Per Aspera: Part One

by Indiannahjones

During the events of the War, Shepard finds herself unexpectedly pregnant with a cross-species baby. She decides to keep her pregnancy a secret as her responsibilities begin to multiply with the war drawing ever closer to a catastrophic head, but as time passes she finds her secret harder and harder to keep... and the decision on what to do with her child nearly impossible to make.

5. WEEK TWO, Pt2

Unfortunately, the alarm had not been, as Wiks had hoped, nothing.

As little as Shepard or any of the members of her drop team would have liked to admit it, getting the female krogan off of TuChanka had been no easy feat. Their happy reunion with Mordin down in the labs had been painfully short-lived, as, less than five minutes after the initial alarm had begun to blare, warning the inhabitants of the building that they were under attack, Cerberus had shut down the main power grid to the research facility. The speed with which they had managed to locate and disable this was cause enough for alarm in itself, but it seemed their troubles with the power system were not fated to stop there.

The sudden lack of power to the building had caused the electronically-operated doors and elevators to lock tight, cutting off their easiest access routes, and, worst of all, it had caused all the electric-structure cages to power down, releasing all of the angry, pent-up yahgs that Wiks and his team had been supposedly trying to 'uplift'. Shepard and her crew had encountered one of these yahgs on their way to the top floor, but it had only seemed interested in staring them down for a frozen moment, learning each of their faces, before darting off, tossing its hefty weight across the room with its gorilla arms before disappearing through a self-made hole in the opposite wall.

"Careful, there goes the next Shadow Broker," Garrus had quipped, always the comedian.

"That's not funny," Liara had objected.

"It's a little funny," Garrus had returned.

"No," Liara had said. And that was the end of that.

The fact that salarians seemed to have a thing for huge, open windows had been both a blessing and a curse in this instance – while Shepard could still be thankful that it was broad daylight outside, thereby making the sudden lack of interior lighting only an inconvenience at best, the giant panoramic windows meant it was that much easier for Cerberus troops to drop in at any moment and surprise their party. Things got even tougher on the second level, where Shepard had developed a sudden stitch in her side after ducking a little too quickly into cover, but she had powered silently through it, not wanting to slow down the mission due to a minor inconvenience like a pulled muscle. She was Commander Shepard, after all – that, and she knew that if Garrus ever found out she had gotten winded on a routine mission, she would never hear the end of it.

By the time they reached the third level, Mordin had managed to turn on the emergency power and had begun rerouting what he could to the female krogan's containment pod. It was a hard uphill battle getting to the fourth level and taking out Cerberus' big guns after that, but they had managed to pull through with some help from Mordin and Wrex. Wrex had also attempted to help himself to the female krogan after all was said and done, but it seemed she wanted very little to do with it, or him – and so, with Mordin and the female krogan now in tow, the battle-worn party had made their way back to the Normandy for some much-needed respite and care.

It did not take long for Mordin to take up his familiar post in the Normandy's infirmary, much to Chakwas' dismay on the subject. She was not a fan of being displaced, it seemed, though she admitted that not having medbay duty meant she had much more freedom to move around the ship and mingle. "Which would be ideal, admittedly," she had said to Shepard, crossing her thin legs delicately at the ankles as she sat at one of the mess hall tables, idly entertaining herself with a crossword puzzle on her omni-tool. "If only I actually mingled."

"Don't feel like rubbing elbows with the common folk?" Shepard had joked, leaning on her palms against the cool metal surface of the mess table.

Chakwas had looked up at her at this, seeming a bit taken aback, as if not understanding the joke at first. Then, taking a deep breath, she had let it out in a soft, wistful sigh. "You know that's not right," she had replied, turning her attention back to her crossword puzzle. "I just… I'm not a very good conversationalist, Shepard. That's all there is to it." At this, she had paused once more, before turning and looking up at Shepard again. "You know how that is," she told her, matter-of-factly.

Shepard faltered, unsure how to respond. Then, finally, she had answered, haltingly, "Yeah." It was not an insult, after all – merely the truth, as Chakwas knew. While Shepard had a gift for giving courage-inspiring speeches to rally her troops, when it came to interpersonal reactions like smalltalk, she often froze up, unsure of what to say.

Reaching out an understanding hand, Chakwas had patted the Commander's hand with it, offering up a sympathetic smile. "Good talking with you, Shepard," she had told her, genially, before turning away and returning to her crossword puzzle once more.

"Yeah," Shepard had responded again. Then, realizing the conversation to be over, she had turned to head back to the medbay, eager to check in on Mordin and see how the female krogan was faring.

Mordin was consulting with the female krogan at the far end of the medbay when the doors parted to allow Shepard inside, and though she only managed to catch the tail end of the conversation, it was pretty easy for her to figure out what the two had been talking about before her arrival. "Aware krogan females find scars attractive," Mordin said, staring interestedly down at his digital clipboard. "Garrus loyal, reasonably intelligent. Bit aggressive… almost like krogan."

"For the third time, Doctor," the female krogan retorted, her voice gruff with irritation, "I'm not interested."

Mordin retrieved his datapad, taking a quick breath inward, before turning to look at his newest visitor. "Shepard," he said, moving away from the female krogan and towards the Commander, seeming almost glad for a break in the conversation. "Good to see you. Was worried you might be Urdnot Wrex. Glad to see you aren't."

"Wrex came by earlier?" Shepard asked. It was hardly surprising, considering, but she had to wonder why she had not heard about it from Wrex before hearing it from Mordin. She guessed he did not want to make it too common of knowledge that he was cooperating with the salarian doctor for fear that harmful and slanderous rumours might start to surface – like that the leader of the famous Clan Urdnot was actually compliant and cordial.

"Wanted to make sure female was being taken care of," Mordin specified. "Understandable. Still, distracting. Unpleasant. Left without giving tissue sample."

"He'll be back," Shepard assured him.

"Has to be," Mordin replied, matter-of-factly. "Can't cure genophage without his sample. Still, wish he were more cooperative. Female of the species much more agreeable."

"Aren't we always?" Shepard joked.

"Not necessarily," Mordin answered, pragmatically. "Females sometimes irrational ones. Send crew on suicide mission. Take on Reapers single-handedly. Not always best decision-makers. Excellent leaders, though."

"Flatterer," Shepard chuckled, folding her arms over her chest. "So what's the story on the female, then? Anything you can tell me? Any new developments I should know about?"

"Ran bloodwork on female krogan," Mordin answered, his voice suddenly dropping so that only Shepard could hear the conversation. "Results indicate significant stress on Eve's system. Maelon's data thorough – fortunately, detailed as well. Used notes to improve her condition."

"Eve?" Shepard asked.

"Yes," Mordin answered, indicating no obligation to explain further.

"Have you determined why Eve is immune?" Shepard asked, giving up on her previous inquiry.

"Genophage targeted hormone production during pregnancy," Mordin replied. "Modification project used same modality. Her 'immunity' totally different. Targeted glands now obsolete. Like human appendix. Other glands mutated to produce proper hormones. Enable viable birth. Also explains her weakness. Gland substitution imperfect. Health trouble."

"You think you can make this work for all krogan?" Shepard asked, eagerly.

"Yes," Mordin answered, sounding hopeful, tucking his hands keenly behind his back. "Can use Eve's tissue to produce mutagen. Alter gland function across entire species." He hesitated a moment, mulling this over, before finally adding, thoughtfully, "Must improve mutagen as well. Tune hormone production. Long-term illness for all krogan otherwise."

Shepard nodded, thankful that Mordin seemed to know what he was doing better than she ever could – to her, the idea of creating a cure for an entire species from scratch was nothing short of incredible, but to him, it seemed like just another cheerful science experiment. Mordin had a way about him that made everything seem like a science experiment to him, a trait Shepard had found to be offputting at first, but which she had grown unexplainably fond of over time. Wetting her lips, she took a step forward, clearing her throat and leaning in towards him. "Listen," she said. "Mordin. I don't want to interrupt your work, but… if you've ever got some time, after you get the cure figured out and if you don't mind…"

"You have medical discrepancy, I assume?" Mordin asked, cutting her off, not even bothering to keep his voice down anymore.

Shepard hesitated, considering whether to answer truthfully or to lie and let him get back to work, before clearing her throat and nodding, rolling her shoulders back. "Yes," she answered, candidly. "But it's really not anything important, honestly. It can wait until after you're done curing the ge—"

"Can take a look right now, if you like," Mordin told her, cutting her off again. "Commander's health important to mission. Can't have leader getting sick. Bad for crew morale." Picking up a needle, he held out a thin hand for her arm. "I'll just take some blood," he told her. "Run some tests. Be back to health in no time."

"No, it's… it's not that," Shepard said, but before she could object, Mordin had already pressed the needle into the crook of her arm, drawing a small amount of blood, before sliding it into the base of the metal bar along the edge of his datapad and letting it read the results. Retrieving her arm, Shepard pressed the pad of her opposite thumb to the bloody pinprick, making a face. "Mordin, it's… it's a different kind of problem," she told him. "It's a… it's more like a… skin problem. A surface ailment."

"Show me," Mordin replied, direct, setting his datapad aside on his desk and making a gesturing motion for her to bring forward her wounded body part. "Show me epidermal issue."

"No, Mordin, it's…" Shepard winced, glancing over her shoulder towards Eve before looking back at Mordin again, almost pleading with him. "It's a skin problem… down there," she specified, muttering through gritted teeth.

"STD?" Mordin asked.

"N… no," Shepard faltered, taken aback, pulling her thumb away from the crook of her arm. "It's just… I just have a rash, is all. I don't think—"

"Show me," Mordin insisted. "Can't diagnose what I can't see. Take off pants. Show me rash."

Shepard hesitated, unsure what the right thing to do was in the current situation. Then, giving a short, capitulating sigh, she began to unfasten her pants. "I just want you to know," she told both Mordin and Eve, trying to stay lighthearted, "this is my first time getting naked in front of a salarian and a krogan at the same time."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Mordin answered, waving his free hand matter-of-factly. "Krogan also female. Shouldn't mind. Good getting-to-know-one-another ritual."

"Do you undress in front of your male friends a lot, Mordin?" Shepard joked, starting to pull her pants off, one leg at a time. "As a getting-to-know-one-another ritual?"

"Male friends, no," Mordin answered, half-joking. "Female friends, more likely. Very good getting-to-know-one-another ritual. If you catch my drift."

"I caught it, don't worry," Shepard replied, grinning and folding her pants in half before tossing them onto the empty hospital cot across from the female krogan. Glancing back towards Eve, she offered her an apologetic smile, feeling suddenly self-conscious, her hands drifting backwards in a half-conscious effort to cover her posterior from view. "Sorry about this," she said.

"I don't mind, Commander," Eve replied, unruffled. "It's not an unpleasant view."

Shepard chuckled, letting her hands fall back to her sides again, before turning to face Mordin, her fingers starting to trail down the interior of her thighs, searching for the familiar texture of the rash. "There," she finally said, tapping her fingers against the patch of raw skin. "Right there. What is that? Is it something I should be worried about?"

Bending forward to get a better look at what it was she was indicating, Mordin paused, staring at the remnants of the rash, and tapped one tapered finger against his weak chin, his umber eyes narrowing as he observed the unusual colouration. "Hm," he commented, curt, before seeming to appear satisfied with his observation and turning away from her again.

"What is it?" Shepard asked, surprised by the short examination, bending to look at the gap between her legs and running her fingers along the rash before straightening again to face the salarian doctor. "Is it bad? Will it scar?"

"Scarring highly unlikely," Mordin answered casually, pulling a small, white box from a shelf of the infirmary and setting it on the counter. "Rash merely superficial. Allergic reaction. Only outermost layer of epidermis effected. Flesh wound. Not serious." Popping open the top of the standard-issue medical kit, he removed a compact tube from it before closing the lid and sliding it onto the shelf once more. Then, turning away from the counter, he held out the tube towards Shepard, who took it, only glancing at it momentarily before setting it aside on the cot with her pants. "Regular applications of medi-sav should do the trick," the salarian doctor informed her, giving a faint bob of his head. "Rash should clear up in a few days."

"That's all?" Shepard asked, surprised by the short timeframe.

"If proper care is taken," Mordin replied. "Don't forget to apply medi-sav daily." Then, turning, he caught sight of Shepard distractedly scratching her rash, and reached forward, giving her upper arm a scolding tap. "Don't scratch," he told her. "Tap instead. Much better for recovery time."

"Accidentally ordered the wrong lube from Fornax magazine, did you, Commander?" Eve asked, amused.

Had Shepard been drinking anything at the time, she would have spit it out all over her lap. As it was, she nearly choked on her own tongue at these words, and for a moment, she could do nothing but stare. Finally, clearing her throat, she wet her suddenly dry lips, giving a hoarse breath of a laugh as she sat down on the cot across from Eve's, her hand resting anxiously on her small, assigned tube of medi-sav. "You… you know about Fornax magazine?" she asked, trying to veer the conversation back towards something a little less personal.

Shifting her seat on the cot, Eve gave a deep, knowing laugh, shaking her broad head, causing her headscarf-bangles to jingle with the motion. "Just because I am a shaman does not mean I am not informed, Commander," she answered. "Many of the men on Tuchanka have subscriptions to it. Even the most disciplined of male krogan have needs, and ever since the genophage forced us to separate the females into specialized camps for their own protection, away from the fighting, and the politics… and the men…" Here she paused, as if to give her statement some extra modicum of weight with the telling silence, before taking another deep breath. "Sometimes rather deficient substitutes – like Fornax – are all they have when… more preferable alternatives are not readily available to them."

"Grunt had copies of asari issues," Mordin put in, not pausing from his busywork, seeming completely unfazed by the conversation at hand. "Back when he was part of crew. Kept them hidden under floor panels. Asked me about asari physiology once. How I came to learn about them. Not sure how he got hold of them." He paused then, looking up from his work to take a long, nasal breath, before turning his intelligent auburn eyes onto Shepard, pinning her to her seat with his gaze. "Think he might have stolen them from you, Shepard," he said.

"What, because I had an asari girlfriend once, suddenly I'm subscribed to a magazine for softcore asari porn?" Shepard gave a light, dismissive laugh, looking downward towards her bony knees and shaking her head, though she could not help the sinking suspicion that some of her less reputable habits were more common knowledge than she would have hoped. "Mordin, please. Do you really think so little of me?"

"Not at all," Mordin replied evenly, completely unfazed. "Merely a guess. Seeing as how these particular issues had 'deliver to: Commander Shepard, SSV Normandy' printed on them." Turning away from Shepard just in time to miss the bright pink blush that had risen to her ears and cheeks, Mordin pulled up the hologram keyboard of his work-station computer with a wave of his hand, quickly busying himself with his work. "Of course, could be mistaken," he added as an afterthought. "Could be a different Commander Shepard on the SSV Normandy."

"How does one retrieve mail when one is in space?" Eve asked suddenly, and Shepard could not help but let out a small sigh of relief at the change of subject. "It seems like a great deal of trouble to track down a ship that could be anywhere in the galaxy just to deliver a simple package or magazine. I do not envy that postmaster's job."

"We only ever receive digital mail while we're actually on the move," Shepard explained, turning to face Eve and offering her a faint, explanatory shrug of one freckled shoulder. "For tangible mail, we have a post box on the Citadel designated for the crew of the Normandy. If somebody wants to send something to one of the crew, they can send it there. If it's imperative to get it picked up in a timely fashion, they usually send an accompanying e-mail to let us know to stop by and pick it up." Reaching to the inside of her thigh, she started to scratch at the rash, but then, remembering Mordin's scolding, she began to tap it gently instead, and was surprised when the tapping actually worked to sooth the itching as the salarian had said it would.

"Aside from that, we usually only pick up our tangible mail maybe once a month," she finished. "If that. It's not always convenient to drop by the Citadel, so we go whenever we get a chance."

"And just frequently enough for the Commander to get her monthly subscription to Fornax magazine," Mordin chimed in just loudly enough for both women to hear, clearly enjoying the friendly torment far more than he was willing to let on. Eve chuckled at the teasing comment, and even Shepard could not keep a good-natured, if still faintly embarrassed, smile from curving her rouge lips upward into her dimpled cheeks.

Just then, the sound of an electronic chime reached her ears, and she turned her head towards the sound, noting that the screen of Mordin's previously abandoned datapad had suddenly turned bright blue. Picking up the datapad, Mordin scowled at it, taken aback, scrolling quickly through a wall of tiny white text Shepard could not make out from her seat halfway across the room. "What?" Mordin suddenly breathed, stopping in his scrolling to squint concernedly at a block of symbols and numbers. "But that— makes no sense. Impossible. Can't be right. No, no. Test must be mistaken. False reading. False positive."

"What is it, Mordin?" Shepard asked, starting to get to her feet, but Mordin quickly crossed to her, pushing her gently back down onto the cot.

"Hold still," he instructed, curtly. "Have to take blood again. Strange reading. Have to make sure it's not right."

"What is it, Mordin?" Shepard insisted, more forcefully this time, watching as Mordin took another small vial of blood from the crook of her arm and inserted it into the metal siding of his datapad. "What does the bloodwork say?"

"Bloodwork says you are pregnant, Commander," Mordin answered, swallowing. "Or at the very least, body is showing symptoms of pregnancy. Unsure if pregnancy is actually legitimate just yet. May be symptom of stress. Body releasing hormones due to… lack of sleep, or…" He shook his head, dumbfounded. "Unsure," he repeated. "Not right. Not right."

Shepard faltered, shellshocked by the news. Then, scoffing, she let out an incredulous bark of a laugh, flexing her arm, her thumb planted distractedly against the pinprick of blood. "That's—that's ridiculous, Mordin," she said, shaking her head. "There's just no way that's right. I can't possibly be pregnant. The only person I've had sex with recently is—"

"A turian?" Mordin asked, looking up at her, concerned.

Shepard hesitated, the smile starting to drop slowly from her face. "Yeah," she said. "Garrus. That's—how did you know…?"

"Test confirms presence of dextro-amino anti-bodies in bloodstream," Mordin answered, holding up the clipboard for her to see, but even up close the text still appeared as gibberish to her. It took her a moment to realize that while her omni-implant helped her to understand salarian spoken language, it was helpless to let her read their written text. "Indicative of ingesting, or absorbing, some kind of dextro amino substance," he clarified further. "Could also be quarian, but figured more likely to be turian. Knowing you." Retrieving the datapad again, Mordin studied it closely, his brow furrowing darkly as he waited for the second test to run its course. "Of course, more likely that it is merely a fluke," he commented, sounding admittedly less than hopeful. "Could be getting false readings from surface toxins. Manae full of toxins. May have entered bloodstream. Given false positive."

"I have been feeling kind-of sick since coming back from Manae," Shepard agreed, optimistic. "I had originally planned to ask Doctor Chakwas about it, but I figured—"

Just then, the datapad chimed again, cutting her off mid-sentence, and all three medbay inhabitants' eyes suddenly snapped to it, anxious for the results. Bringing the datapad up, Mordin began to scroll through the tiny white text, before finally seeming to find his result and taking a deep, perturbed breath. "Test confirms… pregnancy," he repeated, turning his umber eyes up towards Shepard again, stunned. "Don't know how, but… Commander Shepard… you are pregnant."

Shepard clenched her hand, shaking her head as she wet her dry lips, her mind suddenly going completely and utterly blank. "There's… there's just no way," she said, the words sounding far away, as if someone else were speaking them from somewhere in the next room over. "There's just no way that can be right… I just… I mean… can it?"

Setting down the datapad on his desk again, Mordin began to pace slowly, thoughtful, one arm crossed over the curved line of his chest, the other hand reaching up to stroke his weak chin. The results of Shepard's latest bloodwork continued to scroll lazily down the blue screen of the datapad, every so often causing the screen to pulse lighter or darker. "Should not have compiled," he mused, short, shaking his head. "Should have caused negative reaction. Should have cancelled out effects entirely, caused extreme internal pain, ignored or even destroyed…" Stopping in his pacing, he leaned on the desk, taking a long breath, the dark lines of the markings over the crests of his brow drawing together in a deep frown.

"Startling," he breathed. "Unnatural."

"So what should I do?" Shepard asked, her usually strong, assured voice oddly stilted, as if she were doing everything in her power to keep it from shaking with nerves. She was in shock, but she was not about to show it to be a sign of weakness. Mordin would figure this out, she told herself. Mordin always knew what to do, and as long as Mordin knew what to do, then she had no reason to panic just yet.

"Nothing," Mordin answered simply, seeming almost surprised by the apparently unnecessary question, the ridge of his brow rising. "Nothing to be done." He shrugged, giving a light push off the line of the lab table to return himself to an upright stance, before moving down the length of the table to his customary workspace. "Foetus will most likely die on its own," he continued, his discourse curt, almost detached. "Assemblage of cells to initiate growth in the first place was happenstance. Freak accident. Will more than likely sort itself out in time."

"Wait, wait," Shepard said, holding up her free hand to stop him from continuing. "Did you say… foetus? As in… something has already actually formed?"

Moving a hand to her flat stomach, Shepard suddenly felt the taste of bile at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her in her own, unexpectedly sudden fear. She was a soldier, valiant in the heat of battle and stalwart in the face of adversity, but even for a fearless leader, this was something else entirely. She was not cut out for this. She had faced her fears head-on, taken down the most terrifying of beasts and brutes and battlemasters, seen things that would make those of a lesser constitution cry and wet themselves but which she had taken on unflinching, and she had defeated them with an easy smile, going on to live and fight another day as if it had been nothing at all.

But this, the thought of a baby forming inside of her, something so small, so delicate, so incredibly harmless in and of itself, even for the fearless Commander Shepard, was utterly terrifying.

Suddenly, Shepard felt Eve's gaze on her, and she hesitated, preoccupied, before turning to look at her. Eve had not moved from where she sat, her wrapped feet tucked up comfortably towards her on the infirmary bed, staring at Shepard over the heavy, dark-blue folds of her sari, her piercing yellow-green eyes peering out from beneath the adorned drape of her headgarb, the hand-crafted gold tassels throwing a faint, soft shadow across what was visible of her face. Shepard's hand moved half-awaredly across her stomach, her thin fingers curling against the soft flesh as she stared at Eve, their gaze unflinching as the two women locked eyes from across the room, saying nothing but understanding everything. Then, clenching her hand into a fist, Shepard dropped it back to her lap, averting her green gaze from the krogan's stare.

Another long, telling moment of silence passed between them, before Eve lifted her head a bit, causing the golden tassels of her head-scarf to jingle faintly. "You are blessed, Commander," she suddenly said, breaking the silence that filled the infirmary.

Shepard looked up at these words, startled, and turned to look at Eve, her brow furrowing into a hard, confused frown. "What did you say?" she asked.

"You are blessed," Eve said again, giving a gentle bob of her head that caused the tassels to jingle once more. "The krogan consider it a blessing from the gods when one of our females become with child. The gods have blessed you with the gift of life. Do not take this blessing for granted."

Shepard quickly turned, looking over in Mordin's direction, but the salarian refused to make eye contact, instead continuing to work raptly on his medical calculations. Then, turning back to Eve, Shepard stared at her with a tired, distant gaze, her frown softening into a mask of weary indifference. "I don't think it's the same thing for me as it is for you, Eve," she said.

"It is life begetting life, isn't it?" Eve questioned, her tone still calm and sensible as ever. "No matter the species, human or krogan, when one person sacrifices of themselves to bring another life into the world, it is a miraculous and wonderful thing. Don't you agree, Commander?"

"Wouldn't go so far as to call it life, per se," Mordin interjected, quickly overriding Eve's sentimentality. "Would say, is in the process of becoming life. Will most likely not succeed in forming completely." With a quick wave of one hand, he brought up the hologram keyboard of his laboratory computer and began to peck at it, his thin, pointed fingers flying across the keys, inputting data, multi-tasking, as he always did, as if what he were talking about was nothing more than another crew member suffering from a common cold. "Miscarriage almost certain," he went on, his manner extraordinarily unmoved for such a morbid topic of conversation. "Unsure of when it will occur. Wouldn't estimate too long, however. At the most, a few months. At the least, a few days."

"A few months?" Shepard grit her teeth, her thin hands curling around the edge of the cold, metal infirmary table, trying her hardest to mask the awful, twisting sensation she now felt, as the thought of the child who was never meant to be, and now would never have a chance to be, filled her. A cold, queasy feeling crept up from the pit of her stomach, threatening to make her vomit right there in the infirmary, though whether that was nerves or standard nausea, she had no way of knowing. Swallowing back the retching sensation, Shepard looked up at the salarian doctor again, her green eyes meeting his sienna and black ones, a range of mixed and confused unspoken emotions. She wanted to say something, anything, to fill the awful, finalistic silence that now filled the sickbay, but there was nothing to say, and she knew it.

"Let's say… I want… to keep this baby," she finally said, breaking the cold, saturnine silence. "Just… as an option. A matter of perspective. …Is there any way to prevent the miscarriage? Anything at all?"

"Nothing I know of," Mordin answered honestly, shaking his head, his lids flashing upward, his wide mouth drawing into a hard, thin line. "Could perhaps look into it. Would require extreme caution. Lots of medication, likely unpleasant. May cause physical harm to mother if allowed to gestate internally."

"What other options would I have?" Shepard asked, frowning.

"None," Mordin replied. "Or, none plausible. Could look into alternative incubation methodologies… foetus would likely not survive transfer, however. If not transferred to amniotic tank, would probably require no unnecessary strain on mother's body for entirety of pregnancy, if pregnancy is allowed to continue. Unnecessary strain would disrupt foetus. Fragile as is. Disruption would destroy it." At this, he looked pointedly up at Shepard, his expression the closest she figured she had ever seen to some sort of disapproval from the usually unreadable salarian. "Unlikely Reapers will wait nine whole months to attack, however," he told her.

"Nine months," Shepard repeated, the words feeling almost like a death sentence as they fell from her lips. It had never truly occurred to her before then just how long a stretch of time that was, and Mordin was absolutely right – the Reapers were not going to wait around until it was convenient for her to fight them. They were coming quickly, and the galaxy was depending on her to stop them.

"Merely an estimate," Mordin was quick to amend. "Could be shorter, could be longer. Unsure of gestation period of interspecies offspring. Turians grow and develop slightly faster than humans. Mature at sixteen years, rather than eighteen. Unsure how that will affect hybrid foetus."

"Baby," Shepard suddenly corrected him, oddly curt. The word sounded odd, rolling off of her tongue, and under lighter circumstances she might have smiled at the strangeness of it, but the gravity of the current situation made even the most bizarre phonetic phenomena seem all too grave. She was still numb to the idea of having something growing inside of her at all, but while she was not normally one for terminological sentimentality, for some reason, she found his cold, scientific lexicons irksome, in the current situation.

"Either way," the salarian doctor said, all but disregarding her odd correction. "Even if it were to be carried to term – implausible – the child would likely die not long after birth. Can only do so much. Not a miracle worker." Giving a wave of his hand, he dismissed his hologram keyboard, letting it flicker and vanish into the smooth, clean surface of his work-table, before looking up at the pale Commander with hard, professional sienna eyes. "Would be kinder to terminate pregnancy now, I think," he told her with a solemn, even stare. "Better for everyone. Save grief on all fronts. Get it over with."

"Get it over with?" Shepard asked suddenly, looking up at the hard phrasing, a hint of ire in her voice.

"Please, excuse," Mordin was quick to correct himself, lifting his hands towards her, his tone as calm and professional as ever. "Poor choice of words. Simply meant, would be better to remove foetus before it has a chance to fully form. Before you have a chance to get attached to it."

Shepard frowned, her hand moving across her still-flat stomach. Seeing this action, the salarian doctor sighed, offering his best attempt at a look of sympathy to the Commander, but with his particular, alien mien, it seemed so stilted and forced that Shepard almost wished he had not tried at all. "Would be best for all to terminate now," he repeated quietly, his tone one of practiced, if rusty, understanding. "Stop Reapers. Save galaxy. Then perhaps try again when it's over."

"But…" Shepard said, shaking her head in confusion. "I thought you said this was a freak occurrence. That… medically speaking… it never should have happened."

"Yes," Mordin confirmed with a curt nod.

"Then if I terminate now…" Shepard hesitated, her voice trailing off, before looking down at the polished lab table at her own reflection. It was the same face as ever, the same hard, green eyes, pinched, the same sarcastic lips, the same high cheekbones and field of freckles, but for some reason, it seemed different now, tired, older. She saw her mother's face in her reflection, kind, stern, judging her, and for a moment she was mesmerized. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she looked up again, meeting Mordin's gaze once more, her expression oddly unreadable. "…Who's to say I'll ever get this chance again?" she asked, quieter.

"Can't say," Mordin answered truthfully. "Possibly – probably – won't. Was never meant to happen. Chances of it happening again… a trillion to one. Maybe less. Don't know. Couldn't tell you." Folding his thin hands together on the work-desk, he stared at the Commander, evenly, his lids flickering closed every so often to moisten his otherwise unmoving, strangely non-judgmental eyes. "Your choice, Shepard," he said. "Save millions of faceless innocents… or just one, very special one."

Shepard paused a moment, considering these odds, and then looked down at her abdomen, her second hand moving across the smooth, freckled surface of her skin as if trying to imagine what was just underneath. She had never even considered motherhood before now, had never thought about retiring from the Alliance and settling down somewhere to grow old and raise a family. The whole scenario had seemed too saccharine-sweet to her, and not appealing in the least. She had laughed dismissively whenever her mother had told her that having her had been the best part of her life, figuring that there had to have been a million more amazing things she had done in her career in the Alliance Navy, but now, for the first time, the lines between what looked good on an intergalactic military resume and what was really important were beginning to blur, and she had no idea how to feel.

It was as if her entire world had been turned upside-down in the span of just a few simple sentences, and she was left floundering with a decision too big for her to make alone.

"I don't know," she finally whispered, hearing her voice crack for the first time since hearing the news. "I just… don't know what to do."

For a moment, Mordin hesitated, unsure of how to react in the situation. Then, ,oving over to her, he put his thin hands on her shoulders, as reassuring as he knew how. "Take time to think," he told her, gently. "Can decide later. Should decide soon, however. Easier to deal with when in primary stages of development." At this, Shepard looked up, making a face, causing Mordin to quickly amend himself, "Statement applies whether you decide to keep or not. Will need sufficient prenatal care if kept. Best to begin in earliest stages."

Shepard frowned, trying to search the salarian's gaze for some sort of answer to her dilemma, but, as she had suspected, she found nothing there to help her. To Mordin, and to most people, the answer would be obvious – termination was the only logical thing to do. But something was holding her back from making the choice right then and there. Perhaps it was guilt, the idea that an entire species had suffered infertility for so long that any child, unexpected, deformed, or fragile, would be precious to them, and yet here she was thinking about terminating something so incredibly unique that she was still having trouble wrapping her head around the idea that it was not only actually happening, but that it was happening to her.

Her gaze flicked away from Mordin and towards Eve, who was also staring at her, willing her to make the right decision. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Shepard picked up her tube of medi-sav, sliding off of her cot and onto her feet, a shock running through her body as her bare feet touched the cold, sterile floor. Picking up her pants, she began to pull them on, one leg at a time, before bending over to pull on her boots. The thought that in a few months' time she would no longer be able to do that was terrifying – the idea of being in any way debilitated, especially in a time of such intensive war, was almost enough to make the decision for her – but, straightening up again, she bit her lip, taking a deep, determined breath.

"I need some sleep," she announced, her voice hoarse. "I'll think about this when I've had some… time, to… get my head on straight. Get a better perspective after a few… hours'…" Her voice trailed off, her gaze dropping to a spot on the far wall, not willing to look either of them in the eye.

"…Rest," she said, quietly.