When the Primarch had expressed an interest in speaking with Shepard in private about an "important matter", she could not help but feel a bit uneasy about it. The political neutrality between the krogan and the turians was still shaky at best, even after the Primarch's agreement to help with the efforts towards curing the genophage, so to have him now going behind Wrex's back to ask special favours of her was uncomfortable, if not downright shady. Still, she had agreed to at least hear out his request, not wanting to make such an important enemy, and had met with him in a secluded corner of the war room, the soft whirring and beeping of the war asset map the only sounds in the quiet room apart from their hushed voices.
Once they were there, his request had been simple, if cryptic: go to TuChanka and rescue a turian platoon whose ship had crashed on the planet's surface, stranding them there. He explained that the ship had been flying in krogan airspace without the knowledge of the krogan – thus his need for secrecy – but more than that he refused to say, except that his request was made all the more pressing by the fact that his son was in charge of the crashed platoon, and that the mission was "a matter of galactic peace". Shepard had been uneasy at his unwillingness to give up any more information about what was clearly such a vital mission, but decided not to press the matter, instead agreeing that she would find his son's platoon and bring them back to safety once they reached TuChanka and had a chance to look.
Cortez had spent the traveling time to TuChanka working on tuning up the Kodiak, so that by the time they arrived in krogan airspace the shuttle was already primed to go. Shepard zipped up her undersuit, smoothing the rigid material over her stomach, fussing, before finally convincing herself that there was nothing showing and turning to the plated armour she had laid out on the bed. Propping her hands on her hips, she let out a heavy breath, readying herself for the mission to the planet's surface. Once they had rescued the Primarch's son, all that was left to do was to cure the genophage, and then all of this would be over. There would be no more sickness, no more unfounded irritation, no more crewmates asking her if she were feeling all right, no more constantly checking her appearance in every reflective surface they passed to make sure nothing was showing. It would all be over, all of it, and she would finally be free to focus on the impending war with the Reapers.
Picking up one of her hefty armoured boots, Shepard sat down on the bed, starting to pull it on, when she suddenly heard the sound of the door of her cabin sliding open. When she looked up, she was surprised to see EDI standing in her doorway. The AI zeroed in on her almost immediately, taking a few steps into the room towards her and letting the door hiss shut behind her before nodding her head in greeting. "Hello, Shepard," she said. "I hope you do not mind me interrupting you. I wanted to talk to you, and thought now would be a good time to do so, while you are getting ready to go planetside. If this is not a good time, however—"
"You came all the way up here to talk to me?" Shepard asked, clicking the pieces of her boot into place so that it would not shift on her foot when she moved. "Couldn't you have just, I dunno… used the intercom system? Wouldn't that be easier? I thought you were everywhere."
"I am everywhere," EDI replied, calmly. "Which is why I thought it would be better if I were to come up here to speak personally. Because of the delicate nature of my inquiry. I did not think you wished to talk about this on such a public platform." Shepard looked up at her again, taken aback, her brow drawing into a frown as she settled the first piece of calf-armour into place, strapping it around her leg before clicking it into place with the second piece. "I could be wrong, however," EDI amended her statement. "I do not know how you feel about it, exactly. Which was, actually, what I wished to talk to you about, Shepard. If you would not mind humouring me for a little while."
"I don't know if I like where this is going," Shepard admitted. "What did you want to talk about, EDI?"
EDI hesitated, fidgeting, her long fingers curling anxiously around one another in front of her in what Shepard recognized as a nervous habit of Liara's that the AI had clearly picked up through imitation. "I was merely wondering, Shepard," EDI finally spoke. "When you intended to… let on to the other members of the crew about your… unique condition."
Shepard instantly stopped putting on her armour, sitting up straight on the bed and staring at EDI with an intensity that would melt iron. "What unique condition?" she demanded, no longer amused.
EDI seemed surprised, more by the fact that Shepard was denying it than by the fact that she seemed upset by it. "Surely you know to what I am referring," she answered, blunt. "The fact that you are pre—"
"I know," Shepard cut her off, holding up a hand. "I know what my 'unique condition' is, EDI. I just want to know how you know."
"As you said, I am everywhere," EDI answered simply, dropping her hands to her sides again. "I have access to all information on the ship. It was not difficult to find this information in the medical files. I thought it was… unusual, that Mordin had locked them, so I decided to investigate, to see if anything was wrong that would be pertinent to the safety of the crew. That is how I discovered about your…" She hesitated again, not wanting to upset Shepard further. "…Condition," she said.
"So basically you were spying on me?" Shepard insisted, venomous.
"I do not think it could really be considered spying, Shepard," EDI returned. "I was simply checking on you, to make sure your health was of no concern to the rest of the crew."
"Don't you think Mordin would have said something if it was going to be a problem?" Shepard asserted, nettled.
"I am not sure," EDI replied, honestly. "I do not know how Mordin operates. He is… unpredictable. However, my actions were not unfounded, regardless. Certain members of the crew were commenting on how you were acting… different, lately. Irritable. Sickly. Standoffish. I merely wished to see if there was an explanation for it." She tilted her head, blinking once, slowly, again acting by imitation. "My intentions were nothing but good, Shepard," she assured her.
"Yeah, well, you know what they say," Shepard returned flatly, pulling up her other boot and beginning to strap it on. "No good deed goes unpunished and all that."
"If by 'they' you mean Clare Boothe Luce, then yes," EDI replied. "I believe that was said. Regardless, my intentions were nothing but good."
Shepard blew out a tired breath, reaching over on her bed to pick up one of her arm-guards, which she strapped snugly onto her forearm, listening for the telltale click. Sliding her omni-tool sensor onto her hand, she flexed her hand distractedly before looking up at EDI again and resting an elbow against her knee. "It doesn't matter either way, EDI," she told her, solemnly. "I won't have to worry about telling anyone about it soon, because… after we cure the genophage, there won't be anything to tell."
"What do you mean?" EDI asked.
"What do you think?" Shepard returned, strapping on her second calf-protector and locking it securely into place with her boot.
"Do you feel you have no other option?" EDI asked, earnestly curious. "Or are you doing it by choice? I have done some research on the extranet about it, and I read that asari Commandos who decide to meld and have children while still in the service will sometimes continue fighting up to three months into their pregnancy. Some will leave the service earlier on in their term, but others who decide not to do so say it does not really directly affect their ability to fight until that point." She shrugged, tucking her hands dutifully behind her back, thinking herself helpful. "I thought perhaps you might find that interesting," she said, sincere.
"Is that—is that so, EDI?" Shepard insisted, feeling her patience wearing thinner with every word out of the AI's mouth. "Is it? Asari Commandos? And asari Commandos, they're exactly the same as humans? Their, something—thousand-year lifespan, that doesn't directly affect how long their pregnancies last, you don't think?" She scoffed, throwing up her hands in frustration. "You don't think that three months for an asari might, might, not be the same thing as three months for a human?" she demanded. "Just maybe?"
"I… I am not sure," EDI admitted, blinking rapidly, put on the spot. "I did not think to check asari pregnancy terms versus human pregnancy terms. I can run a search right now, if you would like—"
"No, I would not like… look." Shepard sighed, resting her elbows on her knees and letting her head drop into her hands, tired. "It's not… there is no 'maybe both' option, EDI," she explained, weary. "There's just not. I can't go on like this. I can't keep fighting when I feel like this. And I can't just… quit, on the galaxy. That's just not an option. There's only one course of action at this point. End of discussion." Her own finality surprised her, but she did not waver from her point, instead turning her heated attention back to her armour, continuing to put it on, securing each piece with a frustrated fervour.
EDI was silent, watching as Shepard continued to don her armour, her blank silver eyes observing her with a polite, detached interest. When Shepard stood, attempting to strap on her midriff guard, EDI moved forward, helping her to tighten it in the back, warranting a frustrated grunt from Shepard when it fit more snugly than she remembered it doing before. Letting out a hefty breath, Shepard picked up her breastplate, slipping it on over her head, and tightened the straps on either side, clicking it into place with her midriff guard, checking to make sure it was secure and snug. EDI blinked again, observant, clasping her hands politely behind her back as Shepard continued adding pieces of her armour to her ensemble, until finally, she was nearly finished putting her suit together.
"Shepard," EDI suddenly spoke up again, interrupting her trying to figure out which shoulder-guard went on which shoulder. "Would you mind telling me… what it feels like to have a life growing inside of you? All I have ever been able to access has been statistical data about pregnancy, which… it is simply not the same."
"You can't find anybody else to talk about it with you?" Shepard asked, uncomfortable, finally figuring out where each of her shoulder-guards belonged. Turning away from EDI, she bent down, picking up her upper-arm guards from where they sat on the bed, sliding them into place on each arm and securing them tightly.
"There are blogs on the extranet talking about personal experiences with pregnancy, of course," EDI replied, fairly. "But they are all strangers. I would much rather hear about it from someone I know and trust. A friend." She shrugged, lightly, starting to fidget gently again. "You are my friend, Shepard," she told her. "That, and… I know I will never experience pregnancy for myself, which… makes me… I suppose it is… sad."
"It doesn't matter, EDI!" Shepard suddenly snapped, whirling on the AI, her second upper-arm guard still clutched in her hand. "You're just a machine. Machines don't have feelings. Whatever you think this 'sadness' is, it— it's not that. If I were you, I would be happy not to ever have to go through this, or whatever… combination of zeroes and ones 'happy' feels like to you." Throwing the arm-guard back on the bed in frustration, Shepard scoffed loudly, angry. "Life must be so much simpler as a robot!" she insisted, harsh. "You don't have to worry about how other people feel, because you always seem to have all the answers! Why do you even need me, EDI? Why don't you download a pregnancy, huh? Why don't you look it up on the extranet?! I bet that's what asari Commandos do!"
Breathing heavily, Shepard fell silent, realizing too late what she had done. Sitting back down on the bed, she sighed, worn out, and rested her face in her hands again, ashamed at her outburst. "EDI, I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "I didn't m… I didn't mean…" Taking a deep breath, Shepard looked up at EDI again, her eyes tired, making her seem much older than she really was. "It's terrible – okay? It's terrible," she told her, calmer this time. "I'm sick, I'm stressed, I'm… everything smells… awful. Everyone looks at me funny, and even when they're not looking at me funny it just… feels… it feels like they're looking at me funny. I'm in pain, my body, all my internal organs are doing… cartwheels, I'm…"
Taking another deep, pensive breath, Shepard wet her lips, letting it out in a long, heavy huff of breath. "Be glad you never have to experience it, EDI," she told her, pointedly. "Take pleasure in that fact. Or whatever you feel in place of pleasure, I guess. Feel that." Then, picking up her upper-arm guard, Shepard got to her feet, feeling herself lagging, having expended all her energy shouting at EDI. "I'm gonna go," she said. "I have things to do. When I get back… I'll tell you what it feels like." Letting out another weary sigh, she raised her brows, cynical. "Somebody might as well know," she said.
The incoming video feed on the Kodiak was grainy and shaky, with most of the colours having been washed out by the poor quality of the communication link. Still, Shepard could easily make out the soldier on the other end, a dignified-looking dark-skinned turian, strikingly similar in appearance to his father, the now-Primarch of Palaven. "Normandy shuttle, this is Lieutenant Victus with the Ninth Platoon," the young lieutenant's voice crackled over the speaker system. "Do you copy?"
"We hear you, Ninth Platoon," Shepard responded, moving in closer to the display to get a better view over Cortez's shoulder.
"We're approaching the bomb site, Commander – getting bounced around pretty bad," Victus reported, shifting anxiously in his seat on the other end.
"This is as close as we get, Lieutenant," Shepard informed him, glancing over her shoulder at her party, checking to make sure they were ready to go. "Look for somewhere to set your platoon down."
"Copy that," Victus returned.
"Talk to me about this Cerberus bomb," Shepard told him, turning her attention back to the screen again.
Victus hesitated, seeming suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. "It's not Cerberus, Commander," he finally returned, halted. "It's… turian."
Shepard frowned. "What do you mean, turian?" she asked.
"It was planted centuries ago, after the Krogan Rebellions," Victus told her, shifting in his seat as Garrus moved up beside Shepard to watch the screen as well, his interest having been piqued. "The bomb was a safeguard against another galactic war."
"Brutal, but it makes a certain kind of sense," Garrus commented, evenly. "Put the krogan down hard if they tried anything."
Shepard glanced over at him, trying to understand his and Victus' logic, before giving up and turning her attention back to the screen. "You won't earn trust with tactics like that," she told him, solemn. "But right now we focus on disarming that bomb."
"Yes, but Cerberus found it," Victus told her, looking up from inputting something on his keypad. "Detonation means all-out war between my people and the krogan."
"Right. Where is it?" Shepard asked.
"Those buildings ahead," Victus indicated, and Shepard looked up, peering through Cortez's windshield to see if she could catch a glimpse of the buildings in question. "Cerberus brought equipment to dig it up. The Ninth Platoon will cover your flight, Commander."
"With all this activity the krogan have to know something is up," Shepard commented, uneasy, turning her attention back to Victus on the screen.
"Then we can't fail, Commander," Victus told her.
"Copy that, Lieutenant," Shepard agreed.
The video feed of Victus blipped out, and the image was replaced instead by a sleek blue chart of the topography of the landscape, presented in a series of light-blue bars. The whole thing had a feel of unnecessarily simplification to it, as if it were meant to be decorative or calming rather than helpful, but feeling calm was the farthest thing from Shepard's mind at the moment. She was so distracted that she hardly registered the sound of someone coming up behind her in the shuttle until she suddenly felt a hand settle reassuringly on her waist, making her jump and twist, flinching away violently at the faintest touch. "Don't—!" she started to say, but then stopped, catching herself, sucking in her breath in a sharp inhale and holding it.
Garrus stared back at her, startled, his blue avian eyes wide, before retrieving his hand, pulling it to his chest as if afraid there were something seriously wrong with it. Liara had looked up by now, too, taken aback at the sudden commotion, a gentle frown on her features. Biting down hard on her lower lip, Shepard reached up with her second hand, using both to hold onto the overhead bar, hoping to hide the warm red blush that was creeping its way to the tips of her ears. "Don't… startle me like that," she covered, quickly. "You know I hate people sneaking up behind me. It throws me off."
"I… wasn't aware of that," Garrus answered, truthfully. His mandibles tapped gently against the sides of his chin, troubled, and Shepard could not help feeling guilty. "I won't do it again. I'm sorry."
"It's… it's okay," Shepard assured him. "I just don't… like people touching me without telling me first. That's all." She gritted her teeth, feeling trapped, hoping one of them would say something to alleviate the conversation, but neither seemed to have anything to say to that. Suddenly, she felt the shuttle skim to a near-halt, giving a shudder as it began to awkwardly lower itself down towards the dusty ground of TuChanka, and she quickly reached back, grabbing her weapon from its magnetic lock and turning towards the shuttle door, thankful for the convenient escape from the conversation. The door hissed loudly as it opened, a nearby explosion throwing dirt and rocks into the open access as the Kodiak settled to the ground, letting Shepard and the others out.
"Let's move it, people!" Shepard shouted, eagerly leading the way. "Keep your heads down – let's go!"
Shepard was a soldier at heart. She was unafraid to take on hard tasks, and did not shy away from the harshness of reality. But telling a father his only son had died was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. She had been the bearer of bad news many times before, more times than she cared to count, but somehow this felt more personal than those times had. The lost, lifeless look in Primarch Victus' eyes when she had told him his son had bravely sacrificed himself to save TuChanka from nuclear war broke her heart, though she tried hard not to show it, and his solemn reassurance that his son's gesture of bravery would be something any father would be proud of only made it that much more tragic.
She knew the feeling well, of being far too respected, far too visible to show anything that could even potentially resemble weakness, of being perceived as too strong to be able to cry, even when crying was all she wanted to do. Victus had taken his leave after only a short exchange on the matter, leaving Shepard to wander the ship, trying to get the image of his heartbroken expression out of her head. It took her only a short while to find her way to the gunnery, almost subconsciously, and as the door hissed open to allow her inside she pushed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, approaching Garrus at his station and coming to stand beside him, watching around his shoulder as he worked.
"Careful," Garrus warned, jokingly, not bothering to look over at her as he continued working. "I know someone who gets really skittish when you sneak up behind them unannounced like that."
Shepard smiled, sheepish, and looked down at the ground, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm sorry about that, earlier," she told him. "Just having an off day, I guess."
"Yeah," Garrus agreed, calm. "Well, everybody has them. Just means you're human."
"That expression doesn't work quite as well, coming from you," Shepard told him, looking up at him with a smirk.
"Why not?" Garrus asked, turning to look at her with a grin of his own, his mandibles moving upward. "Humans are flawed, but turians are perfect. Everybody knows that."
"Sure," Shepard laughed, shaking her head, glad for the lift in the mood. "Of course."
"I'm glad Wrex is taking this so well," Garrus commented, changing the subject as he turned his attention back to his work. "My people haven't exactly treated his with… charity, over the years."
"Wrex is a good guy," Shepard agreed. "And a good leader. He knows when to let things go for the sake of diplomacy. He's good at seeing the bigger picture."
"Some of us could learn from him on that," Garrus added. "Me, I'm more of a… small picture kind of guy. Short term. It's what I'm good at, taking things one day at a time. Working through problems as I come to them." He continued typing for a moment, before suddenly pausing, his hands coming to rest reflectively on the edge of his keypad. He stared at the scrolling text on the screen, thoughtful and quiet, before finally taking in a long, drawn-out, readying breath and turning to look at Shepard again. "This war… it isn't won in the small picture," he told her, solemn. "Sovereign didn't go down without a fight, and he was just one Reaper. I doubt a thousand more of his friends will be any different. That's not a small picture issue."
Shepard dropped her gaze, considering his words. Then, taking a deep breath, herself, she wet her lips, preparing to speak. "There was a boy, back on Earth," she told him. "Couldn't have been more than six or seven. I… watched him die as the Normandy escaped the attack." She looked up, meeting his gaze, her brow furrowed into a guilty frown. "I had to leave him," she explained. "I didn't have time to save both him and myself, and at the time, I figured… my life was worth more than his in the long run. That I would be able to save more people in this war than he would. That one casualty was nothing in the grand scheme of all the casualties this war would suffer without someone to help lead its military."
Her voice trailed off, and she faltered, before looking down at the floor again, ashamed, tucking a flyaway lock of hair behind one ear. "I'm not always convinced I should have saved myself," she admitted. "But, that's what the bigger picture turns us into. The calculated choice, the logical choice, it's not… it's not always for the best."
Garrus nodded, understanding, before letting out a soft, tired sigh and looking back at his console, distracted. "I'm still not convinced I should have left Palaven behind," he admitted. "All I really want is for this war to be over so I can get back to living my life. Settling down. Maybe have a family someday." He frowned, turning to look at her again. "Does our whole existence have to be about this war?" he asked. "Is it so bad to want those things, too?" Giving a frustrated huff of breath, he looked away again, his mandibles giving an anxious, circular twitch as he did so. "Being right about the Reapers has never felt much like a victory, has it?" he asked, quietly.
Shepard shook her head, brushing a few stray flecks of flotsam off the front of her hoodie. "We both knew this fight would be tough," she told him. "Damned if the Reapers haven't delivered."
"At least my government listened to me," Garrus returned, forcing a small half-smile, trying again to lift the mood. "Or pretended to." Turning his attention back to his work, he started typing again, scrolling back to where he had been before the conversation had started, but it did not take long for him to stop once more, too distracted to concentrate. "Shepard," he said, tentative, the faint, worried frown returning to his features as he turned to look at her again. "Are you… okay? You seem kind of… distant, lately."
Shepard faltered, taken aback. "Distant?" she asked, frowning.
"Jumpy, I guess," Garrus clarified. "On edge. Ill at ease."
"You mean today in the shuttle?" Shepard asked, shuffling a little closer to better talk to him. She had learned from experience that the walls of the Normandy apparently had ears, and this was not the sort of conversation she wanted spreading too far.
"Well, I wasn't going to say it outright, but… yeah," Garrus admitted. "It just seemed, I don't know… like you didn't really want me to touch you. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but—"
"I just had a lot on my mind," Shepard told him, earnest, cutting him off before he could finish the thought. "It had nothing to do with you. Seriously."
Garrus was quiet, staring at her, his mandibles twitching as he turned this thought over in his mind, considering whether to believe her or not. Then, letting out a soft sigh, he shrugged his broad shoulders, shaking his head, tired. "Right," he said, clearly not believing her, but also clearly not wanting to exacerbate the issue. "Well, just in case you decide you actually want to talk about it… you know where to find me."
Shepard nodded, appreciative for his understanding. Garrus had always been good about that, about letting her take her time and come around to things when she was most comfortable. He was not a passive person by nature, but he knew when to take a step back when it mattered. Turning away from him, she started to move towards the door of the gunnery, but then stopped, turning around again, and stared at him, wavering. "Garrus…" she started to say, but the word caught in her throat, and she quickly closed her mouth, gritting her teeth at what she had been about to say.
Garrus turned, looking back at her over his shoulder, attentive. "Hm?" he asked.
Shepard faltered again, balling her hands into fists in the pockets of her hoodie, stretching the fabric anxiously, before finally shaking her head, decided. "…Nothing," she told him. "It was nothing. See you around, Garrus."
"Okay," Garrus answered, returning once again to his work, distracted. "See you around."