Miranda's massaging her neck when Jacob enters the office. Jacob isn't surprised when she immediately ceases the motion, folding her arms on the desk and smiling up at him instead. Anyone would be dazzled by the smile, by her perfection—but Jacob knows her. He sees when she's putting on a show. He sees the hint of dark circles under her eyes. He's never seen her look so tired.
"Heard you're headed to Hagalaz," he places a cup of coffee and saucer in front of her. Her smile is puzzled as her eyes wander back to him. "That's from my personal supply. Decided to stock up when we hit the Citadel a few weeks back. Gardner's stuff isn't fit for human consumption."
"Considerate as always," Miranda says with a grateful nod in his direction. Her fingers smooth over the saucer. Jacob sits across from her without being invited. A small line creases her brow and then it's gone. Miranda doesn't need coffee. She can get by on very little sleep. A benefit of her genetic tailoring. Some time ago she told him about her penchant for drinking the substance, born in some attempt at a teenage rebellion. "Thank you."
"How's the hunt for the Shadow Broker?"
"Oh, you know. The usual hordes trying to kill us, a particularly brutal asari Spectre, our dear Commander Shepard and Liara T'Soni. She's toughened up a bit since we last crossed paths with her. You missed some of Garrus' rapier wit. You're lucky to stay onboard."
"Lucky, yeah," he shakes his head. "You know I don't like to sit on my ass."
"No. You've always been a man of action."
A small silence passes. Miranda drinks delicately. A man of action. One that wasn't enough. It was his decision to end things between them. He knows Miranda isn't perfect. Often times she's too critical, overlooking small strides made in projects, during missions. She keeps her heart sealed under lock and key. She was kind but never open. Jacob used to wonder if the fault lay in his simplicity. Maybe she needed more—more of a challenge, a more patient man who was willing to wait things out. "How's Shepard?"
"Not bad," she says, a bit of surprise in her words. "She's extremely capable, on the battlefield anyway."
"We knew chasing down Collectors wasn't going to be easy. Kasumi's loss was a mistake, but she's gotten us this far. Freedom's Progress, Horizon, the Collector ship—trap. None of that was easy. I don't think we could have done it without her."
"I wasn't expecting you to be an advocate for her. You make fair points."
Miranda lived in a lab for two years, breathing, living and sleeping Shepard. The project was everything. She never made mention of the enormity that was at stake, and aside from the rare cutting comment about Wilson, she didn't complain. It wasn't only her reputation that was at stake with Project Lazarus—it was the survival of the human race. Jacob has witnessed her react to small shifts in well-established plans, things that aren't mistakes, that can't be predicted, and turn to ice as she efficiently came up with alternative solutions. Jacob can't imagine the pressure she's under from, yes, the Illusive Man, but mostly herself. If she suspects anything is off about Shepard, the strain she's under must be intense. But she doesn't complain. Never to him.
"Not everyone can live up to your standards of perfection." Jacob won't take the words back, even as she turns the handle of the coffee mug in the opposite direction and says nothing. "Not even you." His brow furrows. "I know things have been tough." He's never seen Miranda distraught. He doubts he ever will. The Oriana situation is as close as it gets. She didn't come to him about it and he won't bring it up now. "But you can handle anything that gets thrown your way. Including Commander Shepard."
Miranda smiles tiredly, leaning back against the chair. "Tell that to the Illusive Man." It's a slip and they both know it. Jacob makes an excuse and she lets him.
Morinth watches Shepard stare angrily at the stars. In the beginning she visited more frequently. Since the death of Kasumi Goto her visits have dropped considerably, and she offers only curt nods when they pass one another in the hallways. Morinth smiles to herself, thinking of how Shepard nearly bit her head off when she joked that Shepard knocked Kasumi off for having once expressed that something seemed different about Samara.
When she met Shepard at Afterlife, she was strong, flush with power. Morinth wanted her, craved her. Now and then she'll toy with the idea of having Shepard, melding with her. It would be euphoria to taste her, absorb her essence. A part of her wonders if the high would be too much, send her into overload. But she doesn't buy it. Shepard is a person, like any other, not half as immortal as she thinks she is. She should know that lesson particularly well. Morinth would kill her if they melded. She wonders if her mother would approve or disapprove, all things considered.
Now Shepard is wilting. Shepard wanted her once. Morinth saw in her apartment that seducing her would be an easy thing. Does Shepard know how pathetic she looks? She rests an arm against the glass of the observatory, head bowed. When she first came in, her eyes were glassy. Not devoid of emotion, like the husks Morinth leaves behind. They were suffused with feeling, too much of it. Morinth asked questions and Shepard, too stiff, breathing too quickly, was unable to respond.
Morinth rises from the couch, her black heels clacking loudly on the floor like a death knell. She stands behind Shepard, bringing her hands to her shoulders. Shepard lifts her head slightly as Morinth presses to her back. Shepard's body is hard. It's difficult to not feel a little excited. "The little asari did a number on you, didn't she?" Shepard tenses, the white of her Cerberus shirt going taut. Morinth brings her lips to Shepard's ear. They graze there. "She may be Benezia's daughter but she doesn't have her brains." Her hands slide down Shepard's arms. "Only a fool would turn you away."
Shepard only responds with a raspy, tired sigh.
"Take me to Hagalaz with you," this is the reason she invited Shepard into the room to begin with. Shepard turns, her back to the glass this time. Morinth keeps her arms to either side of her. She can read the question in Shepard's eyes and she smiles. "Come on, you know Miranda doesn't really have your back. I do." Plus, the Shadow Broker would make for an exquisite meld. The power to be gleaned from him—or her… would be a boon.
Shepard's eyes are so glassy and clean, unfeeling, that Morinth is momentarily reminded of her mother. She laughs lightly when Shepard takes her arms and reverses their positions, pushing her against the glass. "It's not a good idea. She knows about me and Samara."
Morinth arches an eyebrow. "You and Samara?" There's a moment. "Why Shepard. Did you take advantage of my mother's justicar oath?" she scoffs. "Serves her right for living under such a rigid existence. People like her need rules, morals, codes. They wouldn't know how to function without them."
Shepard is unreadable. Was she expecting anger? Indignation? "I can't screw this up. You're not going. You'll stay away from her while she's onboard."
"That's not fair, Shepard. There aren't many purebloods around. Maybe I get lonely too. It'd be nice to connect. I'm sure there's more than a few things we share in common."
Shepard's only response is a physical one. The air crackles with biotic energy. It's a threat, Morinth knows, Shepard wrapped in tendrils that ebb and pulse dangerously. They look like snakes, writhing and ready to strike. Morinth smiles, lifting her hands in defeat, letting her walk away.
"Hey, Liara. You need to try this." With great effort Joker gets to his feet. Liara feels a pang of sympathy for the trials and tribulations a man with Vrolik syndrome must experience, but he doesn't seem to share her reservations. "Come on, sit down, sit down," he tells her excitedly. Liara smiles wanly, trying to shake the last vestiges of her conversation with Shepard. She sits on the pilot's seat. "Leather…! Nice, huh?" His fingers trail down over the material as if it were a lover. Liara pales slightly. "I'll give it to these Cerberus bastards, they know how to build ships!"
"That you continue to be impressed after all this time speaks to the craftsmanship of the Cerberus R&D teams," EDI pops up. Liara glances at the holographic representation as Joker scowls. Having enough of standing, he waves Liara away to reclaim his seat. "Welcome aboard the Normandy, Liara T'Soni. If you have any need of assistance, please don't hesitate to ask."
"Ah, what does she need you for? She was on the Normandy long before you were," Joker bats an arm at EDI, harmlessly swatting through her. He squares his shoulders against the seat, looking back up at Liara and smiling. "Man, look at you. Never pegged you for a black lipstick kind of girl." He starts laughing, raising his hand as if prepared to tell a joke he found too humorous to tell with a straight face. "Garrus told me that some crazy asari kicked the Commander's ass to the ground and you didn't even flinch! Just kept hauling ass after her. Stone cold, Liara! Kind of hot," he adds as an aside.
Liara frowns gently. How often will that be brought up? If Shepard had done the same no one would question her. "I couldn't lose sight of her," she shrugs gently. The EDI hologram is still as if listening to the conversation. She still doesn't trust Cerberus and is hesitant to speak in front of the AI. "How has she been?"
"I told you! Purring like a dream," he reaches out and pets the haptic interface gingerly. Liara reasons that he needs a girlfriend. He looks at her, arching an eyebrow. She arches her brow in return and he scratches his beard, removes the hat, scratches his head, puts the hat back on. "Oh. You mean, Shepard? Scary as ever! But we need that kind of thing around the Collectors, right? They're not the type you can pull punches with." He clears his throat. "So uh—are you two—" A withering look silences him. "Why doesn't anyone tell me anything? I'm only the pilot that gets people in and out of their missions," he grumbles.
Liara leaves him. The trip to Hagalaz is taking longer than anticipated. She wouldn't put it past Shepard to have instructed Joker to take 'the scenic route.' Things were left tense between them. Liara wonders if she can truly be angry at her. Being brought back from the dead must be a traumatic experience. She was handed to an organization she despises and doesn't trust. The only ones to stand with her are Garrus, Tali, Joker. She must feel so alone.
Shepard always had a reputation for breaking hearts. Liara supposes this time it was her turn. Shepard asked her to join her and Liara declined. She was not honest about how she felt even if Shepard was honest with her. She didn't return her messages. Perhaps it's to be expected.
The feeling gnaws at her from the recesses of her mind but Liara doesn't allow herself to process it. She only wishes there were some space where she could be on her own until they arrived at their destination. The Normandy is bigger than it was before. Brighter. Liara takes the elevator to the third floor. She sees Chakwas in the distance, a grey-haired balding man scowling at a pot on the stove, and the med-bay where she once spent her time.
She ignores all of it, heading instead to the room that was once Shepard's cabin and is now Miranda's. She walks in uninvited, not caring for protocol. There isn't much time. The room is larger than it once was. A spacious bed rests at the back. Liara wonders if Shepard has spent time in it. She has acted as if she hates Miranda Lawson but brought her along to chase after the Shadow Broker. Shepard has never let hatreds get in the way of bedding attractive partners.
"Dr. T'Soni," Miranda says amiably. She nods at a seat but Liara doesn't take it. She waits for the door to slide shut behind her but even then Liara is left without words. "I'm sure things look somewhat different than you remember. Our uniforms may differ from those worn by your SR-1 crewmates, but our mission is essentially the same: stop the Collectors, stop the Reapers. Won't you sit?"
"I'm fine. Thank you." She crosses her arms gently. "I… appreciate your help in this matter. You know better than anyone the trouble the Shadow Broker caused for me. For us." Miranda gives one solitary nod. "Two years later and he remains a thorn in my side."
"Not for much longer."
"You're right." But the words give her no satisfaction. She takes the seat now that it's no longer being offered and crosses one leg over the other. "I must admit, I thought it foolish to think you could really bring her back. Yet here she is, alive and as frustrating as ever." Miranda's eyes brighten lightly though Liara doubts it's at the compliment as much as an agreement over Shepard's personality. "I worried at first. Especially when I first saw her again. She looked terrible," she admits.
"Perfectly normal," Miranda quickly jumps in. "The implants are experimental. They're affected by attitudes and dispositions. Hers … wasn't the most pleasant. No doubt her circumstances caused her significant stress," she talks more to herself than Liara, "resulting in a rejection of the implants. As you can see, she's looking better now."
"Yes. But worse for wear this time around than the last time she visited," Liara says. Miranda's brow furrows thoughtfully at that. Does Miranda not know about Shepard's last visit? Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned it. "Thank you. For taking care of her." Miranda taps a finger on the desk gently and then nods. "As you may know, I keep a close eye on all matters on Illium. Some months ago there was a departure with an asari named Enyala, a man named Niket, and a young woman. Your father's name came up." Liara searches her face but sees nothing that would indicate she'd heard anything out of the ordinary.
The ship jostles and both women stand. { Uh, we're almost there. Looks like there's a mother of a storm, } Joker says over the intercom. { I suggest everyone strap down and hold on tight until I can get us through. }
Liara exits the room without another word. Shepard is in the hallway, appearing unfazed by the heavy rocking of the ship. Liara thinks back to the last time they were together like this. It isn't all too different from the last time she truly saw her alive. Their eyes lock and they take unsteady steps to one another, stopping when they reach a shared destination—a metal column with discreet handles on it. They really did think of everything, Liara thinks with some bitterness. She grasps a handle. Shepard is opposite her, a hand securely on Liara's arm to steady her. "I'm fine, Shepard," she doesn't bother trying to shake the arm, knowing that attempting to do so will only send her sprawling backwards.
Shepard releases her. "Have it your way, T'Soni."
Liara resents herself for the disappointment she feels.
Grace walks ahead with a determined bounce in her step. Hope shakes her head and follows. Ilos is a sweltering ruin. The remaining ruins are only shadows of their former selves. Ilos isn't quite as daunting as it initially was when Shepard came years ago. Asari have set up camps to study the planet, hoping to find salvageable technology, perhaps study the construction of mass relays. Grace spotted a massive frigate while circling the skies for a landing zone. Hope instructed her to steer clear.
They landed the shuttle a good distance from the campsites. Grace bored her on the trip to Ilos, going on about Liara T'Soni's Prothean papers, about Protheans in general, delving into obscure, mind-numbing facts she somehow found terribly interesting. Hope understands the value of the graybox but sometimes wishes she hadn't implanted her with it. Of all the things she'd expected for Shepard – Grace, Shepard, bloody hell – being a nerd wasn't one of them.
"Think there are geth here?" Grace asks.
"Why would there be geth?"
Grace pulls the N7 helmet from her head, shaking her shoulder length brown hair out and tying it up. There are streaks of red in it, presumably from spending an inordinate amount of time in the sun. She holds the helmet at her side. She's taken to the helmet, despite the superiority of the one she'd previously used. Hope has asked why she wears it but has gotten no real response. Hope mulls over her growing secrecy. "Wasn't it overrun by geth once?"
Yes, but Hope doesn't know how Grace would know. She hasn't told her yet. It's possible she's scoured the extranet searching for clues of Shepard's visit two years ago. The information would be classified. Hope has taught her a few tricks, simple hacks that might be used in a pinch. Grace has taken to studying the material while listening to classical music. Hope prefers heavy, pulsing beats to composers who have been dead for centuries but doesn't ask her to stop her ways. She's inclined to think that Grace might go ahead and do what she wants even if Hope were to ask. "I doubt there'd be asari camped out if that were true," she says. All close to the Conduit.
Grace nods, expression thoughtful before excitement permeates her features. She runs over to a grotesque statue of some bizarre creature sitting. Hope scoffs softly. She's like a child. Hope thinks of her skillful mouth. Well. Not always. "Look at this!" She pulls at the massive vines that veil the stone monument, pulling it free to better look at it. It's even more grotesque. Its body is long and hunched over, bald head bowed with what looks curiously like tentacled beards. "Inusannon!" Hope waits, hoping there will be a translation for her gibberish. "They lived here before the Protheans," Grace tells her good-naturedly. She runs her hand along the statue. "This is great."
"Riveting. Let's get going."
Instead of pouting, Grace jauntily leaves the side of the statue and snaps a picture of it with her omni-tool, grinning at Hope, trying to get a picture of her (she quickly moves out of the frame) before they move along. It's hot and muggy. Hope feels her hair beginning to curl. Just once she'd like to go somewhere where she wasn't freezing to death or threatened with heat stroke. Grace is too starry-eyed to be bothered, the only indication that she may be hot is a swipe to her forehead and neck with the back of her hand.
"Shepard came to Ilos to track down Saren," Hope tells her without much enthusiasm, the stifling heat sucking away any energy she may have. "She brought Garrus and your Liara T'Soni." Grace glances back at her curiously. "Geth had in fact overrun the planet. They were working in allegiance with Saren who was after the Conduit. It turned out to be a back door to the Citadel."
"Sounds handy."
"For the Reapers."
Grace frowns. They wander for several more hours, Grace taking more pictures of the landscapes and architecture. Hope muses over Grace, who was inordinately tense prior to arriving on Ilos. Truthfully she's grateful to see her lively as she is now. She seems to grow more sullen by the day, more introspective. She once chattered incessantly and plied her with questions. Recently she only looks at her, as if any answers Hope might give would be unsatisfactory, as if she is content to figure matters out for herself.
They traverse a too-long tunnel before Grace snakes to an opening on the righthand side. Hope curses her under her breath. She's like a puppy. Perhaps a leash would be beneficial. She smirks at the thought and follows her down a lengthy hallway to what looks like a stone podium. The path ends there. Hope looks around her. Stone walls rise high, thick vines and dried out heavy branches spread out like veins on the surface. "Is there a reason we're here?" Hope asks her.
Grace touches the podium, kneeling before it, walking around and tapping it again before looking dispirited. She shakes her head. "No reason. Let's go." Her voice is a soft, frustrated growl.
They're nearing the shuttle when static snaps, breaching their omni-tools. They stare at their instruments but nothing else happens. Hope shrugs. They keep walking when static bursts again.
{ Mayday, mayday! This is Lieutenant Kurin of the Divination! We are under attack, I repeat, we are under attack! Our group consists mostly of unarmed scientists. Unknown shuttles with armed soldiers have arrived. We are on Ilos and requesting immediate assistance! }
The coordinates are given and then there's nothing.
Hope looks at Grace, who's already looking off in the direction of the large frigate they previously saw. The coordinates match. Grace walks with purpose to the shuttle. "No." Grace keeps walking. Hope follows after her, glaring as she sits purposefully on the pilot seat, prepping the shuttle for takeoff. Hope takes hold of her shoulder and pulls. "We can't risk you. They're asari. They're not our concern."
Grace narrows her eyes and yanks the helmet on, pulls her arm free. "We're going."
The violent rocking of the UT-47 Kodiak is enough to make her stomach do flips. Shepard can't remember the last time she ate. She's been far too preoccupied with Liara, who is currently glaring at the shuttle door, itching to get out and onto the Shadow Broker ship. Miranda has kept to herself, looking a little bored, if not mildly irritated at having to be near them while they're in obvious conflict.
"It's probably going to be more of the same," Shepard tells them, trying to ignore the way Liara's arm brushes against hers when the shuttle jostles suddenly. This is the eleventh time. "We cripple their shields, set off biotic detonations. Knock them off the goddamn ship if we can. I don't want to waste any more bullets on this shit."
"Aye aye, Commander," Miranda says lightly.
Is she making fun of her? Her eyes are boring into the back of her skull. Whenever Shepard glances back she's focused on some omni-tool search. Frowning, Shepard glances discreetly at Liara when she can. She thought dying screwed with her. It looks like it took a bigger toll on Liara than it did on her. Shepard can deal with implants. She can deal with the scars. She would give anything to restore whatever it is that Liara lost in the two years that she was gone. The spark in her eyes, the curiosity, her love. Shepard remembers how her cheeks would flush nearly purple when she was embarrassed, when Shepard looked at her, the first time they made love. There's no trace of humor or emotion in her anymore. Part of her is relieved that Liara is livid about her affairs. The other part is terrified that she'll never be able to make it up to her.
They begin the descent to the ship. Liara's arm knocks into her again. Twelve times. Shepard tries to catch her eye but Liara refuses to look at her. When the shuttle door opens, Shepard takes her arm. "We're going to get through this." She doesn't know if she means the mission or the mess their relationship is in. Is she kidding herself to think they're in one anymore? "I'm not giving this up."
"Let's get to Feron," and without waiting for another word she leaps off the shuttle, wavering in the vicious wind for an instant before landing safely. Shepard hadn't known she was holding her breath. She does a running jump, rolling on the landing, nearly losing her balance the moment she stands. Lightning cracks in the sky. Liara's arm shoots out, grabbing hold of her before she tumbles back. Shepard smiles. Liara averts her eyes. "I still need you."
"How sweet," Miranda says landing neatly beside them. Liara releases Shepard and steps back. Miranda primes the M-9 Tempest and moves ahead. "Let's get off this deathtrap, shall we?"
There's a host of dead asari littering the ground when Grace lands the shuttle. She quickly unbuckles her seat belt and gets to her feet. Hope is scowling beside her, checking weapons. The Divination is a large vessel. Several unrecognized shuttles surround it. Grace picks up several lift grenades and a few frag grenades, clipping them to her belt, leaving the majority of the frag grenades for Hope.
The air smells hot and rusty when the shuttle door opens. Hope slams a clip into the M-97 Viper before double-checking the M-11 Wraith. Grace unholsters the Paladin. "Cloak and cover me," Grace orders Hope. She doesn't look back.
Gunshots pepper the air. Grace hears panicked screaming and moves faster, dodging and weaving her way through the bodies. Purple blood trails down the mouth of an unseeing asari. Others only have part of their heads remaining. Scientists. She thinks of Liara T'Soni, suffering the same fate as these women have—victim to whatever force has come to end their lives.
She finds cover behind a stack of crates and gets a visual on some mercenaries. Some are asari with tech armor, gunning down scientists, shaking them for answers. She's nearly taken by surprise when one comes around the corner. Grace grabs her, slamming her to the ground. A flick of biotics with her wrist and she's snapped her neck. She doesn't recognize the three-point star that emblazons her armor, but Hope does. "Shadow Broker," she whispers fiercely, putting a hand on Grace's arm. "We don't need this. We can still leave."
Grace shakes off the hand. The Shadow Broker. The name sounds vaguely familiar, ominous. It doesn't matter. She runs ahead, sneaking behind one of the shuttles with its door open. There are five mercenaries inside laughing and having gulps of liquid from a canteen. Grace pulls the pin from a frag grenade and tosses it gently into the shuttle. She pulls the door shut biotically, hearing the mercenaries' shrieks before they're cut short by a muffled explosion.
The shuttle bursts into flame, black smoke billowing out. Cries of alarm sound and Grace hears mercenaries running towards her. She chucks a lift grenade at them when they're in sight. It goes off with a boom, sending them reeling in the air. It's then that she hears the sound of the sniper rifle, relieving the mercenaries of their heads, leaving their bodies to spin bloody designs on the ground before crashing with a thud.
She'll have to thank Hope for that later, as unlikely as it is that Hope will want to speak to her. The mercenaries are reckless. They likely didn't expect much resistance. Unarmed scientists, was it? As she moves, she hears the sound of the sniper rifle ringing sharply, and more desperate shouts from the mercenaries. Stay cloaked, Hope. She should have stopped long enough to tell her to leave if the situation got too hot, if something happened to her. She was zealous. It's pointless. Hope wouldn't leave without her, would she?
There's no time to think about it. An asari clad in black leathers drops down in front of her, wrapped in biotic power, Disciple shotgun aimed squarely at her. "You're not dressed like them," she tells her.
"Put the gun down."
"No way. Do you know how many we've lost here today? In minutes?" The asari is a relatively young one with pink face markings along her brow and jawline, descending down to her neck. Grace can't quite make out the color of her skin. The endless orange cast of the sun bleeds into everything. "Tell me who you are." Her voice shakes but Grace doesn't know if it's from anger or nerves.
Grace bites her tongue. Hope has fired off three more shots. They don't have time to waste. "I'm Commander Shepard." The asari looks at her, unsure. Grace reluctantly removes the helmet, feeling herself grow sweaty and nauseated at the lie. What the hell can 'Grace' do for her now? How will it help the woman whose team is getting butchered? "I'm here to help."
"Commander Shepard," she says hastily. "You saved the Destiny Ascension." Grace nods slowly. The asari lowers her gun. "All right. Goddess. I'm Lieutenant Kurin. I didn't expect anyone to hear my distress call. I can't believe my luck. With you at our side some of us might be able to make it out of here. I don't know who these guys are—"
Grace slips the helmet back on. "They're with the Shadow Broker."
"Shit. He's involved?" A flurry of shots and the two of them make a dash for some cover alongside the flank of the ship. Bullets ping off the metal exterior. "Asari are instructed in biotics from birth, but the ones here never went the way of being huntresses," she swallows anxiously. "They're just scientists."
"I'm assuming since you're here to guard them you know how to handle yourself."
"Yeah. You're a biotic too—if those ANN pieces and Illium stories are right." Her composure hardens, determination sparking in her blue eyes. "We'll set off some detonations. There's still a small team—" she says anxiously.
"We're going to get you and them out of here, Lieutenant," Grace gives her a few of her grenades. "If the Shadow Broker wants his people back, we'll send the bastards back in pieces."
Lieutenant Kurin smiles with relief. She gives a solid nod. Grace charges.
Miranda wonders if there's any way Cerberus could take over the Shadow Broker ship. Normally she'd have suggested it, but haste is of the essence and she understands that Liara's task is delicate. It's likely Shepard would shoot the idea down regardless. Despite Shepard's jealousy, she's agreed to release Feron.
The man on the slab is hardly the one Miranda remembers. She doesn't spend much time examining drell but the Feron she remembered was mischievous, his eyes seeming to glint despite the impossibility. He has aged after two years of captivity and torture. The contraption attached to him looks rigged to flood his nervous system with pain should he speak or struggle. He's pale and sweaty, growing more so when Shepard continues to plow him with questions.
Perhaps if he'd been loyal to Cerberus he wouldn't be in this position. She's hard pressed to find why he'd join a human survivalist organization—if he had, she wouldn't have trusted him. He worked for the Shadow Broker. But, in the end, they have him to thank for Shepard.
Shepard and Liara have alternated between bickering like an old couple and exchanging genuinely amusing banter. If Liara helps Shepard's state of mind, helps her focus, then all the better for it. Liara must be under a good deal of stress as well. How else could she explain stating that Shepard looked worse for wear this time around? The last time Shepard went to Illium, her body was rejecting the implants. Reaper technology at its finest, Miranda thinks dryly. Regardless, it got the job done and she and Cerberus succeeded where no other would.
Now they catch their breath. This brief moment with Feron is their only opportunity for respite after fighting through hordes of the Shadow Broker's soldiers. They may be closing in on him. Miranda rubs her shoulder. She took a bullet and it still itches from the medi-gel Shepard quite literally slapped onto her. Still, she's able to use her pistol so she can't complain too much. At least now Shepard isn't just staring after Liara like a lost puppy. She's also trying and failing to stop herself from glaring at Feron.
"He knows we're here," Liara says softly. "I'm afraid he'll hit a 'kill switch' and take him from us." She presses to the glass, peering at him. Miranda wonders if he grimaces because he heard the words.
"That's not going to happen," Shepard cocks her shotgun. "We'll get him and you out of here."
"After we kill the Shadow Broker."
"Right, right. If the ship goes down, the Shadow Broker goes down with us," Shepard smiles wryly. "Anyone ever tell you your priorities are kind of screwed up, T'Soni?"
"Oh?" The irritation is clear in her voice. Liara crosses her arms but she's trying not to smile. "You're one to talk."
Miranda clears her throat. "Shall I go take care of the Shadow Broker while you finish…whatever this is up?" The Shadow Broker has got to be just about out of soldiers but that still leaves him to contend with. For all she knows he's got the room outfitted with turrets. Walking in could be an instant death sentence. Shepard glares at her. Miranda is surprised that she feels some small degree of pity for her. Miranda can't recall a time Shepard has looked so happy—lively—despite the clearly troubled situation between them. "Or you two could deal with the Broker while I try to extricate Feron from this…contraption?"
"Do it," Shepard says. "Unless T'Soni has an objection?"
"'T'Soni' does not. Let's go, Shepard."
Liara rushes ahead. Shepard walks backwards for a moment, smiling at Miranda before turning on her heel to chase after the asari. Miranda turns her attention towards Feron. The chair he's been strapped to is a mean one. Jack would argue that Cerberus has done far worse, but what is Jack except a little girl who thinks she knows what's happened? She can't imagine the emotional trauma the woman endured to believe the things that she does. She can't blame an entire organization for one rogue faction.
Miranda lifts a hand and touches the glass window separating her and Feron. Biotic energy pulses along the glass until it starts to crack little by little. Soon it's reduced to a clear mosaic. A swift push and it falls apart. She jumps to the other side and studies the chair Feron's attached to. There must be some way to disarm it. She brought Shepard back from the dead. She can figure out a simple trap.
"I'll have you out of here in no time," she tells him. Time is relative. After two years of torture it might not feel like any time at all. Or perhaps a moment of torture is never-ending.
Lieutenant Kurin is a fierce biotic and a skillful shot. It doesn't take Grace long to cast away any doubt she may have had. Together they mop up the remaining mercenaries, managing to save a dozen or so scientists. She is annoyed that one of the Shadow Broker's men—a surprisingly large and aggressive salarian—manages to make it to a shuttle and escape.
Still, the outcome is acceptable. They search the surrounding area. They find a handful of survivors and diligently apply medi-gel to the wounded. Hope joins them not too long after, her expression sour. She introduces herself reluctantly to Kurin by the name of Helen Smith.
Her accent is gone again but Grace doesn't ask. The moment Kurin turns to speak to the scientists, Hope snaps at Grace. "We're not on the bloody Normandy. We can't afford to give out the limited medi-gel we have as if we had an infinite stock in the infirmary. What will we do if you need it?" Grace shrugs in response. Hope is ready to berate her further when Kurin returns. "Any idea why the Shadow Broker would be after you?"
"The Conduit." Kurin allows a beat. "Has to be. This team's been here since—well, since you were last here," she tells Grace. "We believe it's a back door to the Citadel. I'd ask you but I'm sure you'd tell me it's classified." Grace looks around as asari usher survivors onto the Divination. They've been patched up but some are still bleeding. They'll live but no doubt they'll be scarred by the events, remembering those they lost. Grace thinks of her CAT6 team. Fucking Collectors. "Anyway, it's possible to move it. We were in the final stages of preparing for that possibility. If the Reapers are real—"
"They are," Grace says firmly, surprised at her own conviction. She catches the sideways glance that Hope gives her.
"Then it'd be best to take it to an undisclosed location."
"Isn't that something Commander Shepard should be privy to?" Hope asks. Kurin looks skittishly between the two women. "If anyone is going to stop the Reapers, it'll be her. Seems to me something like that would be good to know."
"Sorry, but that's not up to me. And as far as I know, the Alliance has denied any existence of the Reapers. As has the Council. On Thessia… I can only say that our homeworld has a vested interest in keeping their options open and safeguards in place." Kurin's explanation nets only a frown from Hope. "And even that is saying too much." She bites her lip. "I'm unsure if reinforcements are on the way. We're lucky our pilot survived. It's all thanks to the two of you. I wish I could thank you somehow—"
"Perhaps some credits—" Hope suggests.
"That won't be necessary," Grace cuts Hope off before she can finish. "I understand the need for urgency. Whatever you're planning, it'd best be done quickly. If the Shadow Broker is after you, no doubt it's important." Kurin nods gratefully. They shake hands. "Good luck, Lieutenant."
"Same to you, Commander. And thank you." Kurin holds her hand an instant longer than Grace anticipated before letting go. She smiles before turning, climbing the ramp onto the Divination.
"You told her you were Shepard?" Hope asks once Kurin's out of earshot. Her voice is even despite the incredulity she must be experiencing.
"She wouldn't put her gun down."
"At this rate I could shoot you myself. That's just brilliant. While you were at it why not tell her you're a—" she cuts herself off and glares in another direction.
"A what?"
Hope rubs her eyes. "Never mind. Let's get out of here." They return to the shuttle, Hope's mood becoming fouler by the moment.
Grace tries to mend the situation but isn't sure how to reason with her. "We did the right thing. You know we did the right thing." She takes the pilot seat, buckling the seatbelt as Hope yanks the shuttle door closed.
"They're asari. Asari who are clearly up to something with that Conduit. Something they refuse to tell even 'Commander Shepard.' They're only out for themselves. How are you so naïve? You're risking yourself just as stupidly as Shepard."
"Who cares what they are? A life is a life." She fixates on the command console in front of her, afraid she'll say something she regrets.
Shepard's eyebrow is gashed open and bleeding, along with her split lip. It reminds Liara of the scars she had before being reconstructed. She remembers the divot in Shepard's lips when their lips brushed together. She ignores the memory now to look around the room. Power has been restored. Feron and Miranda ran in to aid them—all too late. Shepard's hardsuit is nearly obliterated. A massive dead yahg lies sprawled on its back, broken glass everywhere. Liara is the Shadow Broker now.
The power is… tantalizing. Far more than any biotic prowess could grant her. Feron is safe. Injured, bleeding and skittish but alive. Miranda has offered to return him to the Normandy for a short period of time to have Chakwas look him over. Liara accepts the invitation on his behalf.
It leaves her and Shepard in a metal tomb, her new domain. The holographic glowing ball bounds around the room, inquisitive and eager to offer assistance. Liara pays it no attention. Whatever it is will be useful in the future. Now she's trying to process the enormous undertaking at hand. What is she doing? Is it right…? But if not her, who? The network is far too valuable to leave unattended, to leave for some other to discover and take over.
She stares at the volley of intelligence reports coming in. Some from Eden Prime, others from Ilos. There's so much of it, so much to discover. It is like a Prothean dig site, but alive and evolving. Shepard looks around the space as if a little lost. "We're going to have fun dragging this bastard out. Unless you plan to skin him and keep him as a rug. Too bad there isn't a fireplace."
Liara grimaces. "He's a yahg, not some animal." Though she does bring up a very interesting question. How does one remove something of that size? That and his personal army. It'll be a gruesome and time-draining process. "Here," she removes some medi-gel from her belt, applying it to Shepard's eyebrow and lips before she can protest. Shepard hisses softly as her skin stitches back together. "You took quite a beating." Shepard is a tall woman, but next to the yahg she looked small.
"The bigger they are, the faster they beat you into unconsciousness," she smiles faintly. Liara sees the hope in her face and pulls away reluctantly. "Feron is safe. The Shadow Broker is dead. Looks like all your dreams came true."
"Yes. Thanks to you." There's a pause. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd be able to get anything done if it weren't for your help."
"Managed to get me to Cerberus and away from the Collectors. I'd say that's a sizable feat."
"Perhaps." Liara rubs her forehead softly. "It's going to take so long to go through all of this. It's a good thing I'm an asari. Everything that is stored here—it could take centuries just to go through it all."
"You're sure you want to do this?" Shepard asks. Liara looks at her. Shepard wipes her face, smearing blood along her chin and cheeks, her lips. "What does this mean?" Liara waits. "I thought…" she considers. "I thought after all of this was done, you'd come with me. Now you're on another mission. A big one. Do you have to do this?" Liara frowns. "Leave it for someone else."
"I can't do that. I cannot risk it. Shepard—this has the galaxy's secrets. The Shadow Broker is omnipotent—like a goddess or god. The information stored in this station will be essential against the Reapers." She sighs softly. "Why do you look so uncertain? Do you think I'm not capable?"
"For fuck's sake. Who would ever think you're not capable?" Shepard moves to a console and touches it absently. Liara stares at her back. Her armor is splintered. Her shoulders are hunched, head bowed. "I thought... I just thought after this was over, we could work on us again. You'd come aboard the Normandy. Or maybe not," she shakes her head. "We could run away. Get married. Have kids. Spend our time together."
"We won't have much time if we don't stop the Reapers," Liara sounds too sharp and she immediately regrets her tone. Shepard was never one to speak so concretely of commitment, Goddess, of having children! When Shepard died, Liara thought of all their missed opportunities. She imagined herself as Shepard's bondmate, of having her children. It made her sob then. It makes her sad now. "I am sorry but… we can't just live for ourselves anymore. And you'd be bored."
"So, what, you're willing to throw everything away to take on a new responsibility?"
"I can't believe you. You're accusing me of throwing everything away?" Liara asks, her temper flaring again. "How are you so irresponsible? So childish? We can focus on stopping the Reapers or we can focus on us. Were you worried about throwing things away when you were making the rounds on the Normandy?" she demands. Shepard turns around. She looks sad and small. "Well. Have you anything to say about it? You admitted it. Am I supposed to be grateful?"
Shepard parts her lips but can't look at her. She covers her face with her hands. Liara wonders if she's crying. She can't be. She lowers her hands. Her cheeks are dry but her eyes are wet, narrowed as if to keep the tears in. "You have no idea what it's like to die and come back and have everything be different. I'm different." She steps towards her. "I feel crazy." She drags her hand through her hair. "I needed you. I needed you, Liara. You weren't there. You wouldn't even consider it. I'm not you. I'm not as strong as you are. All right? Is that what you wanted to hear? I was lonely and miserable and I wanted to forget, for one fucking minute the Frankenstein I came back as. I did things I shouldn't have. I was wrong. I hated them. I hated myself. I hated you. I hated you for not… I thought you didn't love me. I thought you couldn't love me." Her words catch in her throat. "I need you. Everything that's happened with people who just happened to be handy… it just made me feel shittier and more alone. Every day I try to measure up to what you deserve and every day I fuck it up." She shakes her head. "You're the only worthwhile thing I have anymore." Her words stall sharply again. "I can't say anything to make it better. I'm not expecting you to forgive me. I love you. Please don't give up on me. Please let me make it up to you. I'm lost without you. I'm nothing without you."
Liara can only take it in. The words have rendered her speechless. Her throat is tight. Her heart pounds wildly. "That isn't true," she manages. It's such a clean, simple thing to say to her emotional outpouring. Perhaps Shepard did return differently. She was never so direct before. Never so desperate. It's as if she were hanging by a thread. Liara cautiously goes to her. She touches her face and brings her close. Shepard settles her forehead on Liara's shoulder. She shakes without making a sound. She smells of sweat and blood. She's solid. Real. Alive. Not some tangible ghost. Liara runs her fingers over her hair and realizes she's already forgiven her.
The problem is that she's everything about Shepard that was wrong: impulsive, reckless, sentimental. Hope fears that once more Earth and humanity will be put on the backburner to pursue diplomatic, politically correct goals. The problem is that people feel guilty in acknowledging they need an edge. Pride becomes a mortal sin.
Shepard—Grace, reclines against a stack of pillows on the bed. She came away from the fighting on Ilos unscathed. She has her headphones on, listening to the music player Hope brought her the day she ordered the hit on her. She looks peaceful and soft. She isn't, Hope reminds herself, but it can be confusing.
Grace has shadows under her eyes. They traveled a long time in relative silence. She dons sweatpants and a black hoodie—the previous one worn during the massacre in Therum was thrown away. Hope crawls onto the bed on all fours, wearing only a spaghetti-strapped shirt and shorts. If Grace notices she doesn't acknowledge her. Her finger taps absently on her leg to some rhythm.
Hope pulls one of the earplugs free and puts the bud into her ear, resting on the mountain of pillows alongside Grace. Black Mass. She doesn't remember the composer. Hope only knows it from Grace. The piece is erratic and tense, conflicting and panicked. "I don't like this one," she tells Grace. Grace absently changes the track. This one she recognizes. Air by Beethoven, a violin version. Grace would correct her on the sonata movement, she's sure. The shift in music relaxes her. This is a more uplifting piece with an undercurrent of sadness and longing. She's sure she doesn't enjoy it as others might. Beauty is ultimately a façade for something nefarious. "You don't understand me," Hope says.
"You don't want me to."
She's right but Hope doesn't concede the point. To do so would distract from the conversation. Hope shifts slightly onto her side, resting a hand on Grace's stomach. She waits for Grace to try to take it, as she often tried to before, but she doesn't. Hope is unsure if Grace has finally learned the proper nature of what happens between them or if she's simply growing tired of her. "You're important. You could be the only thing standing between Earth and the Reapers."
"The Reapers are greater than just Earth." She sighs softly, rubbing her eyes. "I think," she adds more hesitantly. "You know, sometimes I wish you cared more about me than just as a means to an end." The music continues to play softly in her ear. Hope listens for a long time and wonders if it calms Grace. It makes her tense. "Shepard can stand against the Reapers."
"She can't. She won't. You know that. I thought you understood." She lifts her face slightly to look at her. "Have you forgotten your promise already?" Hope isn't sure what it means when Grace averts her eyes. "You're Shepard." Her hand slides beneath the hoodie, gliding along her skin. It's warm, soft. Maybe they complement each other. Warm and soft to Hope's cold and hard.
"Two people can't be the same person, no matter how badly you may want it." She scoots closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Hope tenses and frowns. Minutes pass. Her body softens, somehow. "There won't be two of you."
"I want to tell you something," Grace says. Hope stiffens again. She awaits another wretched love confession. "I don't remember my past. I have… feelings. Reactions. I get so panicked sometimes that I can't breathe." Hope's frown deepens. She does? She has? It's unexpected. She was meant to be free of Shepard's clutter. "All I have is now and the future and you at my side. I respect you. But I won't let people die when I can help them. I won't wait for someone else to get around to it because they aren't human. I'm not like that. You're not like that. You can't be like that."
Hope leans into her, unsure if Grace is repeating a mantra or stating a command. "You're so common." This time Grace goes rigid. They remain twined together resentfully for minutes.
"You're a coward," Grace returns gently. Hope isn't sure she heard the words. She wonders if they're meant to feel like an icicle in her belly. Maybe she's sick. Maybe she hates having her professionalism questioned. "Do what you want but I'm not going to let fear or your stupid guidelines compromise who I am. I have to be able to look at myself in the mirror."
Hope closes her eyes. The ascending music in her ear makes her feel like she's freefalling. Then it's ripped away and she's left with only the stillness and quiet of the room. Grace sets the music player aside on the nightstand. Her chest falls and rises. Hope pushes herself to a sitting before straddling her. Grace brings her hands to Hope's hips. Hope cradles Grace's head in her hands. "You're going to disappoint me." It's difficult to get the words out cleanly and stripped of emotion. "Please don't ruin everything we've worked for. Please."
"When have I ever made you proud?" The words are another icy stab between her ribs. Hope's losing control. She's losing control of her. Panic burns within. Grace pulls Hope's hands away, kisses them. "Hey. Don't look that way."
What way? The soft pressure of her lips against her own is no answer. What way, she wonders again? Disappointed? Disgusted? One of them sighs. Hope doesn't know which. A happy sigh, a sad sigh, tired sigh, disappointed sigh, angry sigh. She doesn't know. As her lips part under Grace's gentle insistence she still doesn't know.