ghosted along the back of Hackett's neck. "What does that mean?"
"It means that Cerberus has an insatiable appetite for information about the Reapers," said Shepard. "They're how we knew about the Prothean to begin with. If they think there's a way to use Javik to further their own ends, they won't hesitate."
"You sound like you know them well," observed Hackett. When she said nothing, he added, "Cerberus has always been at the forefront of human possibility. Before they went rogue, they were testing out some of the most innovative genome alterations."
Shepard's expression was almost as flat as her voice. "Is that so?"
There was a story there, something she's not sharing. This knowledge closed like a fist around Hackett, because if she wasn't who she said she was – or even if she was – and she had been working with Cerberus, her motives were in question. The simple fact of the matter was that despite Mindoir, despite Elysium, he couldn't imagine Shepard working with Cerberus – ever. He looked into her face and opened her mouth to tell her that if she had something to say, something to admit, that she better do it now but the Alliance receptionist comes over the PA system.
"Sir," she said, "I've got a message for Commander Shepard."
Shepard's face drew up in confusion, and was a mirror to his own, he was sure. "What is it?"
"It's, well, sir, the Consort would like to see her," stumbled the receptionist.
Anyone who spent even a little time on the Citadel had heard of the Consort. The best Hackett could figure, she was like some esteemed asari version of a courtesan. He raised his eyebrows at Shepard, who shrugged at him as if to say, I have no earthly idea.
"Did she say what she wanted?" asked Hackett.
"She said she wished to discuss the doctrine of Athame with the Commander."
The effect was instantaneous. The Commander's face shut right down, and she stood, shoulders back, looking every inch the leader Hackett supposed she must've been. Shepard had always been adept at her duties, but this woman, she was formidable. Despite his misgivings, Hackett couldn't help but be pleased she was on his side… for now, at least.
000
After the first hour of the vigil, Tali had excused herself from the Alliance hospital. It wasn't that she didn't care what happened to Shepard, or even that she was impatient, it was just that humans had so many germs. It was one thing to visit Shepard, who was one of the first people on the Citadel to treat her like a person, and it was another thing to sit in the disease ridden waiting room. She could practically feel the germs swimming on the outside of her enviro-suit.
That didn't stop her from checking her omni-tool every five minutes though. Yes, she'd gotten the message from Liara that Shepard was going to be okay, and yes she'd heard the message that they were all going to meet up at the Normandy tomorrow morning, but she wanted to be prepared. Just in case. Not that Tali could think of a single reason why her human Commander would need her, but that was completely beside the point.
She wandered around Zakera ward, trying to ignore the dubious glances that were being sent her way. It wasn't that she'd been unaware of her people's reputation prior to leaving on her pilgrimage, but, well, it had always seemed so far away. Then she'd come to the Citadel for herself, and, well… To say that things hadn't gone well would be like saying the flotilla was just a small caravan of ships.
Shepard had saved her. Shepard had offered to help her look for geth salvage to bring back as her gift. Shepard had treated her like any other person. Everybody on the Normandy had followed her lead, and so it was easy to forget that everywhere else, she was just a suit-rat.
It bothered her that people's opinions mattered to her. She was an Admiral's daughter. She was better with technology than most of these boshtets ever would be. She was helping to stop Saren and the Reapers from destroying the entire galaxy. Surely that meant something, right?
The electronics shop she found was small but expensive. Shepard had given her a small stipend for her work on the Normandy, and while it wasn't enough to buy any new, shiny tech right off, she might be able to purchase some parts for the omni-tool she was working on. She wasn't sure which emotion dominated when it came to the mysterious tech: anxiety or excitement? Fear or curiosity? She wanted to make it work for its own sake, of course, but she also wanted to get it working because Garrus seemed so convinced that it would be important for Shepard.
It was the least she could do.
She walked over to the displays containing the spare parts. She'd need quite a few components, and she'd have to build some herself. Hopefully, between the parts she bought now and some of the geth salvage, she'd be able to have the omni-tool operational in a matter of weeks. Of course, that would depend on how much help Engineer Adams needed on the Normandy and if Shepard took her on some more missions.
Her fingers had just closed around an omni-gel fabricator – the design didn't call for one, which was weird, but she thought she might be able to bastardize a few parts to repair the giant fabricator unit that did Keelah knows what – when she heard the tell-tale breathing of a volus beside her. She couldn't see his face under his suit, but one didn't grow up in the flotilla without learning to read body language. His was saying nothing good.
"I'm afraid we don't serve your kind here," he said, between noisy, alternating inhales and exhales.
First reaction? Anger. It wasn't fair that she should be denied the contents of this shop. Her people were constantly being singled out because they'd made a mistake with the geth. Nobody seemed to realize that just because they'd made broken one law (albeit, Tali could admit to herself, sort of a big one), that did not mean that they were all criminals.
"I have the money to pay for it," said Tali defensively. Her fingers stayed clutched around the part.
"Money you probably stole," retorted the volus merchant. He held out his hand and gestured with her to hand over the part.
Tali opened her mouth to protest, but realized that doing so would only cause a commotion. Any altercation between a quarian and, well, anybody would end badly for the quarian, and she didn't really want to trouble Shepard for help more than she had already. With a sigh, she returned the component, and in the face of the volus' distrustful stare, she extricated herself from the shop, while cursing under her breath at the injustice of it all.
She was about two blocks down when she suddenly had that same part thrust into her face. Reeling back, she saw that it was held by a salarian who was studying her carefully. When Tali didn't take the part, he frowned. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
"I, er, yes," stammered Tali.
The salarian waved it at her. "Well?"
With trembling and confused fingers, Tali took the component. "Did you… why did you get this for me?"
Now his stare was getting unnerving, and Tali couldn't stop herself from fidgeting. "You are Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, correct?" he asked.
It had been a long time since she'd been recognized on sight, and she'd never been recognized by someone she didn't know. That was Shepard's quirk, though it happened sometimes to Wrex, or even Garrus when they were on the Citadel.
She'd left her shotgun on the Normandy, but she had several explosives on her belt and she knew she could taze the man in front of her if things got out of hand. That didn't stop her stomach from doing somersaults.
"Er, yes, that's me," she affirmed.
The stare broke and the salarian smiled at her. He clapped his hands together. "Wonderful. You're just the person I was looking for. My employer was looking for you."
"Your employer?" echoed Tali. "Looking for me?"
"Yes, yes," said the salarian with friendly impatience. "He has a job offer he'd like to discuss with you. I think it would be very advantageous. He is well aware that you're currently on your pilgrimage and wishes me to pass along that he is certain he can help you find an extraordinary gift for your fleet."
Tali's mind flopped around like a dying pyjak. There were as many questions as answers in that statement, the primary one being: how do you know who I am?
"I'm sorry, I've already taken a position aboard Commander Shepard's crew," said Tali, hoping that somehow wasn't too offensive.
"Of course," replied the salarian, putting an arm around her and leading her towards a fancy restaurant. "That, of course, will not impact the job offer on hand. Why don't you come hear what my employer has to say, and if you still aren't interested… Well, one thing at a time."
In the vids, this was how the girl ended up dead. Did this have something to do with Fist? With the Shadow Broker? Was she going to end up dying in some alley in the wards with nobody to identify her body? Oh, Keelah, her father would never know what happened to her. She dug in her heels and ducked out of the salarian's grasp, shaking her head.
"I'm sorry. I'm really not interested. My duties on the Normandy keep me pretty busy."
The salarian sighed, crossing his arms. "Listen, I work for a very, very important person. This person has reserved a very private room in that restaurant over there. All he wants is to talk. We're on the Presidium, not the lower wards. Three dozen people will see you enter, and you can be certain they'll notice if you never leave. Please, lunch is on us."
In the end, it was the promise of the great pilgrimage gift that got her. Geth technology and amazing omni-tools were one thing, but she couldn't help being curious at what this very important person had to offer her. Like the salarian said, the room ended up being very private. They had to go down a hallway from the entrance, and they emerged into an opulent room – an opulent room with no windows. And it was empty.
Or so she thought, until the tell-tale fizzle of a tactical cloak dropped and so did Tali's mouth.
"I assume you know who I am?"
Tali could only nod at Councillor Valern and wonder if she was supposed to bow or curtsey or something. He sat at the head of the table and gesture to the seat on his left. Hands curling around one another, Tali sat. Her salarian friend closed the door and stood in front of it, eyes carefully on everything except the exchange.
"I assume Crihae didn't tell you any of the pertinent details?" asked Valern, and the question was directed as much towards the other salarian as it was to her.
"He said you had a job offer," said Tali.
"And he's right," said Valern, leaning back in his chair. "Are you hungry? Would you like to order anything?"
Truth was, Tali was extremely hungry, but she wasn't about to ask a Councillor to buy her lunch. Especially not before she knew what he wanted. She shook her head.
"As you like," said Valern with a small incline of his head. He steepled his fingers together. "I expect you're wondering why I've called you here."
"A little, yes," said Tali. "The last time I tried to talk to anybody in the Council, I had evidence on Saren and I was turned away. Now, you buy me omni-tool parts and invite me out to lunch."
Valern frowned. "You were turned away?" He shook his head. "I'll look into this immediately, I assure you. The person responsible will be disciplined."
If he was faking his seriousness, he was doing a good job. That should probably have made Tali feel better, but it didn't. "You still haven't said what this is about."
He took a deep breath. "The truth is, the Council is worried about Commander Shepard."
Tali blinked. "About Shepard?"
"We've heard about her illness and her prolonged stay in the Alliance medical facility. The Alliance has been extremely forthcoming with information regarding her, no matter how… unorthodox, her condition seems to be." Here the Councillor paused, fingers curling around his chin as he retreated deep into his thoughts. He shook his head a moment later and returned his gaze to her. "The thing is, we're not sure they'd being entirely upfront with all their information."
"You think they're lying?" hedged Tali.
"Not precisely, no, but we think that they may be keeping select information to themselves for fear of harming humanity's position." The Councillor gave a shallow shrug. "We can't really blame them for this. If news about the true nature of Commander Shepard's condition got out, there would be widespread panic and dismay, especially among the humans. Saren might see it as an advantage and press his attacks. From a tactical point of view, withholding some information makes sense."
Everything he was saying seemed to make sense, but Tali couldn't help shifting in her seat. "And what does this have to do with Shepard?"
"Like I said, the Council is worried about her. With her current condition, we have no idea what sort of transformation the beacon might've had on her brain. We're meddling with forces we don't fully understand, and it would be a mistake to pretend otherwise. Commander Shepard has the makings of a fine Spectre, but with recent developments, we're concerned that she might not be completely herself."
Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. "Are you asking me to spy on Shepard?" Tali couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.
"Spy? No. If we wanted to spy on her, we could've had her ship bugged." Valern shook his head. "But if those bugs were found, and if Shepard were already not in her right mind, accusations might fly. No, we'd rather have someone surreptitiously keep an eye on Shepard, to make sure she isn't a danger to herself or to others."
Tali very nearly snorted and told the Councillor that she was pretty sure Shepard was a danger to others, if her kill count had anything to say about it, but she stopped herself because that didn't seem an appropriate thing to mention when a Council member asked you to watch your friend. And Shepard was her friend. How could she spy – and it was spying, no matter what the Councillor said – on her friend and not feel guilty?
But he was right too, that they had no idea what was going on with Shepard after the Prothean beacon and cypher, respectively. Even her own crew didn't know what had been happening to Shepard or how she'd been healed. Was it really that strange that the Council wanted to make sure she was okay? Still…
"I - I don't know," said Tali.
"Your loyalty does you credit," said Valern, "and I understand your reticence at taking the job. I believe my associate did mention that you would be rewarded with a pilgrimage gift that would make your efforts worthwhile, did he not?" At Tali's nod, he leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. His face was very serious. "The quarians were recently turned down for an embassy, weren't they?"
The room seemed to stop, and for a moment all Tali could hear was her own breathing. "Yes."
Valern smiled. "How would you like to try and help reverse that decision?"
000
This had the potential to end her career, and Tevos knew it. The thought did not sit well with her. After the meeting with the other Councillors – in which they'd all, oh so tentatively, agreed to give the Normandy over to the potential impostor – she'd gone to an unmarked apartment in the wards, hood drawn up over her head. It was all very cloak and dagger, and it reminded of her commando days in more ways than one. Infiltration was an asari specialty.
Fortunately or unfortunately, no infiltration had been required. The house, through various companies and subsidiaries, belonged to Asari High Command, it was them she contacted on the secured QEC. In the simplest terms available to her, she described the meeting in great detail, putting particular emphasis on the fact that this second Shepard seemed to know about the beacon. To say High Command had been troubled was to say a hurricane was slightly damp. Their message had been clear: figure out what this supposed Shepard knew, and figure it out before she disappeared with the prototype stealth frigate.
The problem was that she couldn't simply request Patient B's presence – that would be far too telling, and would undoubtedly get the attention of her peers. The last thing Tevos needed was for someone to start thinking she'd engineered this Shepard ploy in some misguided, overly complex plot to… Well, there were a thousand things such a plot could accomplish. Funnily enough, Tevos wasn't much interested in any of them.
Which is why she sent one of her aides out of that same unmarked apartment wearing an identical outfit, and while the girl returned to Tevos' own apartment, the Councillor took the long and complicated back route back to the Presidium. Only, she wasn't headed for her own house. She was headed to the Consort.
Tevos had first met Sha'ira back in their youth. While Tevos had been a commando, Sha'ira had a brief stint with a merc group before discovering that she had a talent for opening people up metaphorically rather than literally. That hadn't stopped them from becoming friends and, sometime later, lovers. That was all ancient history now, but Sha'ira had proved invaluable to High Command in her own way. No other person was so able to get such confidential secrets out of her clients, and while the Consort was reticent about breaching confidentiality, she did, on occasion, suggest that a certain person might be worth noticing.
This was the first time it had gone the other way around. Sha'ira didn't know about the beacon inside the Temple of Athame, and if everything went according to plan, she never would. But the fact remained that she'd entertained Shepard once before, asking for her presence then just like she asked for it tonight.
Tevos sipped at her water one hand gripping at her knee. Sha'ira leaned against the wall opposite, surveying her friend.
"It's been a long time since I've seen you this rattled," said Sha'ira.
Tevos smiled wanly. "I don't often fall into political quicksand I failed to see coming."
"You're not good at giving up control."
"No. I'm not," agreed Tevos with an incline of her head. She could tell that Sha'ira had questions, so many questions, but to her credit, the other asari said nothing. She seemed to sense that Tevos needed a clear head right now.
A voice came through the speakers, announcing that Commander Shepard had arrived, and would the Consort like her guest escorted in? At Tevos' nod, Sha'ira affirmed this request and moved into the doorway to greet her guest. A minute and a half later, the doors slid open and Shepard entered, a slight hesitancy in her otherwise confident stride. She accepted Sha'ira's hands, and her kiss on the cheek, but her brown eyes came to rest on Tevos and she went rigid, dropping her hands to her sides.
"Councillor," said Patient B.
Tevos stood, clasping her hands behind her back. "Spectre, I apologize for the deception, but I suppose you can understand why it was necessary. Sha'ira, might we have some privacy?"
"Of course, Councillor," replied Sha'ira graciously. "If you have need of anything, please do not hesitate to ask." With an incline of her head, she retreated out of the room, and when the doors closed behind her, it seemed oddly final.
"Do you know why're you're here?" asked Tevos.
Patient B kept on her toes like she was expecting an ambush, and frankly, given her situation, it was probably wise. "I've got a pretty good idea."
Tevos gestured to one of the chairs before sitting herself back down. "Please, make yourself as comfortable. I assure you, this meeting is only between you and me."
Not dropping her suspicion for a second, Patient B crossed and sat, propping her elbows up on her knees and clasping her hands together. She raised an eyebrow. "Are we sure this location is secure?"
Unable to help herself, Tevos gave the human an expression that said, please. "I have taken all the necessary precautions, Spectre. I am well aware that this would look quite damning for both of us if the wrong person took notice." She took a deep breath and decided to confront the human on her own terms – that was to say, with brutal honesty. "You have information that should you should not be privy to, and I demand to know how you got it."
Eyes wide, Patient B let out a low whistle. "That's the most forthright you've ever been with me." She sat back in her chair, not relaxed but pretending to be. Tevos couldn't help but shiver at the odd statement. If this woman was an actress, she was meticulous in her dialogue. "But I already told you. I got the information from you."
"So you said," affirmed Tevos, voice tight. "You said I told you to access the information before the temple was destroyed."
"No," said Patient B, her voice hollow, "you told me to access the temple before Thessia was destroyed." A beat passed before she added, "I'd never been there before. It was… Well, I can only imagine how beautiful it must've been – must be, I guess."
This was not what Tevos wanted to hear. She wanted the truth. She'd never doubted that this Shepard would stick to her story, but she'd hoped... Tevos took a deep breath and remembered the words of the asari matriarchs from earlier this evening – do whatever you have to in order to find out.
Swallowing, Tevos stood. "There is one way to tell if you're being genuine. I won't be able to tell if your memories are your own personal delusion or the truth, but I will be able to tell whether or not whether they actually exist or whether they're simply willful fabrications."
Patient B frowned, understanding flickering on her face. "You want to meld with me."
It was an unfortunate term, but Tevos knew what she meant. The prospect of the whole thing left a bitter taste in her mouth. While the rite was usually performed between couples for pleasure or procreation, it could also be used to transmit information. This wasn't generally done with non-asari, as the whole thing was taxing on an asari who did not have a partner capable of shouldering half the burden. It was almost never done with strangers, as it could be interpreted as rape by those who did not know the finer points of the matter.
What these people didn't understand was that, should an asari attempt to join without consent from the other party – in other words, should it be actual rape – the process was equally as painful for the asari committing the atrocity. Even the Ardat-Yakshi, wanton killers that they could be, seduced their prey before joining with them.
This was why Tevos held her breath as she nodded, anxious to hear what Patient B had to say. If she said no, Tevos might be required to initiate the process by force. The thought made her stomach roil.
But to her eternal surprise, Patient B got to her feet and walked over. "Okay, let's get this over with."
Glad that someone wasn't troubled by the whole affair, Tevos stood as well, bringing her hands to rest on Patient B's cheeks. She struggled to remain outwardly calm, especially with Patient B's relentless stare set on her. With a deep breath, she intoned, "Relax Spectre, and embrace eternity."
The experience could be difficult to describe to a non-asari. There was an ancient word to describe it, a word that had no modern equivalent but which roughly translated to the art of letting go and floating through one's skin. This made the whole thing sound incredibly relaxing, and in any other scenario it might've been. As Tevos' world went black, however, it was like pushing against a thick membrane that did not want to give. She cajoled her consciousness inside Patient B's – who was more strong willed than even Tevos had expected. There was a moment that could only be described as weightless before the human's mind slammed into her own.
There were images, so many of them. They filtered past Tevos like a vid on fast forward. A strange ship above the Citadel. Human beings being melted down into so much paste. Strange, deformed creatures amassing in droves, nightmarish parodies of the races… Earth, Palaven, Tuchanka, Thessia… all with that same strange ship, multiplied by a hundred, by a thousand, and the screaming only drowned out by a deep and bone shaking sound… She watched one of those ships slam into a building on Thessia, a building she used to live in, and she couldn't, she just couldn't…
The images faded, and she was left with a hundred different voices all crying out the same thing: Shepard.
When the room spun back into focus, she was cradled in Patient B's arms. Her legs must've given way and her head was throbbing. There was the soft sound of sniffling, and Tevos realized it was her, realized she was crying, and she knew, deep down, that these tears belonged just as much to the woman next to her.
"That's not our future," denied Tevos, and it was closest she'd ever come to begging.
Patient B – no, that wasn't right. Shepard licked her lips before they disappeared completely into a thin line. She took Tevos' hand in her own and said, with more conviction than Tevos had ever heard anyone use, "I'm going to change it, but I'm going to need help."
And though a small part of her knew she would regret this after she returned home for the evening, knew that it could seal her political doom, knew that there was no way Asari High Command was going to be pleased with her, wracked as she was with emotion and exhausted beyond all measure, Tevos nodded.
000
Something was up, that much was clear. Garrus could feel it in his gut.
Or it might've had something to do that he was sitting in Councillor Sparatus' office, ordered there by Executor Palin. Garrus had no earthly idea why the Councillor would want to see him. They'd never met before, and despite the connections his father maintained with the Primarch (and with Palin, incidentally), Garrus wasn't into the game of politics. In fact, he could give a pyjack's ass about politics. To his mind, it was messy and it got in the way of the job.
He'd been re-evaluating his stance since he met Shepard, who more often than not assured him that the rules were in place for a reason, but he'd yet to be wholly converted.
No, this was definitely odd. Palin had contacted him via omni-tool just as he was about to go to dinner with the crew. When he'd arrived in Palin's office, the Executor had said there was something important that needed to be discussed, and promptly led him down some back alleyways of the Presidum until they arrived at a door that turned out to be the secondary entrance to Sparatus' office.
Now he was waiting for the Councillor to arrive, tapping his foot against the ground. The only logical reason he could think of that he'd been called here was that someone had snitched about him and Bailey. Of course, were that true, he'd probably be in jail instead of on a plush sofa drinking the best alcohol money could buy. This stunk of something else, of a bribe, and it worried Garrus that he didn't know what it was.
The doors hissed open and Sparatus entered, clasping his hands behind his back as he did so. "Garrus Vakarian. Thank you for coming."
Years of military procedure did not go to waste as Garrus set down his glass, rose and saluted in the space of seconds. "Of course, sir. It's not every day that you're invited to see a Councillor."
"Very true," agreed Sparatus. He inclined his head. "Please, as you were."
Garrus returned to the couch, albeit in a less relaxed pose than previously. His hands clutched at his knees and he couldn't help himself from leaning forward slightly. "Sir," he began.
"I suppose you're wondering why you're here?" Sparatus poured himself a drink and sat down in an armchair opposite, his green eyes scanning Garrus.
It made the younger turian nervous, though he did his best to shrug it off. Behind those eyes were secrets that Garrus couldn't even guess at, and, if Shepard wasn't lying, someone who also knew about what had happened up on the Presidium. In the end, he nodded. "It had crossed my mind."
"I'm going to answer your question with another question," said Sparatus, swirling his drink. "Have you seen Commander Shepard since her admission into the Alliance hospital?"
Garrus willed himself to remain calm. "I have."
"And she seemed in good spirits?"
That was a tough question to answer. Garrus didn't know how much the Alliance had told the Councillors about Shepard's condition. He wasn't loyal to the Alliance by any stretch, but he was loyal to Shepard. According to Chakwas, the Commander was totally fine now, but Garrus couldn't shake the image of his Spectre friend laid low in that hospital bed, nor could he shake the feeling of finality that had accompanied her goodbye. Try not to piss anyone off, she'd said. Well, he could only do his best.
"As good as could be expected, considering." There. A nice, middle of the road answer.
Sparatus hmmed and Garrus could tell from years of C-Sec interrogations that he was fighting to keep his voice casual. "And has she mentioned anything… unusual to you, lately?"
Now Garrus frowned. So this was what this was all about. The Councillor was trying to figure out of there was an intelligence leak. "No, sir." He debated mentioning the explosion on the Presidium, but as Shepard hadn't initiated that conversation, decided against it.
The Councillor sighed and set down his drink without even taking a sip. He leaned forward, eyes intent. "Enough dancing around the issue. We're not asari here, so let's stop acting like it. Has Commander Shepard ever given you reason to doubt her loyalty to the Council? Ever shown any xenophobic tendencies? Ever advance strictly pro-human interests?"
This came so out of the blue that Garrus didn't have to fake the shock on his face. Three seconds later, he remembered the questions Bailey had asked. You really think she'd step up if it were her military doing the evil deeds? Shock gave way to indignation.
"No, sir. Never. In fact, she's been nothing but welcoming to all the non-humans aboard the Normandy. I've seen no reason to doubt her loyalty whatsoever. She doesn't seem to care about a person's race," said Garrus, letting the conviction he felt colour his words. After everything Shepard was doing, after everything she'd done, they were questioning her? Where were these questions when it was Saren in doubt? Not for the first time, Garrus was stabbed with a sliver of annoyance towards the turian mindset.
Sparatus went quiet. "You admire her, don't you Vakarian?"
"Yes, sir," said Garrus without hesitation.
"And would you consider yourself loyal to her?"
It was a leading question and Garrus knew it, but it didn't change his answer. "Yes."
A few beats passed while Sparatus stared him down. Finally the Councillor downed his drink and placed the glass on the table.
"In that case, you're probably not going to like what I'm about to ask you, so I won't ask. Vakarian, on behalf of the Council, I'm putting you in charge of surveillance on Commander Shepard. Anything she does, any toe she steps out of line, I want to know about it." He nodded once, to emphasize the point.
Garrus' mandibles flared. "Sir, I don't know if I can…"
"That's why I said I wasn't asking," interrupted Sparatus. "That's an order. If your feelings get in the way, remember that you have a duty to your turian brothers and sisters – and the rest of the Council races, of course – that came long before you met Commander Shepard. Are we clear?" The Councillor was no longer looking at Garrus, that green gaze instead focused inward. "There's trouble afoot, Vakarian. I don't know what's coming or how it's going to affect us, but Commander Shepard is right in the middle of it."
"The Reapers…" started Garrus, but was cut off by a slicing motion from Sparatus.
"Are a combination of Saren's mind games and Shepard's manipulation. Nothing more. If you believe otherwise, you're a fool. No, there's something else at work here, and I aim to find out what it is." When Garrus opened his mouth to – protest? complain? argue? - Sparatus finished with, "My receptionist will give you the extranet account where you're to forward your information. Keep it regular, and keep it confidential. You're dismissed, Vakarian."
Growing up with a father like his, Garrus knew when there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He stood, feeling like his limbs had been strapped to lead weights, and lumbered out of the room. Part of him argued that he could simply ignore the Councillor's orders, because he worked for Shepard now and the Council's opinion didn't affect him all that much anymore.
The larger, more pragmatic part told him that if he declined, one of two scenarios would play out, if not both. First, if things went against Shepard, he could find himself in as much or more trouble than his friend. Second, his family was still very much active within the hierarchy and that he could potentially ruin not only his own reputation, but the reputation of his father, mother and sister. He could imagine his father's ire, but it was the quiet disappointment of his mother and the hesitant resentment of his sister that would do him in.
So he accepted the details from the receptionist even while silently asking for Shepard's forgiveness. His one consolation was that if he knew Shepard, he knew she wouldn't do anything dishonourable, and he therefore would have nothing to report.
Spirits, what had she gotten herself messed up in?
000
Anderson stared out at the artificial night, a bottle of expensive whiskey in one hand and his glass in the other. The cars drove past, again and again, but all he could think of was Shepard.
He remembered her. He remembered her as the skinny, determined thing she'd been in basic. He remembered the soldier covered in sweat, blood and grime that they'd found on Elysium, dehydrated and near delirious, and with a spiderweb of red lines weaving down her arms from pushing her biotics too hard. He remembered her standing in front of the Council, accepting the honour he'd been denied years earlier. He remembered how there'd been nothing left of her in the end, with her blank eyes staring upwards and a thin line of red from the corner of her mouth, and her beautiful curls all shaved away and how her hand got cooler and cooler the longer he held it.
He downed what was left in his glass, and then refilled it. He almost wished, in that dim, numb way of the grieving, that he could cry, but the tears wouldn't come.
This was a joke. This had to be a joke.
Or a nightmare.
He heard the door of his small apartment hiss open, and the sound of shoes on the laminate flooring. His apartment wasn't big, but it wasn't the studio he'd had on the Citadel all those years ago either. He heaved a sigh, knowing there was only one person who would seek him out now, only one person who would dare invade the sanctity of his grief.
"I don't want to talk to you, Steven."
No formalities here, not right now. Though his old friend hadn't technically done anything wrong, the emotional part of Anderson couldn't help but feel that by legitimizing Patient B, the Admiral had somehow doomed Shepard. Having two Shepards was some sort of paradox, and the universe had done its best to make it right, only it had chosen the wrong Shepard.
"It's not Steven," she said, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
His whiskey was suddenly a thousand times more appealing. He downed it. "Go away," he snapped. "I don't want to even look at you."
There was some hesitation behind him, but those footsteps eventually came to stand next to him. Despite himself, his eyes trailed towards the thing wearing Shepard's face, taking her in out of the corner of his eye. They'd shaved her curls off too, presumably so that no awkward questions would arise when she took the real Shepard's place. Her breathing was staggered, and she brought both her hands flat against the glass.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Anderson's lower lip quivered, and he solved that problem by pouring himself another finger and downing that too. "You might have Hackett fooled," he said, "but not me. I don't know who or what you are, but you're not Shepard. You may have her name now, may have her entire identity, but you're not my Shepard. She was one of the best… and she died in that room. The second I find out you had something, anything, to do with that, I'll be coming for your head."
"I didn't," she whispered, dropping her forehead onto the glass as well.
"It should've been you."
She flinched and it took her a long time to respond. When she did, she said the last thing he expected to hear. "I know."
And somehow, she started to cry. Not the sobs he'd heard vaguely when he ran into the room to find Shepard limp with her doppelganger over her, attempting resuscitation. No, these were quiet, rolling down the curves of her cheeks before hitting the ground. Anderson steeled himself, pretending not to notice.
"The truth is, I should've died a thousand times. Came pretty close a few times, though how close is a matter up for debate." Her breath was fogging up the window and Anderson couldn't help himself from focusing on it. She took a deep breath and flexed her fingers. "Did she ever tell you how she found out she was biotic?" Anderson opened his mouth but didn't get the chance to reply. "Of course she didn't. I never brought it up with you and you never asked."
Her skin swirled with blue, casting strange shadows in the otherwise dark room. "I was a late bloomer, I guess. When the batarians came, I took my little brother – the real Devyn – and I ran into the woods with him. We could hear the gunfire and the screaming, and I knew that my parents were probably already dead even if he didn't. I was supposed to be meeting my boyfriend, though, and I was worried. So like an idiot, I told Devyn to wait where he was and that I was going to scope out what was happening. Scope out, like I was something other than a skinny, acne covered teenager."
Anderson didn't want to hear this. He told himself that it wasn't true, that she could be making the whole thing up and he'd never know, but he remembered Shepard's face when Devyn had been mentioned and the utter devastation he'd seen there and he knew that it wasn't a lie. She might be a lie, everything that she was might be a lie, but this, this wasn't.
"When I got to the place where Kyle and I were supposed to meet up – Kyle was my boyfriend – I found… I found his body surrounded by batarians. They'd burned him alive. He didn't even look human anymore. And because I wasn't the badass I guess I thought I was, the batarians they heard me. I tried to run but… They captured me. They were going to…" She cuts herself off with a shake of the head. "Well, I guess that doesn't matter. Anyways, Devyn he followed me, and I should've expected it because he hated to be left alone, and he saw them and they saw him and I told him to run, but he wouldn't. That stupid, idiotic shit picked up a stick and he ran at the batarians."
She wasn't just crying now, but weeping. Her tears reflected the lights from outside. Anderson was sick to his stomach and he wanted to tell her to stop, but he couldn't. Shepard was gone and only this monstrosity was left and she was offering him these tidbits, these things he always wanted to know but would never have asked for and he hated himself but he didn't tell her to stop.
"I don't think they have a word for what I did when they raised their guns towards Devyn. It was just instinct. One second I was surrounded, and the next second all those batarians had been thrown back, bones broken… And so had my brother. When I got to him, his limbs were all twisted up and his eyes were blank and his hand was crushed around that stupid stick."
"So when you were picked up, you took his name," said Anderson, understanding mixing with horror. It was only after he said it that he realized he'd attributed Shepard's story to this woman and he tried to think of a way to recant but could come up with nothing.
"I didn't want to be Deirdre anymore," she said. "Deirdre was weak and stupid. I wanted to be that person who would pick up a goddamned stick and try to save the day."
Anderson went to pour himself another drink, but it was only when he got the glass to his lips that he discovered he was no longer thirsty. "Why did you tell me that?"
"I may not be your Shepard," she said, pushing off from the window and turning to face him. When he didn't meet her gaze, she walked up to him until he could no longer ignore her. There was a hard edge to her jaw, though the effect was somewhat ruined by her bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks. "But you're not the only one in this duo who watched the other die."
She might as well have thrown him out the window. It probably would've elicited a less surprised response. Anderson could only gape at her.
"How?" he asked, because he couldn't stop. He didn't have to voice the whole question; she understood. How did I die?
"I destroyed us," she said quietly, her eyes flickering downwards and then out towards the Citadel. "Not all at once. Nothing so dramatic. But bit by bit, I got caught up in the image of playing the white knight. I wanted so badly to be Devyn, to make him proud, that I didn't stop to realize that sometimes chivalry and bravery will get you killed. I held back. I thought the universe would play by the dictates of my own morality – morality carved by an eight year old." Her hands clench into fists at her side. "I was wrong." She pushed back her shoulders, and he recognized that gesture. It was a completely Shepard thing, to throw her shoulders back like that before making some declaration. "That's why you should believe that I'm going to do everything in my power to make this right – to make it all right. To say I'm sorry."
He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't for her to turn to leave.
"What happened?" he asked, knowing this would lead to yet another answer he didn't really want to know. For the first time, he turned to look at her, full on, without prompting.
She paused, her back to him. He could see a thin scar running down the back of her head, and could only assume that it was cosmetic in nature – something to show the crew to explain her miraculous recovery.
When she looked over her shoulder at him, rather than upset, her face was dead. "We lost."
A very real fear tickled its way through his nervous system, and she seemed to realize it, because she nodded like that was what she wanted. He watched her go, trying to reign in his own feelings, to understand them. He wasn't waiting for her to stop a second time, but she did, though she didn't turn this time.
"If you want to know what your famous last words were… they were: I'm proud of you."
And then she was gone, the door hissing shut behind her. Those words floated around Anderson like an echo. He wasn't sure when he ended up on the ground, but there he was, his back to the glass of the window and those tears he'd been wanting finally cascading down his face.
000
Karin had been told, of course, about this impossible plan they had. She was the Normandy's medical practitioner, and it was important that she know everything that might complicate treatment, including cybernetic augmentations and improved biotic implants. She'd also been present when the coroner – a salarian with lines on his face who, if he recognized the Commander, didn't say anything – sawed into Shepard's head and revealed her brain. It wasn't something she was going to forget anytime soon. The tissue looked like someone had taken a blow torch to it. Karin had to excuse herself in order to vomit, and when the tears came, she didn't know if they were genuine or because of the nausea.
Both Admiral Hackett and Captain Anderson were there in their dress blues, speaking seriously. "We're going to need you to keep an eye on her, Doctor," said Hackett. "We need to be kept apprised of any concerning behaviour."
"Of course."
"But remember," said Anderson, and if she didn't know any better, she'd say that he was nursing a hangover, "she's not our Shepard." He raised his hand to cut off whatever retort Hackett was about to offer. "I don't necessarily mean that she's a spy or a killer. I mean that experience changes a person, shapes the way they tackle obstacles. This woman, Shepard from the future or not, might not be the Shepard that we lost." His throat closed on those last few words, but he tugged his hands behind his back and stood up straight.
Hackett nodded. "A good point, but if she's getting too far away from herself, give her a nudge Doctor." He crossed his arms and looked troubled. "The last thing we need is people asking questions we can't answer."
"And if she…" Karin couldn't finish her statement, not with the eyes of the men on her. She swallowed. "If she turns out to not to be Commander Shepard?"
There were frowns on both accounts, and a shared glance that Karin couldn't decipher. "If that happens, take her into custody and bring her here," said Hackett. "If she resists… If she resists, and you have no other choice, you take her down." The Admiral exhaled deeply. "But I pray to God it doesn't come to that."
There was a knock on the door and Hackett told the person to enter. It turned out to be, well, Dee. Karin couldn't quite think of her as Shepard, not yet, and judging from Anderson's face, he wasn't all the way there either. Hackett, conversely, hid any such qualms with perfect ease.
"Commander," he said, "we were just discussing the plan."
Dee stood in front of them, legs wide apart and hands behind her back, looking every inch the soldier. "Sir," she said, "may I make a request?"
A flicker of doubt swept across Hackett's face before he brought his hands together. "Yes?"
"May I have my amp back, sir?"
That wasn't what Karin expected, but Hackett was utterly unperturbed. He reached into his pocket and removed it, tossing it to her. She caught it and, fingers exploring the dimple under her skull, she slowly slid it into place. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, nodding to herself.
"Thank you, sir."
Hackett nodded. "Doctor Chakwas will give you a brief rundown of the last few weeks. Anything else, I'm sure you remember and, barring that, there are always side effects following brain surgery, yes?" He raised one eyebrow at Karin as if daring to contradict him.
She wouldn't have gotten the chance, because Dee interrupted. "Sir, there's one more thing." Her eyes bore into the ground. "And you're not going to like it."
"What is it, Shepard?"
"You need to… I want you to cremate her body," she said. "The other Shepard."
Silence reigned in the room, except for the large breath by Anderson whose eyes were suddenly bright. She could see him struggling to contain his emotion, and she could only guess at what he must be thinking. Karin herself felt that this would be deeply unjust. Shepard deserved better – a burial, a hero's funeral, something. But she knew that it would be impossible to do so while maintaining the charade.
A thought of a more sinister nature infiltrated her musings. What if Dee was trying to get rid of Shepard's body so there would be no tangible evidence that two ever existed? Karin rubbed at her arms to try and chase the gooseflesh away.
"Why would we do that?" said Hackett, flatly.
Dee swallowed. "I know how it sounds, but trust me. There are people out there who would use that body for their own purposes. After we defeat Sovereign, the Reapers are going to have a vested interest in Commander Shepard and they're going to go through quite a lot of trouble to study her. I know you think that the vaults are safe, but trust me when I say that they won't be, not for people with the cunning and the connections to get in."
There was an urgency to her little speech, but it was more frantic than manipulative – or so Karin hoped. "What could they do with a corpse?"
Those brown eyes turned towards her, and Karin immediately regretted asking the question. "More than you'd think," she replied flatly.
"We're not going to decide anything right now," said Hackett, "but we'll take the matter under advisement. Truth be told, we couldn't do much without the Council's permission now, anyways."
Dee's lips became a thin line, but she nodded. When Hackett stood and extended his hand, she took it, inclining her head at his wishes of good luck. She turned to Anderson, and neither one extended their arms. Dee's face crumpled slightly before she got it under control, nodding mostly to herself. She turned and vacated the room and Karin, clenching her hands together, was left to follow her after a curt goodbye to the two officers.
They grabbed a taxi towards the docks, and Karin couldn't help but notice how every muscle in Dee's body was tensed. It was like she was preparing for a fight. Maybe she was. Karin tried to keep her voice upbeat as she mentioned the visitors Shepard had received in the hospital, and disclosed the full – and fake – explanation for her supposed recovery. The doctor's eyes travelled briefly to the cosmetic scar on the back of Dee's head.
"What if they realize?" said Dee, and Karin was beginning to realize that this other Shepard was more impatient than the one she was used to.
"What if who realize what?" asked Karin.
"The crew," said Dee, "everyone. What if they realize that I'm not her?"
Karin laid a hand on Dee's arm. "But you are her, aren't you?" It embarrassed her how much it sounded like a plea.
"I used to be her," said Dee, and she ran a tongue along her teeth, "but three years is a long time, especially the three years I lived."
Karin had the unhealthy urge to ask exactly what had happened in those three years, but bit her tongue. She struggled to find something else to say instead. "Well, I hardly think they're going to determine that you're Shepard from three years in the future, so we can toss out that possibility. As for the rest… You still have her quirks, you know. I think you're closer than you think."
Dee nodded as she brought the taxi down at the docks. The Normandy gleamed in the artificial dawn, and Chakwas could see a large group of crewmembers waiting near the entrance. While she found this comforting, Dee's breathing had become strictly regimented.
The crew held back as Karin and Dee approached, though the relief at seeing their Commander up and moving was palpable. Dee gave Karin's hand a small squeeze, catching the doctor off guard, before she surged forward, a tumultuous grin on her face.
"Has there ever been a lazier crew?" she demanded, hands on her hips.
So this was how it was going to be. Karin held back and observed. Dee hugged Ashley, Tali and Liara tightly in turn, prompting a rather large blush from the asari. She punched Wrex on the arm, and squeezed Joker's shoulder gently, the smile on her face growing from what Karin could only assume was a traded barb. For Pressly, she paused a moment before giving him a two handed handshake, though her body language said she wanted to give him a hug as well. Then came Garrus, and Dee's reaction was puzzling. She swayed – literally swayed – in indecision before shoving her hand out to Garrus, and then she held on a little too long before moving on.
It was Kaidan who elicited the largest response though, and the most concerning. She turned to see him there, wearing that small smile Karin knew was only for the Commander, and Dee just… froze. Her eyes scanned his face, as if unable to understand that he was in front of her, and she reached on hand out to touch his arm. The rest of the crew realized that this was time to find an elsewhere and they all started loading onto the Normandy, so they didn't see Kaidan pull her into a fierce hug. Shepard didn't reciprocate for several beats, but Karin could see her eyes were wide and shining as she finally wrapped her arms around the Lieutenant and buried her face in his shoulder.
Suddenly, Karin wished she hadn't been privy to Dee's true identity, because she knew, she just knew, that this meant tragedy.
And thus do we finally leave the Citadel! Hurrah!
Sorry about the delay on this one. I'd been composing it - quite literally - since the last one was posted, but couldn't seem to get a free moment (or five) to write it all down. This is officially the longest chapter (so far) and with it, I've officially published 200k words. Exciting!
In other news, with the new Citadel DLC released... I've thought it over, and I've decided that, for the purposes of this fic, the "story" part will be discarded. There are a variety of reasons for this including: I'd have to rework the 50k I've already written because future!Shepard's reaction would be different, and, well, I have certain qualms with what I see as gross character/plot inconsistencies (even though I thought the DLC itself was super fun). That being said, the party and all its associated character revelations are fair game!
Hope you enjoyed and I'll try to update more frequently. :)