Despite having been to the Minuteman Station only one time before in her life, and then for only the span of a day or so before rejoining the crew of the Normandy, Shepard found that the station was relatively easy to learn to navigate, just as Miranda had said it would be. The maps by each elevator had been helpful at first in finding her way around, but it had not taken her long to memorize the layout, and she had quickly taken to exploring her new temporary dwelling in her newfound free time, looking for any sign of the previous crew. It had not taken much time at all during her wandering to find the familiar communications sector of the station, and she could not help but feel an odd sense of melancholy as she came to stand on the circular platform she had first used to communicate with the Illusive Man over a year and a half ago. Things had been complicated then, much more complicated than she had liked, but compared to the way things were now, she found herself almost longing for the relative straightforwardness of her Cerberus rebirth and subsequent foisted affiliation.
Whoever had last occupied the Minuteman Station seemed to have cleared out in record time – apart from some haphazardly-selected clothes from the drawers, everything seemed to have just been left when the previous crew had evacuated, likely having not had the time to thoroughly pack while attempting to escape from impending Reaper forces. A digital photograph of a smiling family flickered, face-down, beside one of the beds, and Shepard picked it up, inspecting it distractedly, before setting it back down again and turning to continue exploring the station. Despite having her pick of the crew's abandoned attire, Shepard still wore the hoodie Miranda had bought her back on Earth, although she could tell it had clearly been intended for someone more petite than herself. It had also become increasingly more difficult to zip since her arrival, making her wish she had thought to ask Miranda to buy her a men's sweater instead, but, despite this, and despite it being rather more well-worn than her old hoodie, wearing it still reminded her of the jacket she used to wear all the time aboard the Normandy, which in turn made her think comfortingly of home, or the closest thing she had ever had to it.
With nothing else pressing left to explore and no news from Miranda about their operation, Shepard had eventually retired to the rec room, where she found an eager leisure companion in the station's resident VI. While the software was rudimentary in comparison to EDI, the computer had been programmed to keep the previous crew informed and stimulated, and Shepard found its disposition amenable, if bland and hard to relate to. Now, Shepard frowned in concentration as she scanned the digital chess board laid out in front of her, biting her lip as she tried to decide her next strategic move. She had already lost six games of chess to the station's VI that day, but, as with everything else, she was nothing if not stubborn, and this game in particular looked as if it might actually be going her way for a change. The computer whirred patiently as it waited for her to act, seeming almost pleasantly distracted as she coaxed her little digital marker a few inches forward across the board. Recognizing she had finished her turn, the computer beeped thoughtfully, the squares on the game board lighting up in an entertaining display as it ran some quick calculations, before one of its pieces suddenly moved forward a few spaces, coming to a halt within easy striking distance of her king.
"Checkmate," the computer informed her, its digitized voice short and stiff as the trail to its inevitable victory lit up across the board.
"Damn," Shepard swore, letting out a short, sharp breath as she leaned back in her chair, defeated. "You win again. You're too good at this."
"Shepard?" Miranda called, getting her attention, causing her to look up from her game, glad for the distraction. Miranda stood at the edge of the platform, one hand still resting on the railing as she watched Shepard curiously, her head tilted to one side as she observed the layout of the board. "Computer got you again?" she asked, good-naturedly.
Shepard smirked, embarrassed, tossing her overgrown bangs out of her eyes as she turned her attention back to the board, scanning absentmindedly over the still-flashing setup. "Yeah, well, I think he cheated," she answered, giving a soft breath of a laugh. "Nobody wins that many games in a row without some sort of cheat mechanic."
"I did not cheat," the computer returned, frankly, its sincerity almost pitiable. "I am not programmed to cheat."
"I'm just kidding, computer," Shepard assured it, letting out another soft, reassuring laugh. "Don't worry. I know I'm terrible at this game." Then, turning her attention back to Miranda again, she raised her brows, intrigued. "What can I help you with, Miranda?" she asked.
At this cue, Miranda instantly straightened, taking in a sharp breath as she turned her attention away from the digital chess board and back towards Shepard again. "I've actually come to give you something," she answered, matter-of-factly, her thumb tapping absentmindedly against the line of the railing as she spoke. "Just some news, though. Nothing too exciting."
"News is always good," Shepard returned, leaning back in her chair and tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, letting her legs stretch out more comfortably in front of her. "I like news."
"Well, I have good news, and I have bad news," Miranda told her, honestly, letting out a soft sigh as she spoke, knowing how ominous that had to sound, considering the situation. "The good news is I've done some calculations, taking into consideration rate of regeneration versus healthy reformative cells, and I've more or less figured out what needs to be done, if everything goes according to plan. I know, roughly, how much of the synthetic hybridized stem cells I need to make, and at what rate to administer them in order to get the best projected results to coerce your baby's brain back into operation."
"Well, that sounds good," Shepard agreed, her brow furrowing faintly at the news. "If a bit complex and full of uncertain-sounding variables."
"It's not a perfect science," Miranda agreed, shrugging a bit as she began to play distractedly with the tip of her gloved index finger. "But then again this has never been done before. Pretending I know exactly what I'm doing would be dishonest, and unfair to you."
"What's the bad news?" Shepard asked, turning a bit in her seat to face Miranda head-on.
Miranda hesitated, seeming now slightly more anxious, her fidgeting pausing momentarily as she tried to think of the most straightforward and temperate way to explain the downside to her ostensibly miraculous science. "The bad news is… I can't… do any of this, while the baby is… still in your body," she finally answered, letting out a heavy exhale as she did so, as if she had been holding her breath up to then without even realizing it. "In order to administer the synthetic stem cells, I have to… remove your uterus, with the baby still inside. It's the only way I'll be able to do this. I hope you understand."
Shepard faltered, blinking a few times, taken aback, too stunned by this news to answer right away. Then, making a face, she shook her head, shifting uncomfortably a bit in her seat as she tried to comprehend what she was being told. "Wait a minute," she said, trying hard not to sound incredulous. If anyone knew what they were doing when it came to things like this, it was certainly Miranda, but she still could not help but feel there was something wrong with this turn of events. "In order to… jumpstart my baby's brain… you're going to… remove my uterus?"
"Yes," Miranda answered, frankly, seeming entirely convinced by her explanation. "I can go ahead and perform a radical hysterectomy while I'm in there, if that would be preferable. Remove your uterus, cervix, some tissue on both sides of the cervix, and the uppermost part of your vagina. Clear the whole space out so you don't have any lingering issues with leftover parts."
"Leftover parts?" Shepard repeated, unable to help but frown openly now. "Miranda, this whole operation sounds… excessive. Is there really no way you can just leave the baby where she is and do the procedure that way?"
Miranda sighed at the question, shaking her head, before propping a frustrated hand on her hip. "Shepard, I already told you," she reminded her, sternly. "I need a visualization of the foetus that leaving it inside your body does not allow for. Even with ultrasound technology, I'm not a magician. I can't just go in effectively blind." She paused, realizing the harshness of her tone, before bringing her other hand to her hips to join the first, letting out another sigh, this one softer than the last. "Besides, I don't know what this would do to your body if I tried to use it while the baby is still inside you," she explained, reasonably. "It could very well cause even further mutations when coming in contact with your amenic makeup, or the Reapertech in your body. If your body thinks it's supposed to be healing itself using these synthetic hybridized stem cells, you could very well end up with unanticipated and unpleasant side effects – or even get sick and die."
"Oh." Shepard blinked at this, suddenly much less sceptical. "That would be bad."
"This isn't children's science, Shepard," Miranda told her, bluntly, taking her hands from her hips to cross them over her ribcage, resting each elbow in the opposite palm. "It's real, volatile tech, but we don't have the funding to experiment with it. We have just one chance to do this with the equipment we've got. Do you really want to take a chance of something screwing up because you didn't want to let me remove one of your non-essential organs?"
"I mean," Shepard returned, thinking about it, drumming her fingers distractedly against the edge of the virtual chess desk. "I understand where you're coming from, Miranda. I guess I just don't understand why you have to take the whole thing out." Pausing in her drumming, she took a short, sharp breath in, frowning a bit, before looking up at Miranda again, inquisitive. "Wouldn't it do just as well to simply take out the amniotic sac with the baby still inside?" she asked, pointedly. "That way I don't have to lose any of my organs, essential or not."
"Shepard…" Miranda frowned, letting out a sharp huff, looking discouraged now, almost vexed. "Shepard, I hate to say it, but you're not exactly young anymore," she told her, frankly. "Even if this pregnancy had gone perfectly, there's no assurance that you would ever have been able to get pregnant again. Normal human fertility lasts until about the age of forty, and you're…" She paused, biting her lip, trying to think of the most tactful way to say what she was thinking, before shrugging one offhanded shoulder, ruefully. "Almost… there," she finished, awkwardly.
"I'm thirty-six," Shepard reminded her, bluntly.
"And how many more children were you planning to have in those four years?" Miranda challenged, getting quickly annoyed with the back-and-forth. "I figure if you got pregnant immediately after having each one you could squeeze in about five in that time period. Or squeeze out, as it were. Only after you had this one, of course…" Turning her gaze away from Shepard then, she scoffed, leaning one hand cynically against the platform railing as she propped the other against her hip, unimpressed. "Though that shouldn't be much of an issue, I think," she added, speaking in barely above a cold mumble. "Seeing as if you keep your uterus, this child will likely die. That will give you plenty of time to get started on the next five, I'm sure."
"Miranda," Shepard answered, frowning, taken aback by the unexpectedly callous remark.
Miranda bristled a moment, turning her biting blue gaze up towards Shepard, clearly still irritated from the earlier disagreement. Then, realizing she was in the wrong, she quickly deflated, her stiff shoulders falling as she let out a soft, regretful sigh. "I'm sorry," she apologized, quietly. "That was… uncalled for. Out of line. All I'm trying to say, Shepard, is that…" She faltered, frowning, her plush lips drawing into a hard, contemplative line as she crossed her arms thoughtfully over her chest again. "Without the placental filter attached to the lining of your uterus, the baby won't be able to get the oxygenated blood filtration and nutritional supplementation she needs," she explained, matter-of-factly. "We have general filtration alternatives, dextro- and levo-specific, but nothing that fits her unique needs. We could try to use one of those in lieu of yours, but do you really want to take that risk?"
"No," Shepard answered, honestly, shaking her head for good measure. "But is that really the only other option?"
"Shepard," Miranda sighed, running a frustrated hand back through her thick hair before returning it to rest on her hip. "In order to remove her without removing your readily-created placental filter, I would have to recreate your placental filter, which could take a week or more with the limited cloning tech we have. I already told you the risks of waiting any longer to start your baby on the regenerative cell treatment, and if we were to try to move her before the replacement placenta is readily available, or even attempt to forgo placental filtration altogether…" Letting out another irritated breath, she crossed her arms again, frowning deeply. "Without the utilization of the placental organ, even with all the other tech we have here, the baby would most likely die quickly after supplementation," she said.
Shepard faltered at this grim prognosis, still uncertain, rocking her heel anxiously back and forth against the metal flooring of the rec room as she thought. "And there are really no other alternatives?" she finally asked, discouraged. "This is a big decision, Miranda. Never being able to have children again…" Trailing off, she stopped, looking up again suddenly, realizing how insensitive her last statement had sounded. "Not… that there's anything wrong with not being able to have children," she added, quickly amending herself. "I just… it's a lot to process. With—the surgery and all."
"I know what you meant," Miranda answered calmly, seeming entirely unperturbed by the slip. "Unfortunately the only other alternative I can think of right now would be to try to synthesize an anti-rejection medication to ensure that your body would recognize the synthesized stem cells as foreign but would not automatically reject them, and that could take… weeks, to perfect. In that time, your baby could very well have spent too long without brain activity for me to be able to save her." Frowning again, she paused, pensive, rolling her lips as her gaze drifted to one side, considering a spot on the far wall of the rec room. "I don't even know that I have the proper materials to do something like that, regardless," she added, thoughtfully. "All of that type of equipment was lost when the Lazarus Cell was destroyed. Trying to cobble up something similar from scratch could take… months." Turning her attention towards Shepard again, she took a sharp breath in, leaning back against the railing as she raised her sculpted brows, intent. "As it is, I'm going to need to take blood from you, and a good deal of it," she told her, openly. "We'll likely have to draw blood as often as possible, until we can slowly start to wean the placental-umbilical system off of your blood and onto an artificial alternative."
"I don't want to use an artificial alternative," Shepard answered, quickly, shaking her head, causing Miranda's brow to furrow in surprise. "Take as much blood as you need. I don't want to take any risks. I don't want her going into anaphylactic shock when she's born because she's suddenly supposed to start producing blood and all she's been getting is some synthetic cocktail instead."
"Shepard, you can't just produce endless amounts of blood," Miranda told her, frowning, concerned. "It's okay to use an alternative. People do it all the time when they're cloning. You just take a sample of compatible blood and you reproduce it artificially. It's a simple process—"
"I don't want to do that," Shepard repeated, more firmly this time. "I don't want to take that risk. You don't know how she'll react to something that isn't my blood, Miranda. You could very well harm or kill her." Letting out a low, stalwart huff, she tucked her arms over her chest, nestling further down into the folds of her hoodie. "Just take as much of my blood as you possibly can," she told her, frankly. "I can always produce more."
"Shepard…" Miranda sighed, dropping her gaze, rubbing her thumb and forefinger idly together in exasperated thought. "Fine," she conceded, looking up again. "I'll start you on a regimen of epoetin alfa, see if we can get your body to produce enough red blood cells to sustain a consistent supplemental schedule. Under normal circumstances you would generally only produce enough red blood cells to give about a pint of blood for use every two months or so, but maybe…" Pausing, she made a face, considering, before letting out another short, soft huff of breath, seeming less than convinced her idea was even plausible. "I'll do what I can," she promised, shortly. "But you have to agree that if you can't safely produce enough blood by yourself, you'll let me synthesize some. I'll… mix it with your blood, to ensure she's still getting at least a partially organic supplement at all times. Can you agree to that?"
Shepard frowned, stubborn, chewing her lip as she considered this prospective compromise. Then, giving a low, conceding exhale, she nodded, crossing one ankle over the other. "Good," Miranda agreed, brightly, crossing to the chess table and seating herself across from Shepard. "That would work best for everyone, I think. Besides, think of it this way – you'll finally be able to see your feet again. Plus you won't have anything sitting on your bladder anymore."
Shepard paused a moment, considering this, before finally offering Miranda a thin, wan smile. "That's… true, I guess," she conceded, musingly. "Though I've… kind of gotten used to not seeing my feet. I don't… really mind it that much anymore." Faltering then, she hesitated, the smile beginning to slowly fade from her face, only to be replaced by a faint, pensive frown as her hand travelled absentmindedly over the curve of her stomach under her hoodie. "It's just… strange, you know," she added then, her voice quiet, almost distant. "The idea that this is all I get. Five whole months… and half of that time I resented her."
"You had no idea, Shepard," Miranda reasoned, offering a short, reassuring shrug of one shoulder. "People change. Circumstances change. You didn't think you were ready to have a baby then. You can't blame yourself for being scared. It's a natural reaction." Going quiet, she watched Shepard across the chess table for a moment, her gaze drifting slowly from her face to the distracted hand on her stomach, and then back to her face again. Then, letting out a soft, sad little sigh, she reached out a hand across the table towards Shepard, taking her free hand in her own and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're very brave, Shepard," she told her, sincerely. "Everything that you're going through, all of this… I don't think I'd be able to do it. You are the strongest person I know." Then, pausing again, a small, almost playful smirk began to curl gently at the corners of her mouth.
"The Reapers never stood a chance," she added, teasingly, before letting out a short, soft laugh.
Shepard fiddled anxiously with the drawstring of her hoodie as she waited for the vidcomm unit to process her call to Palaven, watching as the circular loading symbol in the middle of the screen looped round and round, looking for the nearest satellite station to bounce the message across the galaxy. While earlier that day she had been wearing one of the lab coats left behind by the previous crew in an effort to not feel so overwhelmingly out of form, she had decided to change back into her worn Earth-bought hoodie for this call, despite its snug fit, so as not to startle Garrus by showing up after a long time gone in something printed with a Cerberus logo. He had suffered through that scare with her one time before, and she figured that one time of that was more than plenty, especially considering how rocky their reunion was bound to be already. It had been almost a week since her arrival at the Minuteman Station, and in all that time she had yet to work up the nerve to attempt to get in contact with Garrus again. Getting his contact information had been easy – a simple e-mail to Liara had been enough to garner everything she needed to know – but the actual act of calling had been harder than anticipated. Every time she went to call, she would instantly think of something else she needed to do, generally small, menial, throwaway tasks, until finally, after almost a week, she found herself out of excuses to avoid him.
The screen flashed blue as the call processed, the destination pulsing on the screen in white letters, and she could not help but feel that it seemed to be taking more time than usual for someone to pick up. Then, before she could lose her nerve and hang up, the tone stopped, interrupted by a high, sharp beep, before the screen flipped into active life, showing an image of Garrus sitting at a broad, metal desk, looking preened and handsome as ever and wearing what looked to be a new suit of military armour. Shepard could not help but feel severely underdressed in comparison, but she merely smiled at the sight of him, noting the way his mandibles began to twitch more rapidly the moment he caught sight of her on the other end. "Hey there, stranger," Shepard teased, her voice hoarse. "Funny seeing you around these parts."
"You're on my property now, cowboy," Garrus answered, giving a soft, fond chuckle in return. "Ain't nothing funny about it."
Shepard laughed quietly at the familiar repartee, before folding her arms across her chest, hiding her stomach from view. "So," she said, giving a quick jerk of her chin towards him. "How's Palaven?"
Garrus sighed at this question, shifting guiltily in his seat, before moving to lean in closer to the screen and looking up at her again with earnest, bright blue eyes. "I didn't have a choice, Shepard," he told her, frankly. "I didn't want to go, but… they said I had a responsibility as Primarch Victus' Reaper Advisor. I tried to tell them my job was over, now that the Reapers were gone, but…" Letting out another hefty sigh, he dropped his gaze to his lap, shaking his head, before turning his attention back up towards her again. "Apparently my office stretches to post-Reaper cleanup as well," he added, sounding nonplussed by this fact. "They expected me to know what to do after the Reapers were gone. Where to start in the rebuild effort. I've never been part of a rebuild effort in my life. I had no idea where to begin." Pausing again, he considered her for a moment, before letting out a short, deep chuckle, his mouth quirking into a fond half-grin. "I'm learning," he told her, quieter. "It's a process. I do kind of wish you were here, though. You would know what to do with these things. I just kind of… consult the reports and hope for the best."
"I'm sure you're doing just fine," Shepard assured him, letting out a soft, fond chuckle.
"Hm," Garrus returned, noncommittal, shifting down more comfortably in his seat. "As well as can be expected. Can't help but feel daunted by the sheer amount of work, though. Right when you think you've made a dent, something else comes up and you're two steps back again." Taking a deep breath in, he paused, crossing one arm thoughtfully over his abdomen as he rocked his chair faintly back and forth, staring at her contemplatively through the vidscreen. "You look terrible, Shepard," he told her, honestly.
Shepard hesitated, taken aback for a moment, before giving a soft, hoarse chuckle in return, nestling even deeper into the folds of her jacket. "You always were a romantic, Garrus," she told him, offering him a wan half-smile.
At this reaction, Garrus let out a short, sharp exhale, lifting his hands and shaking his head, as if realizing for the first time how he must have sounded. "It's not—I didn't…" he huffed, flustered, doing his best to backpedal. "I didn't mean it like that. You know what I meant."
"I know," Shepard assured him, her thin smile widening, understanding. "It's just so much fun to tease you."
Letting out another deep, exasperated sigh, Garrus dropped his hands back to his desk again, trying to offer her a forced smile in return but seeming not quite as amused by her teasing as she was. "Tell me the truth," he finally pressed, anxiously. "Have you been sleeping okay? Have you been eating right, keeping healthy? You know you don't always eat like you should."
"Garrus, I'm fine," Shepard told him, gently, raising a hand to quell his fretting. "Miranda's been making sure I'm well-nourished."
"Miranda's there with you?" Garrus asked, seeming surprised, leaning forward a bit in his chair towards the vidscreen, as if expecting to catch a glimpse of the former operative somewhere in the background. "I would've thought she'd go back to her sister after the war. What with her new baby and all." Leaning back in his chair again, he cleared his throat, tilting his head a bit, his plated brows furrowing faintly in civil interest. "How is Miranda, by the way?" he asked. "Are you two doing okay over there? Getting along all right?"
"We're getting along fine," Shepard assured him, shrugging faintly, almost offhanded. "Miranda's a good friend. She takes good care of me." She smiled at him, reassuringly, her smile thin and weary, before it began to slowly fade again, a long, telling quiet settling in over the conversation as the genial small talk ground to a halt, leaving them trapped in mired, uncomfortable silence. Taking a deep breath in, Shepard frowned, digging her heels into the polished flooring and tucking her arms a bit firmer over her chest as she stared at him, trying to pull together some semblance of her nerves. "Garrus," she finally said, speaking quietly. "I… need your help. I have a really… really difficult decision to make, and I can't…" She trailed off, faltering, her brow furrowing a bit more, holding her breath in for a moment before letting it out in a short, exasperated sigh. "I can't do it without you," she told him, honestly. "I thought I could, I've made it this far making decisions on my own, but this… this is too big for me to decide alone. I… really need your help."
"Of course, Shepard," Garrus assured her, comfortingly, shifting a bit in his seat as he waited attentively for her to go on. "Anything."
Shepard hesitated, clenching her jaw, swallowing hard as she unfolded her arms, her hands curling tightly around one another in her lap, her knuckles threatening to crack with the strain as she prepared to say what it had taken her almost five months to finally admit. "First, I… I need to tell you something," she began, trying hard to keep her voice from trembling. "Something… important. I've been… meaning… I've been trying… to tell you this for a long time, now, but… every time I tried to tell you, something always came up, or… I lost my nerve, or…" Trailing off again, she bit her lip, her worried frown deepening as she took a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable. "Garrus… I have to tell you something," she said, her voice weak, threatening to break. "Something really… really important. Something I should have told you a while ago. I… I'm…" She stopped again, feeling a lump rising in her throat, but she pushed it back down again, steeling herself as she took in a long, shaking, readying breath.
"I'm… pregnant," she told him, barely above a whisper. Her gaze flicked up to his before dropping again, unable to look him in the eye, but then, after a moment, she turned her eyes up towards him again, waiting anxiously for his reaction, preparing herself for the worst and knowing full well she deserved it. Garrus hesitated a moment, letting the painful silence linger, his expression set, unmoving, unchanging, as if he had to take time to process this thought before he could figure out how to react. Then, taking a deep breath in, he leaned a bit further back in his chair, regarding Shepard with a frank, even expression as his mandibles hovered distractedly at the edges of his chin.
"I know," he answered, evenly, sounding completely unfazed.
Shepard faltered, taken aback, feeling her stomach drop sharply out at this answer. She knew, somehow, in the back of her mind, that it was inevitable he would know – there was no possible way he could not, considering her behaviour the past few months. The fact that he had found her half-dead on the Citadel in her ruined armour was the final, inescapable nail in the coffin, but still she could not help the feeling of cold, permeating dread at the thought that he had known about her pregnancy for some time, but had said nothing about it until just now. "You know?" she asked, a bit louder this time, a faintly accusatory note creeping into her tone despite herself. She knew how entirely hypocritical it was of her to be upset with him for doing to her the exact same thing she had been doing to him for months, but she still could not help but feel a bit self-righteously indignant at the apparent deception. "How long have you known?"
Garrus paused, seeming surprised by this question, his mandibles giving an uncertain twitch against his chin before starting to vibrate, anxiously. "How long have you known?" he asked, sounding almost startled. Then, raising his hands to stop her, he shook his head, turning his attention downwards, waving his hands in front of him dismissively before returning his attention to the vid screen. "Nevermind," he told her, clearing his throat as he spoke. "That's not important now. I… truth be told, I had the first inkling about a month… maybe two months ago, when you started talking about having babies. I thought maybe it was just baby fever, or… you were ovulating, maybe, or…" He frowned, awkward, trailing off, before letting out a short, exasperated little huff, knowing exactly how ridiculous he sounded trying to discuss things he knew barely anything about. "I don't know," he admitted, shortly. "It didn't really occur to me much at the time. I figured if you were, you'd tell me, and if you weren't… well, it didn't really matter if you weren't. So, when time went on, and you didn't say anything… I kind of assumed it was all in my head. But…"
Pausing again, he made a face, his mandibles giving fast, agitated tics against his chin as he tried to figure out the best way to explain himself to her. "I wasn't about to go accusing you of anything," he added, quickly, covering his bases. "I trusted you not to keep a secret like that from me. I figured… something that important, you'd be bound to tell me sooner or later. Then when I found you in the Citadel, with your armour all busted and your undersuit…" He faltered again, making an odd, indicative, downward gesture towards his abdomen, before letting out another short, weary sigh and letting his hands return to either side of his vidscreen. "Clearly you were pregnant, but I figured… you were maybe just a couple months along, and maybe you didn't even know yourself just yet," he told her, sounding even more exasperated now. "I don't know how human pregnancy works, if it's… if that's how it's supposed to look. It wasn't until I asked after you at the hospital camp that they told me human pregnancies last nine months, and you were already five months along…"
Trailing off again, he frowned, his plated brows drawing faintly together as his mandibles gave quick, irritated tics against his tapered chin. "The nurse told me… they were doing all they could to save 'the Commander's baby'," he told her, solemnly. "He asked… if I knew where the father was. As if I was supposed to know." Stopping then, he frowned, his mandibles pausing momentarily in their distracted tapping as he watched her, as if waiting for some reaction to this news. "How long were you going to wait to tell me, Shepard?" he finally asked, sounding suddenly much more irritated. "Until you were eight, nine months pregnant and couldn't hide it anymore? Until after you actually had the baby? Surprise!" Clenching his hands into fists on either side of the vidscreen, Garrus let out a hard, angry huff of breath, his mandibles beginning to twitch more violently now the angrier he became. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" he insisted, almost spitting the words. "I can't believe you would do this. —No, actually, I can believe you would do this. That's the worst part of it all. I'm just… so…"
Sitting back in his chair again, he reached his hands up to his head, resting them there for a long moment as he stared at her, his expression frozen, hard to read, his mandibles twitching fixedly against the sides of his tapered chin. "I don't know what to think, Shepard," he finally admitted, dropping his hands back to his desk, vexed and defeated. "I wish you would have told me earlier, so I didn't have to find out the way I did. You put yourself in danger so many times… why didn't you just tell me? Because it was somebody else's kid, and you thought it would hurt me to tell me about it?" Letting out an overwhelmed sigh, he shook his head again, his shoulders seeming to droop as the fight began to leave him. "I don't care whose baby it is, Shepard," he told her, honestly. "It doesn't matter. It's a part of you, and I would have loved it just as much either way. I just wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me. That's what really stings about all of this."
"Well, it doesn't matter anymore," Shepard returned, stubbornly, feeling the familiar, unpleasant prickling sensation of tears begin to sting the corners of her eyes. She would not cry, she could not, not while Garrus was watching her. She was a proud woman, too proud to let him know how much his words had honestly hurt her. "The baby didn't survive the tractor beam. The doctors at the hospital weren't able to save it."
At this, Garrus' expression instantly cleared, and he stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock, lost for words for a long, taut moment. "It's… dead?" he finally asked, hardly daring to speak above a shaken whisper, as if afraid actually uttering the statement might make it come horribly true.
"Braindead," Shepard clarified, gritting her teeth to keep her own voice from shaking. "The baby is… it's braindead. No… brain activity, whatsoever."
"So it's effectively dead," Garrus returned, speaking slightly louder now, an indignant sort of anger creeping back into his voice. "This baby, the one you were keeping a secret from me, it's now, it's… it's dead. Is that what you're telling me?"
"Not… necessarily," Shepard answered, frowning as she bit down anxiously on her lower lip. She was not used to hearing such a harsh tone from Garrus, and the sheer, unfamiliar ire of it was throwing her completely off balance. "It's not… necessarily dead. Just… braindead, is all. It's not the same thing. Bodily, it seems to be just fine, but—"
"Shepard, you're not going to keep a braindead baby alive just to prove a point," Garrus cut her off, accusatorily, letting out a hefty, agitated sigh. "That's just too beyond cruel, even… if… If it's dead, you just… you really…" Pausing again, he frowned, seeming to recognize how hard his tone had become without even realizing it, before his expression quickly softened, and he let out a low, tired exhale. "You can always try again," he told her, his voice gentler now. "Don't prolong its suffering unnecessarily. Or yours, for that matter. Doing that would make you no better than Cerberus."
"It's not just to prove a point," Shepard retorted, puffing up at the accusation. The unsavoury comparison between herself and the Illusive Man was enough to quickly stifle her tears, and she straightened her posture, gritting her teeth as she regarded Garrus with a look of sheer indignation. "Miranda says she might be able to fix it," she added, defensively. "She… she has a plan. She brought me back to life once before. I believe she might be able to help with this."
"Shepard," Garrus answered, wearily, dropping his gaze from her to his desk, before returning his attention to her again, looking much more tired than he had before. "Miranda is good, but she's not a miracle worker. The Lazarus Project took two years to complete, and you're a lot sturdier than a baby."
"So you don't want me to even try to save it?" Shepard asked, challenging him.
Garrus sighed again, looking more worn down than angry now. "I didn't say that," he corrected her, frankly. "I just don't think the baby can be saved, is all." Pausing then, he stared at her for a moment, his expression stiff, difficult to read. "I'm also more concerned with the fact that you didn't think it was important to tell me you were pregnant until after the baby was already dead," he added, much more solemnly.
"Braindead, Garrus," Shepard corrected, feeling her own anger dropping away suddenly as a lump rose into her throat, choking her, causing her to falter on her words. "She's only, it's just… she's only braindead."
At this sudden change of pronouns, Garrus blinked, seeming surprised, almost unnerved, before his expression slowly began to change, growing more disconcerted the longer the statement lingered. "It… was a girl?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shepard hesitated at this question, hardly having realized her own slip, before taking in a sharp breath and letting it out in a short, shaking exhale. "It… she, was, yes," she answered, fairly. "A little girl. I… had a name picked out and everything. I was going to call her Solara—"
"Don't," Garrus told her, cutting her off sharply, his voice oddly harsh as he raised a hand to stop her. "Please, Shepard, just… just… don't." Dropping his hand to his desk again, he took a deep breath in, pausing for a moment, quiet, his expression solemn and pained. "I should go," he finally told her, quietly. Then, seeming to realize something, he hesitated again, a bit surprised, before a faint, almost subconscious smirk began to weakly pull the edge of his mouth upward. "Listen to me," he told her, giving a short, soft huff of a bitter laugh. "I'm starting to sound like you."
"Garrus…" Shepard sighed, overwhelmed, running a hand back through her shaggy bangs. "Garrus, please," she told him, quietly. "I'm not done yet. There's something else."
"Shepard, I… I can't do this right now," Garrus told her, shaking his head again. "Maybe another time. Okay? I'll call you back another time, when…" Trailing off, he took a deep breath, his blue gaze dropping from her face to linger on a spot just outside the frame of the vidcomm. "After… I've had some time to process this," he told her, speaking quieter now. "I'll… send you an e-mail when I get a chance. Let you know everything that's going on. Maybe… when I get some downtime from work, or… something." Going silent again, he faltered, frowning, his plated brow furrowing into a faint, stern line as his line of vision dropped to a spot on his desk. "I'll talk to you later, okay?" he told her, barely loud enough to hear, starting to toy distractedly with a dent in the metal surface of the desk. He seemed unable to meet her eyes as he ran his clawed finger around the impression in a small, lazy circle, seeming transfixed by the motion, almost forcibly so. "Just… keep your chin up," he told her. "Everything will turn out okay in the end. No matter what you choose to do, I… support your decision."
Shepard faltered, surprised by this vote of confidence, her own hand curling into a half-aware ball on the armrest of her chair as she stared at him. "Garrus… she's yours," she told him, quietly, her voice coming out in a soft, weary huff.
Garrus did not react at first, continuing to play with the indentation on his desk. Then, letting out a soft sigh of his own, he looked up at her again, unmoving, unflinching, his expression flat, as if he had expected her to say this but had not been looking forward to it. "You never know when to quit," he told her, his voice a quiet monotone. "Couldn't just leave it alone. Had to drive the knife in a little deeper." Pulling his hand back towards him again, he balanced it at the edge of his desk, curling it into a pensive fist as his mouth drew into a hard, thin scowl. "It's a bad joke, Shepard," he told her, solemnly, hardly seeming to notice as his clenched hand began to shake, ever so slightly. "And I don't appreciate it."
"Garrus—" Shepard began to plead, but he quickly shook his head again, cutting her off.
"I'm… gonna go now," Garrus told her, quietly, his tone short as he looked away from the vidscreen again. "I'll call you when I get a chance." Then, reaching forward towards the vid console, he severed the connection, causing the screen to go black, leaving her in curt, heavy, sinking silence.
"Congratulations, Shepard. It's a girl."
Shepard turned at the sound of Miranda's voice, taking a quick look around, recognizing the vaguely familiar layout of the Minuteman Station cloning lab as she did so. The air in the lab was oddly warm, causing her to sweat a bit through her worn grey hoodie, and she quickly unzipped it, pulling it off, before instead tying it around her waist, not wanting to lose track of it. As she did so, she became consciously aware that something was different about her, and, after a moment, she realized that her stomach had gone back to being flat again, the way it had been before she had ever discovered she was pregnant. She faltered, surprised at this revelation, before reaching down to lift her shirt, investigating her now-level stomach. A tiny, barely visible scar ran the length of the lowermost part of her abdomen, the mark from an apparent caesarean section that had healed exceptionally quickly, and she frowned, a bit taken aback, before letting her undershirt fall back down again and turning her attention up towards Miranda once more. Miranda stood patiently at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the main group of gestation tanks, leaning almost nonchalantly against the railing as she waited for Shepard to collect herself.
"Ready to go?" she asked, expectantly.
Shepard hesitated, unsure what she meant, her brow furrowing a bit at the abruptness of the situation. "Go where?" she asked, tentatively.
"Go see your little girl, of course," Miranda answered, giving a soft, almost disbelieving scoff, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "The stem cells started working almost immediately. She's almost completely back to normal now. The restorative process has been an enormous success." Turning then, she waved a hand, indicating for Shepard to follow behind her, before starting up the stairs towards the gestation tanks, hardly waiting for Shepard to catch up as she made her way towards the top. Shepard was quick to follow behind, not wanting to keep Miranda waiting, and, arriving at the top of the stairs, she took a look around, scanning the tanks for some sign of her daughter. Not much seemed to have changed since the first time they had been there, apart from the soft sound of bubbling liquid coming from somewhere within the room. Most of the tanks sat in cold, vacant silence, making it easy for her to spot the only active reservoir, and she quickly crossed the platform towards it, eager to see her little girl, before her footfalls began to slow, the expectant curiosity fading from her face as she realized with a pang of sinking trepidation what was waiting inside the tank for her.
The creature in the tank was enormous, the size of a fully-grown chimpanzee, or perhaps even a bit larger. Nothing about it looked even remotely human – its arms were twisted, unnaturally long, and gnarled, draping nearly twice the length of its stooped torso, with enormous sinewy hands drifting, half-open, in the bubbling solution, showing off its long, clawed, skeletal fingers. Its legs were stunted and misshapen, tucked in under it, its feet thin and overlong, with bony, elongated toes curled in under the pads. Its head was large and abnormally round, suspended above its weak shoulders on a precariously thin stalk of a neck, with sunken black eyes and a thin slit of a mouth that both seemed unnervingly tiny in its moon-like face. At first glance the creature did not seem to have any nose at all, but when Shepard took another step in closer towards it, she could just see two miniscule slits fluttering open and closed above its mouth.
Taking another cautious step closer to the tank, Shepard leaned in towards the bubbling cistern, lifting a hand to shade her eyes as she peered into the water within. The creature floated in saturnine silence, the only indicator that it was even alive the soft beeping of the heart monitor built into the base of the tank. Then, without provocation, the creature suddenly opened its pitch-black eyes, the skin around the bulbs retracting back towards the base, making its eyes immensely large in its sallow, skeletal face. Its pouched, ghastly skin collected in loose folds around the edges of the heinous black orbs as it stared at Shepard for an instant, before it suddenly opened its deceptively enormous mouth, revealing lines of razor-sharp, anglerfish-like teeth in sickly blackened gums, and let out an unearthly, ear-shattering, screeching howl. Its long arms flew up, scratching the glass, leaving deep nail-marks in the tank on its side as the noise reverberated through the lab, seeming unhindered by the water in the chamber. Shepard took a startled step back, reaching for Miranda, sickening terror threatening to wrench her in two as she turned her desperate, fearful gaze back towards her friend, who stood perfectly still, seeming unfazed, as if she had seen this a hundred times before.
"What's the matter, Shepard?" Miranda asked, turning her gaze towards Shepard, seeming almost critical of her reaction. "You told me you wanted to save your child. I did what you asked. I saved her life. Is this not what you imagined?"
"Miranda, please," Shepard begged, flinching as the horrific shrieking grew even louder, the sound like a white-hot knife pressed against her ears, the barrage of noise making her entire head feel numb. "This isn't right! Please, this isn't right… please, you have to make it stop…!"
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Miranda answered, evenly, shaking her head, seeming completely unfazed by the deafening howling that now reverberated off every hidden crevice of the lab, closing in around them, trapping them inside. "There's no undoing this now. She's alive. Isn't this what you wanted?"
Shepard sobbed at the question, feeling her knees give way beneath her as her grip tightened on Miranda's forearm, and she collapsed towards the floor, the heavy, unremitting wave of noise pushing down on her, crushing her, causing her bones to threaten to break under the pressure. She could feel her ears begin to bleed as the cacophony continued, unrelenting, the creature howling, its mouth gaping wider, its arms seeming to grow even longer and more grotesque with every shrieking scrape of its horrific nails against the wall of the tank. "Miranda, please," Shepard begged, her voice hoarse, hot tears beginning to stream down her face as her head pulsed with pain, feeling as if her brain might burst. "Please, you have to end this! You have to make this stop! Please…!"
"You could have stopped this months ago," Miranda told her, her voice cold and oddly lower than before, not even bothering to look down at Shepard as she spoke. "You chose not to stop it then. Why should I help you stop it now?" Turning to look down at Shepard then, she stared at her, her expression hard, her eyes now hollow, black, and cold, ringed with loose black skin like the creature's against her deathly pale, almost translucent skin. Shepard's eyes widened in horror at the sight of her, but when she tried to pull away, she found herself yanked back again, Miranda's grip on her wrist like death, not letting her get away. Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard could see that the creature had freed itself from its constraints and had started to climb its way out of the tank, its impossibly long arms arching over the top of the lid, its emaciated hands creeping steadily down the sides as it continued to howl, deafening her, making her ears go numb with the noise. "You started this, Shepard," Miranda said, her voice warping, dark, deep, and otherworldly, her skeletal grip on Shepard's wrist tightening. Miranda opened her mouth wide, black bile spilling out between her needle-like teeth, staining her plush lips and pristine outfit as she hissed, her face growing ever more sunken and gaunt as Shepard stared at her, powerless, unable to move.
"YOU FINISH IT."
The white fluorescent lights of the laboratory were almost blinding as Shepard opened her bleary eyes, squinting hard against the glare and blinking a few times as she sought to gather her surroundings. Her head still swam with the remnants of her anaesthetic as she looked around the lab for some sign of Miranda, unable to help but feel a faint sense of déjà vu, until she finally found her standing a few feet away, her back to Shepard, looking over a datapad filled with quickly-scrolling information. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Shepard groaned, reaching a hand to her swimming head, before suddenly realizing an unfamiliar feeling and sliding a hand up under her shirt to check. Where before her operation there had been a notable baby bump, there now remained only a fine, cauterized slit across the length of the base of her nearly-flat stomach. Feeling suddenly dizzy again, Shepard retrieved her hand from her shirt, unable to help but feel a surge of strange emotion as she lay back against her pillows once more, staring up at the ceiling, her expression blank, unsure what she was feeling at the moment but knowing she would come around to it eventually.
Hearing the sound of Shepard waking, Miranda turned, crossing the room to the makeshift bed and setting her datapad aside on a nearby cart. "How are you feeling?" she asked, gently, brushing Shepard's stray bangs out of her bleary face.
Shepard frowned, unsure how to respond, before taking a deep, contemplative breath in. "I don't know," she finally answered, honestly. "I guess 'empty' is a good word for it. I'm not really sure how to feel just yet."
"That's normal," Miranda commended, nodding, before reaching over to pick up her datapad again, giving it another glance over, checking her notes. "You'll probably have some equilibrium issues for the first day or so, and possibly some discomfort in your breasts as well. Your body has to get used to the idea that it's no longer pregnant."
"Hm," Shepard returned, shortly, unsure how else to respond. "That… makes sense I guess."
"I would recommend not getting out of bed for at least a couple days," Miranda told her, speaking frankly, her tone taking on the same clipped, sterile professionalism it had had when Shepard had first met her aboard the Lazarus Cell station. "You've just undergone a hysterectomy, as you know, which has its own set of reactionary stimuli… however, as you were also pregnant before your operation, your body will likely react as if you've had a miscarriage, minus the spotting that occurs after birth. You'll need to get plenty of rest in the first twenty-four hours, and plenty of pain medication. I've got multiple alternatives for the latter, so you're welcome to take your pick of whichever works best for you." Scrolling thoughtfully down the page of her datapad, she skimmed her report, familiarizing herself with the necessary details, before setting it down on the cart again and returning her full attention to Shepard. "Hot and cold compresses will also be good for any potential cramping that occurs, if any does occur," she continued on, matter-of-factly. "We'll have to keep a careful watch out for clotting in your legs or lungs, but you haven't shown any signs of infection thus far, which is good… we'll keep monitoring your temperature to make sure it doesn't occur later on, but it in all honesty, there's no reason why it should. The procedure was very sterile, very simple… but it's always good to be vigilant, regardless."
"Right," Shepard answered, just as short, letting out a soft, overwhelmed sigh. Only a fraction of what Miranda was saying was making its way through to her at the moment, but she figured once she had some time to think and process everything she would eventually come around to the rest. Staring up at the ceiling for another moment longer, she paused, still trying to collect her bearings, wondering if the numb impassiveness she was feeling was normal for what she had just been through. Then, shifting her weight again, she made another effort to sit up in bed, shaking her head against the haze of fatigue and ignoring the stinging pain in her stomach as she took hold of the side of the table-bed, attempting to push herself upright. "I want to see my baby," she said, insistent, turning to look up at Miranda, resolute. "I want to see the tank you put her in."
"You need rest, Shepard," Miranda returned, shaking her head, before reaching out a hand to coax her back to the pillows again. "You've just been through a major operation. Your body needs time to recover from that."
"I feel fine," Shepard insisted, stubborn, her brow furrowing in determination. Pushing herself shakily back up again, she slid her legs over the side of the bed, dropping down to her feet on the floor, feeling the chill of the laboratory flooring against her bare soles as she clung to the side of the bed for support. She could barely manage to stand upright, her still-numb legs threatening to give way under her as she took a shaky step forward, but she reached out a hand for Miranda, insistent, indicating for her to help her walk. Miranda sighed, realizing she had no choice, before pulling Shepard's arm around her shoulders and helping her take her first shaky steps forward, waiting for her to regain her balance.
"Never could stay down for long, could you?" Miranda asked, half-jokingly, giving a soft grunt as she pulled Shepard forward another step. "I really shouldn't be humouring you like this, you know. It will only cause further problems with you taking orders in future."
"You know that's not true," Shepard told her, shaking her head, giving a soft, pained breath of a laugh as she took another uncertain step forward. "I've never been good at taking orders. I'd just have gotten up to see it on my own after you left."
Miranda laughed out loud at this, half-exasperated by the truth of it, before unlooping Shepard's arm from her shoulders, allowing the Commander to stand on her own, shakily at first, but then with more resolve. Then, satisfied that Shepard could hold her own, she turned, indicating for Shepard to follow, before heading out the door of the recovery room and starting down the long, blank corridor outside. The corridor was lined on both sides with metal doors, all of them identical to the one she had just come through, making Shepard wonder how Miranda was able to navigate her way around the station with such ease. Limping up behind her as quickly as she could, Shepard followed Miranda into a large, glass-walled elevator at the end of the hall, leaning her back up against the side of it as Miranda selected the proper floor. The elevator gave a soft ding as its doors slid shut, giving a gentle jostle as it began to move downward, causing Shepard to reach almost subconsciously for her cauterized wound.
"You'll be pleased to know that the transfer went entirely smoothly," Miranda informed her, causing Shepard to look up at her again, a bit surprised. "I had my reservations, my… fears, of course, of unforseen complications, but… everything went entirely as planned. A clean, perfect transfer."
"That's… wonderful," Shepard answered, trying hard not to sound too put off by the mention of Miranda's doubts. She had sounded so completely sure of herself going into the procedure that to hear her now, talking about her uncertainties on the subject, made Shepard feel much less at ease than she had been going into the whole ordeal. The elevator gave another soft jolt as it reached their floor, causing Shepard to clench her fist at her side, not wanting to let on how much pain she was in as she waited for Miranda to exit the elevator first. Following Miranda down a long hallway, they headed towards the laboratory heart of the station, Shepard pulling her thin gown more tightly around her, wondering if the chill down here were due to her lack of garments, the low altitude of the lab, or if the laboratory were kept at a lower temperature intentionally to ensure optimal functionality of the cloning tanks. Moving up to the boiler-like tank in the middle of the ring of reservoirs, Miranda placed a hand on the bar spanning one end of the tank to the other, observing the metallic container a thoughtful moment as she waited for Shepard to catch up again.
"This is it?" Shepard asked, making a face when she saw the humming cistern Miranda now stood beside. "I thought it might be one of the more… visible ones."
"This is the best one for the job," Miranda explained, shortly, patting the bar. Then, letting her hand slide off again, she returned it to her side, before beginning to slowly circle the tank, considering it, thoughtfully. "I've got tubes feeding directly into everything, as you can see," she told Shepard, pointing to what looked to be a large, sealed, drum-like vat beside the main gestation tank, attached to the main reservoir through two sturdy-looking hoses. An artificially-programmed heart monitor had been attached to the front of the drum, the machine giving a soft whirring sound as it pumped along to the beat, and Shepard frowned at the sight of the bulky hoses, wondering how something so large could perform such a perilous function, before realizing that the hefty pipes were likely protecting something much smaller and more delicate. "This is a line sending oxygenated blood into the placental sac," Miranda went on, seeming to not even notice her confusion as she tapped the first hose gently with one finger. "It then feeds it through the umbilical cord to the baby, allowing her a consistent supply of fresh, oxygenated blood, just like she would be getting inside her mother's body. Over here is another line for carrying out waste materials."
Pointing to the second tube, Miranda turned her gaze up towards Shepard again, making sure she was paying attention to her comprehensive narrative, before turning her gaze back to the tank again, returning to her explanation. "The waste materials are destroyed, and the blood is purified and reoxygenated," she continued, moving forward. "This ensures that the baby retains an entirely sterile and healthy environment. The blood in here has to be replaced every few days to ensure it doesn't get too diluted by the purgative process, but it still manages to maintain itself pretty well, even so." Moving around to the other side of the tank, she indicated for Shepard to follow, before this time pointing to what looked to be a metal cylinder fixed to the side of the tank. "This is a conduit for the administration of healthy stem cells," she added, astutely. "It injects a set amount of synthesized cells at predetermined intervals, all the while taking brain activity readings, which it then sends back to my omni-tool. It's programmed to determine the ideal rate of administration to allow for the best regenerative results, and alter its regulations based on feedback data."
"This is… a lot to take in," Shepard admitted, reaching out a curious hand towards the tank, before quickly withdrawing her hand again, afraid to touch it.
"Cloning is a complicated science, Shepard," Miranda told her, matter-of-factly. "It's not just dropping some cells in a tube and waiting for something to grow. Which is why it's so baffling my father was able to clone my mother again from cells thirty years frozen. They should have been far too degraded to work." Pausing then, she considered this, before finally letting out a soft, unsurprised scoff, her brow furrowing into a hard, critical line. "Then again, he was working for the Illusive Man," she reasoned, nonplussed. "He had all sorts of experimental technology at his disposal. I suppose even degraded cells shouldn't have been too hard to restore." Sucking her lip, she thought a moment, before turning her attention up towards Shepard again, intent. "You have heard of the Barn, haven't you?" she asked, expectantly, causing Shepard to look up in surprise at the question. "The top secret Cerberus-owned genetic experimentation facility, run by that bloody creep who just called himself 'the Director'? It got blasted to pieces sometime during the War, if I'm not mistaken, but even so…" Taking a deep breath in, her frown hardened, her lips drawing into a thin, pursed line. "Good riddance," she muttered, darkly.
"I haven't heard of the Barn," Shepard admitted, her own brow furrowing faintly at the unflattering description. "What kind of experiments did Cerberus run there?"
"Mostly alien-centric gene alteration trials," Miranda answered, letting out an almost regretful sigh at having started the conversation at all. "Knowing Cerberus, they likely thought of the aliens subjects as subhuman, and so didn't see a problem with experimenting on them… I was never a part of the Barn's experiments, thank god, but I know that some of the tech used in the Lazarus Cell was derived from experimental tech from the Barn." Shaking her head then, she raised a hand, giving a curt, dismissive wave. "Either way, it's not important," she said, cutting the conversation short. "What it all boils down to is that what we have here is third-tier tech. I've done what I can with what we have, but we'll have to watch it carefully to make sure it continues to operate the way it's intended."
Shepard nodded, only marginally understanding everything Miranda was talking about, before taking a deep breath in and indicating to the tank with a nod of her head. "So, could you… determine the sex?" she asked. "When you transferred her into the tank, did you… happen to take a look, to see?"
"The sex?" Miranda asked, sounding surprised, tuning to look at her again. "I thought you said she was a girl? Have you… not actually seen your baby before?"
"I have," Shepard answered, nodding quickly. Then, pausing, she wavered a moment, before adding, truthfully, "…Kind of. Liara did an ultrasound for me back on the Normandy, so… that's all I've ever seen of her."
"Liara?" Miranda asked, now sounding sceptical, her brow furrowing a bit in doubt. "Does Liara know prenatal medicine? I thought she had a PhD, not a medical degree."
"She… does," Shepard admitted, truthfully. "It was… kind of a snap decision. The ultrasound was… it… the baby wasn't developed enough for me to really…" She frowned, faltering on her words, chewing her lip as she tried to figure out what she was trying to say. "I have no idea what she really looks like," she finally admitted, honestly. "I know she has a head, two arms, two legs, so that's… as good as I can hope for, I guess. I don't know how many toes she has, or fingers, or…" Shaking her head, she let out a huff of breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared intently at the blank, boiler-like metal exterior of the gestation tank. "I don't know," she said, frankly. "All I know is that she's… theoretically… functionally formed. Anything other than that is outside my knowledge."
Miranda frowned faintly at this, seeming a bit confused by her reasoning, before finally taking a deep breath in and raising her sculpted brows. "Well, unfortunately, I couldn't tell you the sex," she answered, fairly. "It's… it's difficult to tell, all things considered. As you know, the baby isn't entirely human, and I… didn't have a conclusive look during transfer." Pausing then, she frowned a bit again, bringing her hand up to rest on her hip. "If I had to warrant a guess, I'd say it's probably a girl," she went on, matter-of-factly. "Like you originally determined her to be. If only because there doesn't seem to be any… by which I mean, I didn't notice any…" She faltered again, this time sucking in on her lips, before making an awkward, indicative gesture in the direction of the gestation tank. "I didn't see a penis," she told her, frankly. "Or… testicles, of any sort. Which doesn't mean it's not a boy, it could very well be a boy, just with a very… small…" She stopped, her frown deepening, realizing she was digging a hole, before letting out a sharp huff of breath and crossing her arms over her chest. "Your baby is a girl," she concluded, shortly. "I'd be willing to put money on that."
Shepard nodded, trusting her judgement, before turning her attention back to the tank, taking a deep, pensive breath in before letting it out in a short, soft sigh. Miranda watched her, her gaze moving between Shepard and the faceless reservoir, before her brow began to furrow faintly, her hand coming up to rest thoughtfully against the side of her face. "Would… you like me to see if I can set up a real-time sonogram imager?" she suddenly asked, causing Shepard to hesitate, blinking a few times, before turning to look at her again, surprised. Miranda shrugged, crossing her arms, before turning her attention back to the tank again, letting out a short, contemplative breath as she gave the cistern a quick, determining once-over. "If I did that, you would be able to see your baby at any time," she added, speaking as much to herself as to Shepard, giving the process some serious thought. "It shouldn't be too hard to rig, considering… just a bit precarious getting the reader into the tank without disrupting the gestation environment."
Shepard frowned, considering the offer, before shaking her head, turning her attention back to the tank and letting out a long, contemplative sigh. "I don't… think so," she answered, honestly. "I'd rather just… leave it the way it is. I don't want to risk disrupting her, and I… I don't…" She hesitated, her mouth twitching into a hard line, before tucking her arms more self-consciously tightly across her chest, letting out another, shorter sigh. "I don't… want to get too attached to her," she confessed, more quietly this time, almost as if afraid to admit it. "Seeing her, watching her… alive, like that… if something were to happen to her after all this, I don't… I don't know that I'd be able to take it." Giving another pensive pause, she frowned deeper, her knees pressing anxiously together as she listened to the heart monitor whirring softly on the other side of the gestation tank. Despite her reasonable justification, she could not help but wonder, quietly, if what she was saying was even true, or if there was another, even more selfish reason for not wanting to see her daughter just yet. The doctor's words from the hospital camp still lingered like a bad omen in the back of her subconscious, making her fear, in some small, unspoken way, that he might be right, and her baby might actually be as horrifically deformed as he had said. She knew it was foolish to jump to conclusions, especially considering the doctor's incomplete knowledge of the situation, but she also could not quite shake the thought that she might have just sacrificed everything for nothing.
"I'd rather just… leave the tank the way it is and hope for the best," she told Miranda, working to keep her voice steady and even. "If this works, I'll see her eventually, and if it doesn't, then…" Stopping again, she trailed off once more, her folded arms tightening across her chest as she let out a long, shaky exhale, her gaze still fixed on the gestation tank. "I guess I won't," she finished, quietly. "Either way, I guess there's nothing to do now… but wait."