Grace grits her teeth as she carefully settles the shuttle to a landing beside the giant cornfield in New Canton. She doesn't like the landings; it's too close to crashing. Seeing dropped ships makes her uneasy.
Floyd has been standing over her shoulder for the duration of the drop, still bitching about how she handles a Mako, threatening to gut her if she crashes the shuttle. Grace prefers the takeoff. The sound of the thrusters boosting before the shuttle sails into the air. It's different when she's the pilot; she doesn't particularly like the role but the academy makes it a requirement.
The landing is a little rockier than she would like but not terrible. She isn't like Santos who can ease the shuttle down like a lover. Floyd makes a face, aggravated that he can't complain too much. Volkova rushes to fill in the silence. Ah, with all the grace of a krogan. Grace smiles faintly, exiting with them into the sweltering day.
The sun is up, bright in a clear, cloudless sky. They have another few hours of light yet. Grace removes her helmet, a small breeze rushing in to flick her hair around. Despite her travels and missions, she hasn't spent much time on a planet like New Canton. She kneels, threading her fingers over the grass, surprised at how it cuts.
Santos smiles. "Reminds me of home."
"It's too hot here," Volkova complains. "Let's do what we have to do and get going." She lifts her face, her nose wrinkling in the air. "It smells like cow shit."
"Do you ever stop complaining?" Floyd wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "And you, are you a cow?" Grace realizes he's looking at her and stands. What is it about her that makes people constantly refer to her that way? "Stop wasting time; you act like you've never seen grass before." Before she can say anything he pushes a few buttons on his omni-tool. "You know, you think just once they'd send us to some asari world to pick up a package." Grace frowns gently. "Another routine mission, another shit hole."
Grace smiles. "Now who's complaining?" Santos and Volkova's lips twitch but they manage to keep their expressions neutral. "So, what do we have?"
Floyd glowers. "Like I said, just a pickup job. Contract for Cerberus." Volkova and Santos swear at the name. Cerberus. The human survivalist group. Classified as a terrorist organization by the Alliance and many alien species. Don't buy into what they say Hope told her once when Grace tried to talk about it they act like only aliens are allowed to be proud of their race. "Reaper tech? Whatever the hell that is."
"Reapers?" Grace asks. Sounds familiar. Nothing she can place. Just an ominous, cold and inky feeling that settles over her. "What are they?"
"Bullshit rumors," Santos says. "Ships? Machine ships?"
"They say a Reaper attacked the Citadel." Volkova sniffs as if irritated at having deigned to respond to any question Grace has asked. That's become the nature of their relationship. Scorn and indifference. Grace isn't sure if it's a friendship. She's never had those, unless Hope counts, which she doesn't think does. This is her first foray and she doesn't know whether she's doing any of it right. "Sovereign?"
Floyd laughs. "You'll believe anything, won't you?" He gets a scowl from Volkova in return. "Jesus, it's a good thing you're good at killing." He exhales in amusement and pulls up a map on the omni-tool. "I don't care what Cerberus thinks it is, we're getting paid to pick it up. Let's get moving."
They move on. There appears to be some sort of festival or fair going on in the farming community. Grace excitedly spots some cows in the distance but stifles the happy feeling, maintaining a sober expression. Twangy music plays and children run past her, engaged in a game of tag. There's a Ferris wheel further along. The aroma of delicious food wafts through the air and they all grudgingly wander over to the booths to grab a quick bite. Grace gets a corndog, which she ends up finding disgusting. Santos appeases her by sharing his elephant ear. She doesn't understand why food is named after animals it isn't made from.
Licking their fingers, smiling at those who seem intent on staring at them (at Grace, especially) they wind their way through the crowds until they arrive at a small collection of buildings, far different from the rest of the wooden structures that dot the community. Floyd stands in front of the door. "Santos, you're on."
Santos has a talent for hacking. He pulls a few devices from his pockets, attaching it to the card reader and toying with the omni-tool. The rest of the squad blocks the view. They hear a crack of thunder and then another. Grace turns her head up to the sky that is quickly blackening, flashes of lightning bursting in the clouds.
"Rain on the day of the fair. Never fucking fails," Floyd says.
"Ah, they're not going to let a little rain stop them," Santos claps his hands and stands. "We're good." The door slides open and they step inside to a much different place than they were expecting. Everything is cold, glinting steel. And blissfully air-conditioned. Volkova smiles for the first time in days. Everyone readies their weapons, despite the lack of personnel. Computers and monitors litter tables and walls, datapads scattered. The building is impossibly long.
They move further inside and spot a few bodies, dressed in black and white uniforms, an orange crest on their lapels. Their lifeless bodies are twisted, dried blood sticking to their faces. All of them look to have been shot in the head. Some hits are cleaner than others.
On the far end of the wall, scrawled in blood: IT'S IN MY HEAD.
Santos whistles. "What the fuck happened here?"
"You act like you've never seen a body before," Volkova says. There is a luminescent, pulsing object beneath a glass case. It's about twelve inches high and ten inches wide at the bottom. It curves up like an inverted fang. "This must be the artifact. Such a little thing." She pauses to look away from it when thunder rolls so loudly it nearly drowns out her words, shaking the glass around the object. "Nobody reported a storm."
"It's fair day," Floyd reminds her.
"What happened here?" Grace asks, looking around at the bodies. She turns her attention to the bloody mess on the wall. IT'S IN MY HEAD. What is? What does it mean? She looks at the artifact, silver with a tinge of purple to it. She reaches out to touch it but pulls her hand back. "Who killed these people?"
"Who cares?" Floyd lifts the glass and picks up the object, uttering a gasp. The squad looks at him questioningly. "It's cold." He tells them. Grace arches an eyebrow. "Real fucking cold."
"Let's get another elephant ear," Santos says. That's when they hear the screaming.
Lightning slices through the sky like long, knobby fingers. The heat of before is gone, replaced by a violent wind and a massive dark cloud. Grace spots a ship in the sky. She waits for the familiar recognition to come to her in the way that it does, that moment of déjà vu, but it never does.
All she hears are the screams. Everyone is running, shrieking. She's never heard screams like this before. A black swarm moves through the crowds, freezing people midstep, like pressing a pause button. There are creatures that she doesn't recognize, insectoid, bipedal, tall as a human. Flying. Shots ring out.
"Dios fucking mio," Santos says, his eyes wide, taking unsteady breaths. Grace thought that fighting and killing a thresher maw would be the most excitement they'd be getting. She never anticipated this. Judging by the unit's reaction, she's guessing they never did either.
Floyd is pale and sweaty. "This isn't part of the mission. Back to the shuttle!" He takes out his sidearm, clutching tightly to the Reaper artifact with his other hand.
"What about these people?" Grace says. She doesn't know why she asks the question. What about these people? She doesn't know them. She doesn't know what's happening. She doesn't know what force this is. It isn't part of the mission. It is irrelevant. Hope would tell her it was irrelevant. But Hope wants humanity to survive. Would she really want her to leave? Everywhere she looks people are going down. A black, seething fog of something moves over the fair.
Volkova and Santos follow, stumbling over people who have fallen to the ground, immobilized. Critters like mosquitos the size of birds stick to the civilians. Grace's stomach drops as she sees the horror in their faces, eyes darting about desperately for a few moments before becoming transfixed.
"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!" Santos shouts, firing his Mattock. It catches one of the bipedal bug things in the head, but another three soon turn their attention on him, wings lifting them into the air. They fire a weapon that sounds like a chainsaw, emitting an amber beam. His shields are gone in an instant and he falls to the ground in two pieces.
Grace goes numb, the air leaving her lungs, her knees losing strength. She doesn't know how she stays on her feet. Volkova screams. Santos doesn't bleed. His unblinking eyes are wide with frozen alarm.
Grey things sprint toward them, with glowing blue eyes and withered flesh that only partially covers cybernetics of some kind. They aren't like the bug things. Were they… human? What did this to them? Their mouths open, uttering a despondent sound somewhere between a groan and a howl. Grace flings them back with a biotic throw, then squeezes off a few rounds, exploding their heads. It gives them some breathing room, but Volkova is paralyzed. Was she stung? No. She's in shock. Grace grabs her arm and yanks her behind a tractor.
Volkova turns hysterical. "What the fuck are those things!? What the fuck is going on!?"
Grace takes her head forcefully into her hands, bringing her face close. "Get yourself together, Volkova, get yourself together!" But she hears the panic in her own voice, hears how manic she sounds. She knows that if she thinks of Santos she'll start to fall apart. How could he just be dead like that? How could they kill him like he was nothing? "We'll make it out of here, but if we lose our shit now we'll never make it to that shuttle!" Volkova manages a nod.
The buzzing sound of an insect swarm draws near and Grace throws up a barrier dome. The mosquito things flow around it. Volkova takes the opportunity to line up a few shots with her sniper rifle, taking out some of the bug creatures that are beginning to load colonists into pods. "What the fuck are they doing?" Volkova asks.
"Nothing good," Grace grunts. The mosquito things are swarming angrily around her barrier dome now, and some of the humanoid insects are approaching. She activates a cluster of lift grenades and tosses them out. They detonate outside the barrier, dispersing the swarm and sending the larger creatures flying. Grace drops the barrier. "Let's move!"
They run. There are so many of the creatures that Grace wonders if Floyd made it to the shuttle, if there's any possibility that she and Volkova will make it. Volkova takes out the glowing-eyed corpse creatures, while Grace flings, pulls and detonates the insect things. The merciless wind of the storm has knocked over several of the food stands. Where there were masses of people moving minutes ago, no one moves anymore.
"I'm out of clips!" Volkova tells her. Grace tosses her a shotgun. Volkova grabs it, points it, blows out the brains of one of the alien creatures. They're still over a hundred meters from the shuttle. Grace spots another creature, massive and hunched with a bulbous upper body, lurching forward at a slow pace. Is that a head jutting out from its side? It sends out a biotic wave that cascades along the ground, tearing the earth apart. Grace and Volkova are forced to separate, ducking behind whatever structures they can find remaining in the fairground. The cover offers little protection other than to obscure them from view.
Grace looks around a corner. One of the aliens lifts into the air, back arching, screaming as its flesh cracks like lava. Eyes that burn hot as coals settle on Grace. "Assuming direct control." The voice is deep and unrecognizable. "Relinquish your form to us."
"It talks!?" Volkova exclaims. She hasn't spoken so many words to Grace in weeks. It's almost funny. Almost. "What is it!?" Volkova fires off a shotgun blast uselessly, too far away to seriously harm the creature. It stalks toward them, leading a group of its brethren. Grace continually knocks them back with throws, timing her Paladin shots carefully. They keep coming, but she finds a small gap. She primes the talking creature with a warp field, then ejects the scalding hot thermal clip from her Paladin and slams a fresh one in.
"You prolong the inevitable," the glowing creature announces. It hurls a crackling sphere of dark energy in Grace's direction. The booth she is hiding behind disintegrates, and she staggers back. The creature readies another biotic attack, but Grace launches herself forward in a biotic blur, slamming into it. Her head throbs with the effort, but she is rewarded with a biotic explosion. The creature melts away, and several others in the vicinity are instantly killed or sent flying back.
The giant, hunched creature remains. Barking its noise, it sends out another shockwave. Grace manages to dodge out of the path, but hears, with horror, Volkova's cry suddenly cut away. A glance back reveals the woman's lifeless body sprawled like a broken doll. Grace dives behind a toppled port-a-potty, ignoring the stench of spilled filth, bringing her hands to her helmet as if physically trying to contain her composure. Volkova is dead. Santos is dead. Floyd is nowhere. She's alone. Keep it together. Keep it together, goddamn it!
"Your allies have fallen." The same voice in another body. Grace swallows, ignoring the icy grip of death that stabs at her, the sweat that chills her deep in the bone. Another shockwave crumples the port-a-potty and rattles her. She lurches to her feet and hurls a biotic throw at the talking creature. She begins weaving her way through the frozen civilians and debris scattered on the ground. The talking creature staggers back, but soon begins moving again, barely slowed. "You cannot escape your destiny, Shepard."
Grace wants to argue with it, wants to yell at the stupid creature that her name is not Shepard, that it isn't as smart as it thinks it is. More of the bug-things are in the area now, shooting at her, whittling away her shields. She rushes the creature with another biotic charge, then finishes it by blowing its brains out with the Paladin. "Shut up!" she screams.
Moments later, another one forms, cracking and glowing, setting its focus on her again. "Impressive," it says. "But you cannot kill me, Shepard."
Her breath is coming hard and fast. Maybe she can't kill it. She's tiring, and it just keeps coming. It just keeps coming back. She can't think about it. She continues to work her way toward the shuttle, finding spots of momentary cover, working the angles, trying to stay out of the line of fire.
A husk? It's a husk (she doesn't know how she knows it) manages to flank her, jumping on her as she turns toward it. She struggles with it, punching it until it loosens its grip. She throws it hard to the ground, then stomps its head into mush. She's become exposed in the process, and a spray of enemy fire nearly depletes her shields. She sprints, ducking, rolling and dodging, pushing herself as hard as she ever has. Her lungs are on fire, her heart threatens to burst.
The shuttle is in sight, within reach, when she spots them out of the corner of her eye. A woman and a young girl hiding behind a nearby Ferris wheel. They're terrified and quivering, but miraculously unharmed. Somehow they've avoided the clouds of paralyzing bugs, but their luck won't hold much longer. If she ignores them, she can get to the shuttle, her escape all but assured.
She debates what Hope would want. What Shepard would do. What her unit would decide. She runs to them. "Come on!" She grabs them and physically shoves them toward the shuttle. "Run!" The creatures have spotted her again. They have seconds. She races to the shuttle as the woman and her daughter frantically climb aboard.
Grace stops just short. The Reaper artifact lies on the ground. There's a pod, half open. She shouldn't look inside, but she does. Floyd. His frozen eyes stare up at her in shock. She says his name, but he doesn't respond. The creatures are shooting at her. Her shields are gone, there's no time. She clenches her jaw, stomach turning, and leaves him, clambering onto the shuttle and slamming the door shut.
She jumps into the pilot's seat. The woman and girl are babbling, yelling, crying, but Grace doesn't hear any of it. Take off, take off, take off, she has to take off. She can still hear the voice of the creature talking to her, confusing her, taunting her. For all she knows the ship has some kind of artillery that will take them down but she has to try, she has to try.
"Hold on tight!" she yells. When she faces forward, she's staring at some massive bug creature that's gliding down, screeching and scuttling toward them on four spindly legs like some demonic spider crab. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...!"
The shuttle takes off. The crab things fires twin energy beams at them, one narrowly grazing the side of the shuttle, causing it to lurch, the other missing. She keeps waiting for the shuttle to blow up, blasted by the repugnant aliens, but they escape. They escape. Somehow they escape.
After they're clear, her passengers start to calm down. They thank her profusely and introduce themselves. Gail and Lindsay Rolston. Lindsay is eleven. "What's your name?" Lindsay asks.
She pauses before answering. "Grace," she tells them. "My name is Grace."
Grace drops the Rolstons off at Illium and returns to the academy where she reports what happened. A news vid on the attack on New Canton backs her story. The mission was technically a failure, but they give her some medals and commendations and offer her a leadership position in CAT6. She turns it down.
She has a solitary picture of the unit, taken at Santos' insistence. They stand in a line, Santos with his sunglasses on, grinning, Floyd scowling, Volkova looking put out, and Grace smiling uncertainly, with Santos' arm around her shoulders.
She buries the image in a data cache in her omni-tool and tries not to think about it. All she has now are memories of a squad that no longer exists. She takes a shuttle back to the safe house where she left Hope, but she isn't there.
Dust coats the furniture. The air is hot and unlived in. She waits, but Hope doesn't come back. She searches for a note but there isn't one.
The next morning, she wakes in the bed she used to share with Hope. The pillow no longer smells of her perfume water. She tries to link to Hope's omni-tool but gets no response. Though Grace has been without Hope for nearly half a year, her absence now is painful and unexpected.
She watches news reports of missing human colonies, and ire sparks within her again. It flows through her as she thinks of the monsters that abducted and killed so many humans, as she thinks of the freak with the glowing eyes that called her Shepard. Did it think it knew her? Is Hope right? Is she really Shepard…? No. She's Grace.
Night comes again and Grace lies awake in bed, trying not to think of New Canton, instead obsessing over Hope. Has Hope abandoned her? She's spent so much time at the academy, filled her head with so many new memories that it doesn't come back to her immediately. If I am not where you expect me to be, I may have been compromised. Seek me on Virmire. How could she have forgotten…? The conversation happened nearly half a year ago.
Grace heads to the coordinates Hope left for her so many months ago. She's never been to Virmire, though the area fills her with an unease she can't put a finger to. She arrives at an abandoned beach house, lifted on stilts. The white, sunny structure overlooks the water. Small waves lap at the shore below.
She waits for two days and still there is no Hope. Grace sits on the white couch and covers her face with her hands, feeling terribly alone. Her unit is gone. Has Hope disappeared too? Could she take it...?
The turn of the lock gets Grace to her feet. It's night now and there are no stars. Grace doesn't turn on the light. She grabs the Paladin, finger on the trigger and stalks her way to the door. Virmire is near the Terminus Systems. She knows how pirates and slavers, the lawless, flee to these areas. She isn't ignorant the way she was before.
A shadow looms at the entrance. "Show yourself or I'll take a look after I've blown your brains out."
There's one unsteady step and then another. Pale moonlight streams through the window. Grace doesn't know who it is. Not right away. Then her breath catches.
It's Her. Grace is cautious, still in disbelief. She wraps Hope tightly in her arms, remembering the feel and scent of her, stopping suddenly when she gets a strangled, pained cry in return. Grace lets go and turns on the lights. Her heart skips a beat.
Hope's face is swollen, a multitude of colors. Her brow is gashed open, lips split. Bruises dot her neck. She wears a loose shirt and Grace, in a panic, grabs it, wanting to see how else she has been hurt, what she's hiding.
Hope stops her, fingers wrapping around Grace's wrist. Grace waits for a hard squeeze but doesn't get it. Hope exhales shakily, her free hand grabbing onto the counter, hunching over. Anger builds inside of Grace again, building like the drums of war.
"I'll kill them," Grace says through clenched teeth, trying to control her voice. "I'll kill whoever did this."
Hope releases her, placing both hands flat on the counter and trying to breathe in slowly. She clenches her jaw as a current of pain seems to run through her. "I don't want you to see me like this."
"I thought you were gone," Grace says hoarsely, happy that she didn't break, that she didn't whimper. She straightens her shoulders and wipes the emotion from her face and voice, wanting Hope to see that she came back better, stronger.
"I nearly was."
Her stomach knots. "Tell me who did this to you." Grace says. Hope stares at the counter and then gives a solitary shake of her head. Grace forces herself to cool. To calm. She does. Her eyes pulse green and that she can't erase entirely. If Hope doesn't tell her she'll find out. She'll find out and she'll kill them. She tentatively touches Hope's hair. When Hope faces her, Grace is torn between rage and a dismantling, breaking sadness. "I'll kill them," she promises softly. Hope's smile is pained, her eyes not quite meeting hers. Grace carefully wraps an arm around her shoulder and draws her close.
"I'm glad you're all right," Hope says at last, as if accepting defeat.
Hope dreams of the fight with Kai Leng. Her body remembers the force of his strikes, how her bones cracked under pressure, how the ninjato skewered her before everything went black. She awoke drenched in blood, immobilized. She thought she was paralyzed. Her breaths were rasping and wet. She thought it all went horribly wrong. There was no feeling in her face. There was only the taste of rust and iron in her mouth. Then it began to blossom in her, face and arms throbbing to the slow beat of her heart. The burning in her abdomen that followed made it impossible to make anything but agonized, strangled sounds.
The implant was a last resort, a final contingency in the event she was ever cornered and saw no other way out. It released a neuro-toxin that stopped her heart. She was dead for five minutes before the implant jolted her heart and released the antidote. There was no guarantee her heart would start again. There was no guarantee Leng wouldn't make sure the job was finished, or that he wouldn't take her body. It was a gamble. She doesn't believe in luck, but she understands that sometimes you have to take a chance. If it hadn't worked…
Weak and bleeding out, she fumbled for the tubes of medi-gel, terrified she wouldn't be able to grab them, apply them in time. She cursed herself for not giving up the clone. There were others. Others she could have used. Standing took too long, blood dripping off of her. Each step was unsteady. Hope knew she had to find out if Grace—the clone, she reminded herself—was okay. Still lived. Was still… viable.
A light sensation along her fingers rouses her. Her knuckles are scraped and bruised, enflamed. The clone sits beside her on the bed, fingers grazing along her wrist. Hope bites the inside of her mouth as she pushes herself to a sitting. She grimaces but she doesn't cry out. It's a small improvement.
She can hear waves of water. Sea birds squawk overhead. The clone looks at her with such earnestness it hurts. Her eyes shift like the tides. Other times she's more contemplative, less often she's mistrustful, but usually it's this. Hope hates her gentleness. It makes her worry for the both of them. They've been on Virmire for days. It's too hot. Who knows how much longer the clone has been here. Hope isn't sure how long it took her to get to the safe house, how she got to the safe house. Everything was a dizzying vertigo-induced feat. The pain was blinding.
The clone wipes the perspiration from Hope's forehead, careful of how it glides along the bump and cuts there. Hope knows slapping her arm away isn't an option. It'd be like an ant attempting to hit a god. She can't wait for the moment that she's no longer broken. "We can't stay here any longer," Hope hates how tired her voice sounds. "We have to move. We've stayed too long."
"You're not ready," the clone says firmly, even as her hand drops back to Hope's, thumb easing gently along her skin. Hope scowls and tries to sit up further, tries to leave the bed but a spasm rips through her. She gasps. The clone rubs her back. "Don't hurt yourself." Hope closes her eyes and exhales slowly. "Whatever comes, I'll take care of it. I think I can take care of anything." Hope looks at her. Her face hurts. Everything hurts. "I should have been there when this happened."
"I'm glad you weren't," Hope says sharply. She hasn't told her about Kai Leng. She won't go into details about Cerberus. The clone's too smart now. She's too determined. She won't stop until she gets answers. Hope can't risk her finding out who she is. What she is. "I got away. That's all that matters."
The clone looks away and then picks up some bandaging. "I picked up a few things at that place you sent me to. Come on, let's change your bandages."
"I don't need it."
"Your shirt is red." She bites her lower lip. Hope stares at the sheets. There are streaks of blood on them. "I won't make you." She takes a breath. "You took care of me. Let me take care of you. The faster you get better, the faster we can move." Hope doesn't have the energy to glower. She doesn't have the reasoning to argue. Her hands come to the bottom of her shirt. She has difficulty lifting it. The clone reaches out to touch it before she hesitates. Their eyes meet briefly and somehow she knows that's all the consent she needs. The clone's careful as she pulls the shirt away. Her bandage is nearly soaked through. "We need to get you to a hospital."
"I'll heal."
"I lost my team." There's a long pause and then she begins to unwind the bandages around her waist. Hope bites her tongue and stifles any sound she wants to make. The clone's careful. So careful. She's told her some about her experience in the academy. She hasn't mentioned any team or squad. Maybe she thinks Hope doesn't want to hear it. Maybe she thinks it'd be considered a mark of weakness. Hope doesn't know if she'd be right. She's curious. "In New Canton. There were these… bug things." Hope frowns thoughtfully. "Big. They took everyone. Froze them. And the ones they didn't take they killed." There's a beat. The Collectors. They took another colony. What the hell has Shepard been doing? "I might have saved Floyd. I could have tried harder. I don't know if I would have been able to get away. You told me to do anything to survive."
"You're meant to be a lone wolf. You don't need anyone else." Hope doesn't miss how the clone glances at her then. It's reassuring, in a way. Frightening in others. She does not want to be the weakness in the clone's armor. "You're more important than anyone. More important than me. You did the right thing."
There's a bowl of water nearby and the clone dips a rag in it, wiping the blood from Hope's stomach. She's helped her undress for baths but this is more intimate. Hope isn't versed in acts of kindness. The language is foreign and confusing for her. "I don't agree," she says softly. The clone applies ointment and medi-gel and begins to wind the gauze tape around her. She looks contemplative. She doesn't look at her. Hope touches her face and though she lifts her head she can't quite meet her eyes. Hope doesn't know how much time passes in silence. "I'm sorry if I was ever…" she thinks. "Forceful. Aggressive."
Her thoughts flash to those times. She ought to consider the battlefield. But the clone is focused and calculated then. She thinks, instead, of her mouth, 'forceful' and 'aggressive' against her own. Hope tries to forget just as quickly, not trusting how it makes her blaze. "You need to be those things."
"Not all the time." She continues wrapping the gauze tape around her in silence before finishing and tying it delicately. She stands and finds her a new shirt. She looks out the window while Hope slips into it, only turning when she's finished. "I love you."
A cold chill washes over Hope, followed by fire before going chill again. She's feverish and dizzy, then disappointed, in the both of them. "No, you don't." The clone crosses her arms gently. "You don't know how." She can't afford to.
The clone stands straighter, shoulders back, chin quivering for an instant. She purses her lips as if to say something. She changes her mind and exits, carefully closing the door. Hope glowers at everything, an insatiable wrath coursing through her.
"Do you have someone, Morgan?" Santos asked. Grace hadn't heard the question right away, fixated rudely, she was mildly aware, on the scar that cut in a vertical line down his heart like a cross. He caught her stare and smiled. "Alliance souvenir." He took a mud-colored shirt from his locker and pulled it over his head.
The spell was broken then. "Someone?" Grace asked.
"Someone special." Santos waited. The question confused her. What was 'special?' Was it the same as exceptional? Was it something rare? She deliberated too hard over a question that was casually asked. He sat next to her on the bench, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, watching her. "You're a funny woman. Can kill like nobody's business but the easy questions trip you up." Grace's cheeks reddened. "I didn't mean anything by it."
"How do you know someone's 'special?'"
Santos laughed. "You serious?" The incredulous expression fell from his face, replaced by a mildly sardonic smile. "Depends on who you ask. Maybe 'someone special' is a good lay. Maybe that's someone who you can be yourself around. There's gotta be some kind of attraction there. Someone you love. Someone you'd kill for. Die for. More or less."
"We do that for each other," she points out.
"Eh, we have to. Not that I wouldn't for you, Morgan. You're all right. It's more than that. More than just obligation or sticking to the rules. Are you fucking with me?" He looked at Grace who couldn't look back at him, her eyes flitting on every surface, trying to work out the logistics of what he said. "Didn't think it was a trick question."
"Do you?"
A long silence filled the room. Grace listened to the water drops on the sink. "I'd like to." He shook his head. "So now that I'm embarrassed," she didn't understand why he was, "is there someone like that for you? Someone that keeps you going? Someone you want to see again? Program like this is hard to do without that."
Grace thought of Hope: rigid, relentless, demanding. Hope was harsh but without her methods Grace doubted she could have survived her training. She'd made her stronger, though her gaze made Grace's knees weak and her heart erratic. "Yes," she said blankly, thinking of the way Hope kissed her on the shuttle, "I have someone like that."
Santos mirrored her nod. "Wonder what New Canton's going to be like."
Hours later he was dead. Grace rubs her forehead, trying not to think of him. She focuses on Virmire and the area surrounding the safe house. The light of the sun dances like diamonds on the water. The air is hot and humid but there is a breeze with a hint of coolness to it. The blue of the sky goes on forever. It looked that way in New Canton, too.
Grace doesn't like Virmire. It makes her antsy and sad. She buries her toes in the sand. Maybe she's reckless for not keeping her boots on. Grace likes to soak in experiences and this is a new one. Hope doesn't want her to feel anything at all. Doesn't think she can feel anything at all. She treats her like a doll. Grace tries to bury the anger and resentment, her feelings of inadequacy. No matter what she does it isn't enough. The gun is strapped to her side and she fingers the cool metal, trying to not get worked up. Everything she buried at the academy is returning the more she spends time with Hope.
"Commander Shepard came to Virmire just over two years ago," Hope tells her. Grace pretends she isn't there. "To stop Saren. She had a krogan with her at the time: Urdnot Wrex. He was hotheaded, as krogan tend to be. Saren had some scheme to return the krogan to their 'glory' and end the genophage. He just wanted an army for the Reapers but the krogan wouldn't let it go. Shepard's squadmate, Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, had to gun him down."
"I don't want to talk about Shepard." She can still hear that deep voice calling to her, beckoning, hunting her. Everyone gets her mixed up with the woman but she isn't her. She isn't Jane Shepard. "Have her jump through your hoops if she's so great."
"We're going to talk about Jane Shepard as long as is necessary. Then you will replace her," Hope tells her tersely. Grace scowls. "This isn't how I planned things but it may as well be the beginning of your tour. This was one of Shepard's last stops. It was the end for Urdnot Wrex. It was the end for Ashley Williams. Shepard left Williams to rot with a bomb while she rescued Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko and an STG team. Special Tasks Group," she says, reading the question in the Grace's face. "Salarians and an alien sympathizer."
Are salarians bad, too? Grace hasn't met many of them. All races seem to be equally disreputable. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't want you to say anything," there's a finality to her words before she relents. "Just learn it." Grace watches her from the corner of her eye. The swelling in her face has gone down considerably, though her caramel skin is still purple and yellow with bruises. "Virmire's beautiful, isn't it?"
"It's just another planet," Grace bluffs. She's tired of looking at the sand and the water that stretches into forever. She returns inside, taking with her the heat of the sun that clings to her skin, the sand at her feet. She makes sure to shake it away, not wanting to bring it in with her and create a mess. Hope follows but drags sand in. Grace wishes Hope would be more considerate. "You look like you're feeling better."
"I look like shit. I am feeling better. My ribs have mended. Well enough for me to take deep breaths, anyway." She retrieves two glasses from the counter and pours water for Grace and bourbon for herself. Grace ignores the glass. Hope moves around the kitchen island to stand in front of her. "You're pouting. It doesn't become you."
Grace tries to hold on to the ire as she stares at Hope. It's swallowed by a gaping melancholy the longer she looks at her, marred by whatever maniac attacked her. "You don't think anything becomes me."
"That's not true." She looks away from her and has a drink of the bourbon. Grace remembers the smell, how it burned sliding down her throat. Volkova gave her some weeks ago. She didn't care for it. She did like the heat. "You're angry about before but you shouldn't be. You have a purpose. You weren't built for love."
"I wasn't built at all!" She stalks away from her before pacing back and forth, returning to where Hope watches, emotionlessly. "When will you stop talking to me as if I were some… You used to call me 'it' for fuck's sake. I am not an 'it'! I'm a person! I'm Grace!" Yes. She's a person with memories and experiences and regrets and feelings, feelings she despises, that she wishes she could discard.
Hope is quiet for a long time. "You are Jane Shepard." Grace claps her hands to her head, covering her ears, not wanting to hear it, not wanting the role, her assignment. She squeezes her eyes shut, not wanting to see. Hope goes to her, takes her wrists in her hands. "You are precious. You are special. You are more than you think you are. Look at me." Grace does, resentfully, her lower lip unable to still. "The person who did this to me wanted you. He isn't someone you stand a chance against. Not yet." Grace is unsteady at the revelation. "Every single blow was worth it. I would take that and more." She releases her. "Don't be ungrateful. I know you've had a poor teacher—but you're better than that." Grace's eyes sting. "You think you know love, think you want love, but you don't. It's a weakness. Be grateful you can't know it. Be grateful I can't."
Hope slides her fingers beneath Grace's shirt, ripping the air from her lungs in the process. Her grazing touch along her skin sets her aflame. Grace watches Hope's face, the way her eyes darken and flare as they meet hers. "This is different," Hope murmurs. "Don't believe the vids. Don't believe the propaganda. One has nothing to do with the other." Hope removes Grace's shirt, even as the action looks to pain her.
Grace's anger is softened again. She takes the shirt delicately from her and sets it aside. "You haven't recovered." Hope grasps her face, kisses her like a whisper. Her tongue slips between Grace's lips, making her moan, making her unsteady and hot.
Hope takes Grace's nervous hands and brings them to her body. Grace is afraid to hold her. Hurt her. She fears the fire raging through her that wants to claim Hope so vehemently, urgently, desperately. "We'll be careful." She silences Grace's protest with another kiss. "Very careful."
Shepard storms through the ship, blood and sweat pouring down her face, ignoring the crew that hurriedly moves out of her way. Garrus and Samara were behind her but she's already forgotten them, jamming the button to Miranda's office and striding in.
For once there's a reaction. Miranda stands as quickly as Shepard enters and dodges the helmet Shepard hurls in her direction. It bounces off the wall, clattering before spinning on the floor. Miranda puts her hands up and Shepard almost laughs, as if that could stop her, calm her. "I know what you're thinking—"
"Fuck you," Shepard growls, slamming a fist on the desk, a flush of biotic energy cracking Miranda's coffee mug, causing a short in the computer equipment in front of her. As if she could fucking know, the snake. "Don't you think of lying to me—"
"But I didn't know—"
"Bullshit!"
"I. Didn't. Know."
Shepard's heart beats out of control, blue tendrils of biotic power radiating off her. Miranda almost looks alarmed. Scared. Fucking finally. These assholes act like she's a joke. These assholes think she's just going to take it forever. "You're the XO, Miranda. You're the Illusive Man's right hand." Miranda scoffs but Shepard fixes her with a glare so deadly that she stops and waits, cocking her head, jaw tightening. "How the fuck do you expect me to believe that you weren't in on it? You sent us on a fucking Collector ship—" Miranda tries to speak but Shepard slams a fist into the desk again. It begins to split. Miranda quiets. "Under false pretenses. You sent us into a trap and you risked this operation and my team—!"
"So now you care about the operation?" Miranda asks. Shepard pounds her fist into the desk again. This time it collapses, the shorted terminal sliding to the floor. "Are you finished?"
Shepard reaches across the smashed desk, taking such tight hold of Miranda's uniform that a button comes undone when she yanks her close, face nearly pressed to hers. "I'll be finished when I'm goddamned ready to be finished." Shepard breathes heavily. Miranda has gone limp like a doll. Maybe she thinks of her as some wild animal. Better to play dead. Something like that. "I want you off my ship."
"That's not negotiable," Miranda says tightly, "no matter what any of us may want." Shepard's chest heaves. Miranda's uniform is open. Shepard notices her ivory skin, contrasted against the black lace of her bra. Shepard blinks and releases Miranda, stepping back, momentarily rattled. It's hard to uncurl her fingers; they're accustomed to being held in a fist. Her fingers anxiously come to her forehead. Miranda buttons her uniform. "Are you all right?" she asks quietly.
She has a headache. She wonders how many cameras are on her right now. Shepard looks at Miranda cuttingly. "I want to talk to the Illusive Man and I want to talk to him yesterday. Do it."
Shepard's image vanishes from the holo-pad as the Illusive Man looks on coolly. The commander is finally beginning to play along. She was enraged at first, but a careful explanation of his rationale for sending her into the Collectors' trap eventually soothed her ire. Miranda's doubts were unfounded. Shepard's reputation has always been steeped in doing whatever it takes to get the job done. While Shepard would take issue with the assertion that they share anything in common, her disagreement is ultimately irrelevant. She knows just as well that she will do whatever it takes to get the job done, ethics notwithstanding.
The Illusive Man holds the smoke in his lungs as he considers the work laid out before him. Hope Lilium is dead. She was a talented agent. It's a pity that she decided to turn against Cerberus; her future at the organization was promising. Regardless, clone X8 remains at large. If the surveillance feeds at New Canton showed him anything, it's that X8 developed exceptionally. Her biotic prowess is comparable to Shepard's. Perhaps greater.
The twelve clones were meant to be a perfect match but sometimes there are minuscule factors that cause drastic variances in development. Most didn't yield the desired results. X8 is the only success and she's on the loose. More troubling is the matter in which Harbinger referred to X8 as 'Shepard.' The clones were meant to be scrap material for Commander Shepard. He doesn't need a fully functional double on the loose. Not now when Shepard is coming around. He is not foolish enough, however, to disregard her potential.
He exhales smoke as Kai Leng strides into the room. From the way he carries himself, the Illusive Man knows he has no leads. The Illusive Man wastes no time. "Information on Paul Grayson is slowly trickling in. You'll be expected to drop everything and attend to the matter when I ask."
"Of course."
He nods. "I have recently received word from our labs. Results for the neural implant prototypes are encouraging. X8 is a perfect candidate for the Phantom Project but she still hasn't been retrieved." Kai Leng stiffens at the words, but the Illusive Man is in no hurry to reassure him. If they're going to face the Reapers, they'll need every weapon in their arsenal. The Phantom Project could be a boon to humanity. He massages his skull. His recent headaches are an ongoing battle it would seem. "In the meantime, I want you to get to the clone facility. X3 has been made whole. She will be your first candidate." He flicks the end of his cigarette into the ashtray.
"X3 is viable?" Kai Leng asks.
"X3 has some abnormalities," he readjusts in his chair, "but she'll make a suitable subject. Train her. You failed me once, Leng. See to it that it doesn't happen again."
Kai Leng bows his head, turning to exit. The Illusive Man crushes his cigarette, hoping his faith in Leng has not been misplaced.