Location: Medical Office of Major Doctor Karin Chakwas—Deck 2 SSV Dublin—Firebase Dagger, Ontarom.
Liam half-listened to the psychiatrist's endless drabble, covering everything from pop-psych to breathing exercises. Three hours later it was pretty clear that the supposed expert was nothing more than a greenhorn who lived for the theories. Even Chakwas began nodding off, only to sit up straighter each time. Thankfully, a bottle of Serrice Iced Brandy was enough to convince her into bearing witness to this torture. If these were any other circumstances Liam imagined himself storming out by the third if he wanted to remain on active duty, he had to see a psychiatrist.
"... last week we talked about stress. So as you can see, the accelerated parasympathetic response is a common trigger symptom, but in actuality it is really just—"
"That's enough." Chakwas held up a slender hand. "Thank you, Lieutenant Walsh. I'd like a word with my patient now."
The paper-thin psychologist adjusted his glasses and blinked at his colleague. Walsh wasn't one to be dismissed, but Liam was glad to see he thought twice about being too brazen. "May I finish?"
"I think you have," Chakwas said, leaning forward to meet his gaze with a frown. "Thank you, Lieutenant. You may go now."
Liam enjoyed watching the prestigious academic storm out with his tail between his legs. When the heavy door swooshed shut, he turned to her with a wide grin. "Karin, did you do what I think you just did?"
"And what is it you think I did?" she asked, gathering her scattered datapads and scrutinizing each one.
Drumming his fingers against the table, Liam threw his hands in the air and spun in his chair. "Saved two hours of our lives!" he exclaimed.
The doctor didn't bother looking up at his display, but the small smile at her lips betrayed her. "For the record you must continue treatment," she said before pursing her lips and gazing away in search of some illusive file.
Liam's ego screeched to a halt. "You're serious?"
"As a ..." She looked up with a raised brow and quivered with a smile. "Well there's no need to use cliché now. Not after whatever that was."
"He came highly recommended," Liam teased, leaning over her cramped desk.
"That he did." She nodded, still sifting through her datapads.
"You were highly recommending him!" Liam pressed, tapping his boot against the floor.
"Correct," she confirmed without looking up. More datapads were displaced in her search for god knows what and for some reason it drove him crazy. Maybe these sessions were a PTSD trigger in and of themselves.
"So now that we both know he's terrible, I don't have to see him!" he exclaimed, rising with both palms flat on the table.
She slapped a datapad against the desk hard enough to wobble the picture frames. "Just because I mistook his academic credentials for practical ones, doesn't mean you can just pretend to be okay."
Trying to stare her down was like trying to punch a hole in a mountain, there was no room for arguments. But it didn't mean he had to like it. The darkness hiding in the recesses of her irises told him to take a seat and brace himself for some unpleasant news.
Deciding to play nice, Liam sunk to his seat without breaking eye contact. Scuttlebutt said that Chakwas had the stubbornness of a varren despite her age. The bold eyes before him confirmed that theory, so he backed off. "What are you trying to say?" Shepard asked, not keen on hearing the answer but needing the verbal confirmation to form a better defence.
He heard her inhale sharply and breathe a sigh between frustration and relief. "I don't want to imply anything without hard evidence, but you're at risk for developing high levels of aggression and suicidal thoughts.
"I'm fine, Karin," he persisted, clasping his hands before him and looking up with hooded eyes. No academic hack was going to tell him he was crazy. Not when the doctor herself couldn't substantiate it.
"Yes...," Chakwas hesitated, tossing the right datapad before him. "You may be perfectly functional now but you won't be in a couple of months. Not if this goes unchecked. The triggers could compound and—oh god, I sound just like him now don't I?" She reared back and rubbed her tired eyes.
"I can handle this," he replied, skimming over the pre-offered information. It was basically the short version of everything the other guy lifted from a textbook.
She came over and kneeled at his chair. "Liam, PTSD is not something to take lightly."
"I'll be fine, Karin" Liam assured, dropping his voice to a much lower, calmer level. The sound of someone who knew what they were doing. "I was okay in Anhur. We had multiple engagements, one of which was an ambush and I didn't freeze up or experience any flashbacks, ask Vega. Ask anyone!"
"I believe that," she said, patting his forearm. "But what happens when the victims are children?"
He stilled, weathering a chill. The images from Elysium crept up through his spine, sinking their mental hooks into its deepest nerves.
"What if you walk into a combat situation like Elysium again?" she asked in a much softer tone as she observed his change in behavior with a clinical eye.
"We won." It was a simple statement, but one that the psychiatrists and doctors often forgot.
"But you lost something," she countered, maintaining her soft tone, it was almost mother-like. It would have lulled him into a false sense of security but too many feelings swam just below the surface, biding their time, waiting to consume him.
"Well it wasn't my sanity and it sure as hell wasn't my ability to use a gun," Liam stated and slowly drew his arm away from her touch. If he was going to put on a convincing show, he needed as little human contact as possible.
"You haven't dealt with the loss properly," she said, only to elaborate when he raised a brow. "I read the bio-feedback logs from your suit, Liam. I can't imagine what it must have been like to see those children die. But unless you process what happened and get some professional help you will be stuck in that trigger phase. You may look at it anyway you like, but you're essentially a loaded gun."
Liam opened his mouth to retaliate, only to deflate when Traynor's voice came over the comms. "I'm ... sorry to disturb you, Commander. But I think you may want to see this."
"I'll be right there, Traynor," he assured and felt his anger leave. Chakwas was right in many ways, but at the same time he refused to see himself as a loaded gun. He was in control, always had been and nothing was going to change that now. "Saved by the comm," he said, moving to stand as he rapped his knuckles against the wood desk. "Don't worry, before I kill anyone I'll make sure Vega's there to put me down. Knock on artificial wood."
Traynor was in the surveillance room, surrounded by the quantum computers that were still working to decipher Elena's matrix. The young comm specialist was so engrossed in her tasks that she gave a slight jump when he sat next to her. "Commander! ... sorry, didn't see you there."
"You said you had something for me?" Liam asked, sneaking a glance to her work. The data showed remnants of a field log, but aside from the header there was nothing readable as of yet.
"Yes." Her eyes flipped to her screen. "No!..." she stammered before taking a hint from his raised brow. "Well, it's in regards to the Cerberus agent that Colonel Brock is interrogating. Operations Chief Hunter has uploaded scans of the weapon we recovered from the site." Traynor tapped a few keys and brought up a 360 degree view of what looked like your basic Avenger assault rifle.
Liam wasn't amused when he found out that the turians and batarians exchanged bullets over such a basic rifle. But if there was a link between the Cerberus operative and this piece of junk, he wasn't seeing it. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking at, Sam. It's an Avenger with a missing heat-sink compartment."
"Ha, but it's not," Traynor said jovially, as she zoomed in on the chambers and brought up a diagnostic thermal scan. He tried not to smile at the sudden image of his Villa instructor who would burst a blood vessel if he saw anyone use an MRI on his guns. "Hunter was about to give up on this model when he ran it through a medical imaging scanner."
"An MRI," Liam said with a smile, "I bet Chakwas wasn't too happy about that."
"But what he found was extraordinary," Sam replied with a knowing smile as she traced her index finger over the mechanism that would change the face of warfare forever.
Liam felt his jaw go slack as his eyes bulged with a sudden realization of what exactly was in their possession. "You mean?"
"That's right," Traynor announced. She said something else, but Liam couldn't hear her as the doors shut upon his exit. He had to find Hunter and either throttle the kid or congratulate him on making a discovery that would secure the Alliance's place as a superpower.
o~O~o
Elysium—Classified Alliance Research Facility—2176
"Will it hurt?" the little girl asked before climbing atop the metal gurney and rolling up her sleeves.
"No," Jeremy replied grimly no strength left to keep up the facade as he prepped the needle then turned to Elena. "Here's what the prototype L4 biotic implant is capable of, Elena."
The cute kid looked between them and raised her chin in challenge. "I thought she was a Major?"
"I am," Elena said softly, wishing she could reach out and ruffle the child's dark unruly locks. The little girl couldn't have been more than seven. She was too young for this bullshit, all of them were. Plus that horrid uniform with the black, white and gold patterns all the kids undergoing treatment wore, clashed with the blues of the Cerberus personnel treating them. These kids lived and breathed by Alliance rules yet they couldn't even wear their colors.
"Then how come you don't call her ma'am?" the little girl asked of Jeremy. Elena laughed in response to the older man's impatient glare.
"He's a bad egg," Elena told the kid with a wink. "I suppose I'll have to be tougher with him, right?"
"Yeah!" the kid fist pumped the air and grinned at her.
"Subject-23, I need you to settle down now and be a good soldier," Jeremy said, squeezing the syringe until a little liquid spritzed out. "Now watch this, ma'am." He stressed the title with an eye roll before injecting the kid.
Elena winced as the little girl tensed up and looked ready to cry. But just as soon as Jeremy brought the syringe, he plucked it away from her skin and set it on his table. The kid sniffled but didn't let a single tear fall.
Throwing protocol aside, Elena stepped forward and gently rubbed her back. "Shhhh...you're doing good, honey."
"I'm not honey, I'm subject-23," the kid said defiantly, before sniffling once again and adding, "ma'am."
"Over here," Jeremy called and motioned to his display of beer cans. Elena shook her head at the unofficial targets but let it slide. "See if you can levitate these now."
"Yes sir," the girl replied with another sniffle. With one deep breath she stuck her hand out and contorted her face in comical focus.
Elena crossed her arms with an amused sidelong glance but didn't say anything.
"Come on, just like we taught you!" Jeremy ordered, standing behind the cans.
The encouragement seemed to help as the kid made a fist. Elena's eyebrows rose in surprise as one beer can levitated. Not many adults could begin to wrap their heads around using dark energy to move objects, let alone children. "Impressive," Elena remarked.
"You haven't seen nothing yet," Jeremy said, when the girl frowned he sighed and added, "ma'am."
The kid concentrated even harder and emitted a loud sound of strain. With a sweep of her arm all the cans levitated at once. They exploded into brilliant metal shards, but that wasn't enough as the metal bits fused together and created a solid cube, then a morphed into a triangle before coming up with the final product of a toy-sized tank that landed on Jeremy's table with a thud.
"That's amazing!" Elena exclaimed, turning back to the girl only to recoil in horror.
The young innocent face was lined with black veins extending all the way to her eyes. That look of innocence was gone, replaced with feral demented glee as the darkness spread through the veinules near her eyes. "Was I good enough?"
Location: Batarian State Merchant Frigate—location, unknown.
Elena bolted to a sitting position, heaving like a zombie. Afterimages of Subject-23's indoctrinated little body lingered in her retinas. So young, so...unstable. She cupped her face with both hands and counted to ten like the therapists instructed. It all seemed like a bunch of bullshit back at base, and for the most part it was, but sometimes the simple action of breathing steady dragged her mind from those years of horror.
"El." His hand touched her shoulder but Elena shrugged it off, unable to deal with him on top of everything else flashing through her mind. Her throat ached and her entire body still felt weak. "You should eat something. Here..." Mark insisted, tapping her arm with the tip of the package.
At the mention of food, Elena forced her hands to slide from her face. Her eyes registered the same steel cargo bay where she held a gun to the man who was now offering her a ration bar. Nothing changed. They were still lost among a maze of pallets and despite her efforts to procure rope, all of them still had sturdy tie-downs holding them down. Fabric pooled in her lap as she realized Mark used his jacket to cover her unconscious form.
Elena grabbed a fistful of the leather jacket, intending to fling it from her lap. But the traitorous fabric only melded to her touch, giving her something to hold onto as the real world came crashing back.
"Whoa, easy there," Mark whispered against her shoulder as he steadied her into seated position. Once her back met the cold steel of the bulkhead she slid away from his arms and dug into the bar. Gnawing at pasty white ration was like chewing a brick. The tough texture made it difficult to separate and it tasted like chalk on her tongue, but with 4500 calories in each bar it was the perfect meal replacement on the field. It was also an excuse to stay mute and process the new situation. Both guns were in Mark's possession now, holstered but still a threat.
Elena contemplated using stasis on him, but the thought vanished when he slid the weapons her way and spread out on the floor, propped on one arm as he waited her out. "What did you do to me?" she demanded.
Mark held out a pacifying palm. "You collapsed and ran a fever for the past three days, drifting in and out of consciousness. I was worried," he said, lowering to cross his hand to pick at the textured worn hull of the ship. "How long have you been running yourself ragged?"
Elena found the tiny scrapes along the crates to be of utmost significance and continued to stare at them while she ate. Having the guns at her feet made things easier. The last thing she needed was a lecture on nutrition from a man who nearly burnt down her kitchen during last year's valentines.
"You're not going to talk to me?" Mark said after a while. "It's a long flight."
"I'm eating." She took another chomp, working her jaw muscles to their limits as strength siphoned back into her body. She still fought the occasional shake from the cold.
She eyed Mark with envy. He seemed nice and warm in that same jeans and green sweater combo he wore at the safehouse. Either the man was on fire inside or he was made of steel. Or maybe cold-blooded reptiles don't need heat?
"How do you feel?" he asked, trying to catch her eye.
Elena looked away. "Pathetic."
Mark chuckled. "Yeah, I'd feel pretty pathetic too if I just kicked ass and pulled off the most daring escape, all in the middle of my six month stint running from a rogue organization," he quipped.
The corners of her lips quirked but Elena wouldn't face him. This wasn't some fucking joke, this nightmare was their life now and she still had no solid clue as to why he nearly jeopardized all of it. Another chill caroused down her spine and Elena hugged his jacket tighter. Her own jacket felt paper thin compared to his which was now spread over her legs.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"It's about plus twenty in here, El." When she didn't respond, his voice took on a gentle quality, almost hypnotic as he spoke, "it's just you and me here, no one else. I checked the entire cargo bay."
She started to get up, needing to get some distance between them if she was going to ride out the most recent wave of memories.
"Good," her voice sounded neutral enough to announce her plans without hesitation. "I'm scouting the upper decks. Gotta figure out where this thing is going and where I can ditch you."
"It's warm here, you're not on Elysium," he whispered, ignoring the jab and attempting to talk her through it like he had had those many nights back on Ontarom. "There are no live subjects here, just you and me, babe," he continued in a low voice. She never understood how something as simple as his voice could keep the nightmares at bay. It was ridiculous. She had grown weak and attached to his comfort.
But images of those kids continued to haunt her. Their pleading little eyes, staring back at her from behind those dark tendrils creeping over their faces. Reaching out, calling ... Reapers... Elena whipped to face him. How could he be so blaze about everything? "Jesus, you don't even know what I did," she snarled. "They were just laying there, not moving and I..." Her breaths came in short, shallow swallows. She crouched, all too familiar with the signs of a panic attack.
"They're not here," Mark urged, as he rose and approached but kept enough of a distance so as not to distress her, "all of that's in the past."
Elena hung her head and wrapped her arms around her knees. She never cried. Crying was a waste of water, that's what Dana always taught and so she couldn't disappoint her, not her own sister. As stubborn tears broke through her facade, she heard Mark shift to her side and rub slow languid strokes down her back.
It was nice. But she didn't need nice at the moment. "Just get the fuck away from me, Mark. I can't deal with you right now," she warned.
If her comment stung, he didn't show it. Mark was good at hiding his emotions; it's what made him such a great spy. That mask of indifference they were taught to wear at all times remained firmly in place throughout the day. She had never seen his real emotions outside of their bedroom. Yet now, even as he complied with her order and backed away, Elena felt guilty as she watched him clean up days worth of rations, wet cloths and water bottles. If she didn't know any better, she guessed he was responsible for her recovery. Yet here she was unable to trust him with any portion of her life's work, less out of fear and mostly because she was still subconsciously following Cerberus protocols. Old habits die hard.
Her eyes bulged at the empty water bottles. Surely he was he smart enough...
"There's a sink near the door," Mark said, his voice raw as he answered her unasked question and collected the bottles. "I'm going to go and fill these up. Try to eat something, El."
Elena nodded as he passed, but couldn't hold her tongue. Not when her brain was lucid and her heart screamed for answers.
"Stop," she commanded and he halted a pace away. She remembered that kiss. But they both knew falling into bed wasn't going to erase what he did. If she couldn't trust this man with her team, how could she trust him with a child? "What the hell happened, Mark? Why did you do it?"
His shoulders tensed and his back heaved. She couldn't tell if he was thinking or fighting tears like she was, but with each passing second her heart fell. Why is he suddenly shielding himself from me?
Mark set the bottles on the floor and ran a hand through his wavy hair. A mix of worry, exhaustion and pain flashed across his features, the mask was crumbling. His look screamed of hurt and yet as much as she wanted to forget everything and comfort him, she couldn't.
So he spoke instead. "I told you before ... I took the risk because it was the only way to guarantee your safety."
"But you put our co-workers, our friends at risk!" she hissed, feeling her frustration cook to a boil.
"They knew the risks!" he shot back. The masks were off and nothing but pure anger stared back at her now. They may have disagreed in the past, but they never yelled at each other, not like this. It startled her, but she didn't let it show. "It's the Hammerhead. What's the worst Cerberus can do? Run over some pyjaks?"
"That's not the point!" she roared. "You betrayed us."
"I made a deal because I'm trying to save your life," Mark admitted. His eyes fell but his shoulders tensed in muted anger, a sign that he was at the end of his rope. "Elena, we both know your research is the most important. That's why you could never talk about it, not even to me."
Elena was taken aback. All this time she prided herself in being in charge of a team that developed top of the line technology; research that would revolutionize their generation and secure the Alliance as a superpower. They were all on the same page despite the fact that she held a higher clearance level. She made sure to stress that every day.
"No." Elena shook her head and tossed his jacket aside. "They broke Jeremy's skull in order to get at his graybox. And you're telling me that his prototype L4 biotic implants aren't important?"
Mark looked up with a frown. "El … ."
"Or what? That Selina's invention isn't going to boost our effective military strength?" Elena stood, feeling the strength work with her body.
"You know what I meant," Mark argued, crossing his arms against his chest.
"Jin is out there right now, dodging bullets because she believes in the benefits of a shackled AI. Tell me that you don't think her work on Luna base is important!" Elena challenged. "Tell me that my team isn't trying and I'll give you something to talk about!"
Mark's jaw tensed, ready for a protest as her tirade put them face-to-face. How could this idiot think that their life's work could be used as a bargaining chip?
His mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, before the corners curved into a smile. His eyes searched hers, but Elena didn't give in and stood with hands on hips, demanding an explanation. Mark hung his head. "That's just it. Compared to what the rest of you were doing, my work wasn't that important," he admitted in a soft tone.
She couldn't believe her ears. Mark Kassel, the man who grew up with dreams of creating giant-sized robots and luxury cars...all this time he thought he was useless? "What?" Elena asked.
He only shook his head and bent down to collect the bottles. "Forget it, El. What's done is done. I'm going to fill these and then try to figure out where we are, unless you want to spend New Years here."
She didn't want to forget it. All this time, Mark Kassel was suffering from project esteem issues and she didn't see it? It made her sick to think she let such fickle morale touch any one of them, let alone the man she loves.
"You don't get to change the subject." Curiosity brought her face-to-face with a man who was hopelessly in love. "What the hell do you mean your work wasn't important?" she asked.
"It doesn't—"
"It does!" Elena punctuated, making sure to look him straight in the eye as she said what is true. "Mark, your vehicles save lives. The Kodiak coffin and the Mako refrigerator are deathtraps, everyone knows that." When he looked away she stepped to maintain line of sight. "You were there on the testing floor when the whole crew survived your prototype. Fuck, our people threw you a party when it set armor standards. Now you're standing here and telling me it all meant nothing?" she scoffed and searched him for any signs of recognition beyond shame, but Kassel was so far up guilt creek that he couldn't see the shore he pushed away from.
"That ..." he began to argue, then thought better of it, "look I appreciate it but—"
"No buts!" She stepped away, letting him process all that. "It's the truth, Mark. So if you're going to feed me a bullshit excuse for betraying us, you'll need to do better than that," Elena ordered, feeling a lot better now that things were under her control.
He didn't seem thoroughly convinced, or even ready to form a coherent counter argument but something in his look of pride had a 'welcome back' attached to it, so she shelved the inevitable confrontation for another time. Yet before she could take in their surroundings his omni-tool buzzed with a personal alarm.
Mark raised his arm and read the reminder that popped onto his display. He seemed to relax a bit and even offered a slight smile.
"What is it?" She asked, curious to see what kind of news melted the tension in his shoulders.
"We're two days away from Christmas," he informed, turning to show her the calendar. "Kinda forgot what that feels like to be honest."
"Yeah," she mumbled quietly as she stared at the date, "me too."