Just as Miranda had promised, after a few weeks of discomfort from the initial extraction, it had not taken Shepard's body long to get used to the fact that she was no longer pregnant and return to its previous state of functionality. She had a hard time remembering exactly what her body had felt like before her pregnancy, but she had to admit that she much preferred not having her socks cut into her swollen ankles whenever she stood still for more than a few minutes at a time. She also had to admit that the lack of periods was another bonus she had not even thought about before, and almost made up for the idea that she would never be able to have another child past this one. That thought still made her sad from time to time, but usually only when she was supposed to be sleeping, but instead would stay up staring at the stars projected on the ceiling of the crew quarters by a light-up mobile left behind by one of the previous crew. She had never really thought of herself as the mothering type, but long days and nights with nothing to do but think about what would come next had left her wondering what life might have been like with multiple children, and if she might not regret her decision somewhere down the road.
Miranda had come to find her in the rec room that day, something Shepard had gotten used to in the past few months on the station. At first, she had dreaded the sight of Miranda coming to find her to tell her news, but now she had come to realize that her presence generally only meant an update on the progress of her child's development in the tank. Sitting down across from her at the rec room table, Miranda pressed her datapad to her chest, looking down over the game of checkers Shepard was playing against the VI before turning her attention back up again. "How are you feeling?" Miranda asked, causing Shepard to look up in surprise at the question. Pulling up her medical chart, Miranda gave it a quick once-over, scrolling down to the bottom of the file before looking up at Shepard again. "Anything I should know about?" she asked. "Any lingering discomfort, or… unexpected symptoms…?"
"I think I'm doing okay," Shepard told her, turning her attention back to the board again. "Nothing major that I can think of. Just… thoughts, sometimes. Nothing big." Reaching out, she moved a piece, watching as it jumped over one of the computer's pieces, claiming it. The VI gave a beep of disappointment as the holographic piece flickered out, reappearing on the edge of the board in a neat line near Shepard's elbow.
"Thoughts?" Miranda asked, interestedly, placing her datapad down on the table in front of her, causing the VI to give another beep of protest as its setup was interrupted. "What kind of thoughts? Thoughts of regret?"
Shepard paused a moment, considering this, her thumb tapping absentmindedly against her opposite forearm as she let out a soft, pensive breath. Then, looking up at Miranda again, she shrugged, seeming to completely forget about the game of checkers still laid out in front of her. "Thoughts of relief, mostly," she answered, straightforwardly. "For her, more than anything else. Relief that I decided to do what I did… letting you take her out of me."
"You made a good call, Shepard," Miranda told her, honestly.
"I know," Shepard returned, giving another affirming nod. "It had to be done. And besides, I'm kind of glad I decided not to continue with… her… internally. You know. I was having enough trouble getting up and down as it was, at just five months. Eight, nine months… I wouldn't have been able to move." Waving a hand, she dismissed the checkers game, too distracted to continue playing. Then, pausing again, she considered her words for a moment, before letting out a soft scoff, her brow furrowing in incredulity as she stared at a spot near her arm on the table. "Some war hero, blown up like a goddamn balloon," she said, reaching forward to pick absentmindedly at the spot, only to realize it was a dent and give up the effort. "How do people do that without losing their minds from embarrassment? You look like you're carrying a, a… small escape pod on your front, and there's no way to flatter it. It's… hopeless. Awful." Shaking her head, she looked back down again, moving her feet absentmindedly apart and together, unable to help but wonder what it would have been like to look down and not be able to see them. "I'm glad she's in the tank," she finally said, quieter, causing Miranda to look up at her again, concerned. "It's safer for her in there. She has a better chance of survival with you looking after her than she ever had with me."
Miranda seemed surprised at this, and for a moment she did not seem to know what to say in return. "That's not true," she finally told her, her voice surprisingly firm, causing Shepard to look up at her in surprise. "You shouldn't sell yourself short like that, Shepard. For all you know, you were born to be a mother. You never know until you try. That's what I've always been told." Then, looking down at her datapad again, she tucked a frazzled lock of dark hair behind her ear, not meeting Shepard's gaze as she tried hard to remember what she came down to tell her in the first place. "Oh!" she finally said, looking up again, eagerly. "I got the most recent report on your baby's stem cell reparation effort. I don't want to give you false hope just yet, but… it looks like our efforts are working." Shepard immediately perked up at the news, sitting up straighter in her rec room chair as she held out a hand for the datapad, but Miranda quickly pulled it back again, not wanting to let her see it just yet. "Now, it's not a sure thing yet," she told her, warningly, causing Shepard to quickly retract her arm again, frowning, confused. "It's still more or less up in the air at this point. The baby is technically no longer braindead, but just because her brain has theoretical functionality doesn't mean it necessarily works to send signals to the rest of her body's functions."
"How will we know if she's actually braindead or not?" Shepard asked, still uncertain if she should be elated or upset at the news she was receiving. It was often difficult to tell with Miranda, who had a bad habit of making bad things sound hopeful, and good things oddly daunting.
Miranda paused, tapping her datapad against her palm, trying to figure out how best to explain it, before finally raising her sculpted brows with a soft, conceding sigh. "There's no way to know for sure until she's born," she finally admitted. "We'll just have to wait and see if she cries. If she cries when she's born, then she's back to full theoretical brain functionality."
"And if she doesn't?" Shepard asked, dreading the answer.
Miranda frowned, her plush lips pursing, looking as if she had hoped she might not have to talk about the other possibility. "Then… she'll have been born anencephalic," she answered, honestly. "Or the equivalent thereof. Not technically dead, but… unlikely to live more than a few hours to a few days after birth, and never with any sensationalism of personhood. In that situation… it would probably be kindest to euthanize her immediately after birth."
Shepard's frown instantly lifted at this, replaced instead by a look of alarm. "What are the chances of that happening?" she asked.
"At this point?" Miranda returned, frankly. She paused, doing some quick calculations in her head, before frowning again, turning her attention back to Shepard once more. "Fifty-fifty," she answered, forwardly. "Which is much better than our chances going in. At the start of the stem cell therapy, she only had a twelve percent chance of survival. Now her chances are significantly better."
"But still not absolute," Shepard added, bluntly.
"Nothing is absolute with science, Shepard," Miranda told her, letting out a soft, frustrated sigh. "It's just a hard truth we have to learn to live with. We're doing the best we can, but… sometimes our best just isn't enough."
"So there's nothing else we can do?" Shepard asked, agitated, tapping her index finger distractedly against the metal surface of the table. "No additional measures we can take to up her chances any more than they already are?"
"We've done everything we can at this point," Miranda answered, letting out another soft sigh, this one more apologetic than the last. Shrugging her thin shoulders, she let her datapad settle into her lap, crossing her hands pensively over the screen. "I'll see what I can do about regulating her stem cell therapy until it's time to initiate the birthing sequence," she told Shepard, causing her to look up at the news, unconvinced. "If I can isolate a pattern of administration that allows for the highest feedback in the production of new brain activity, I'll continue on that pattern in the hopes of a significant improvement in that time. That's the best I can offer right now, as far as your baby is concerned. Anything more propitious than that is… highly unlikely, medically speaking."
Shepard paused, considering this offer, her hand coming to a standstill against the desk as she stared at Miranda for another moment longer, trying to read her expression but finding nothing but sincerity in her face. Then, pulling her hand back again, she tucked it into the pocket of her hoodie, offering Miranda a weary, thankful half-smile. "Thanks, Miranda," she told her, offering her a grateful nod. "You're a good friend."
"And all it took was me breaking the laws of medical science a little to do it," Miranda returned, half-jokingly, offering Shepard an appreciative little smile in return. "Piece of cake, really, when you think about it. I'm just glad I could help."
The digital clock on the wall of the crew quarters read that it was nearly 9pm, but, despite the time, Shepard had never felt more awake in her life. She had no idea what Earth-relevant timezone the clock had been set to, but even so, she had been trying to keep a semi-regular schedule while on board the station so that she might be able to sleep and wake during regular hours on her return home – if she ever returned home. This evening, however, Miranda's prediction about her daughter's chances of survival was making it difficult to close her eyes, and as the minutes on the clock ticked by, she stared blankly at the ceiling of the room, her fingers running absentmindedly along the thin, barely-visible scar left behind by her hysterectomy. It was a difficult thing to think about – the feeling of isolation, of futility, the idea that everything she had done and sacrificed up to that point might not matter in the end. She had tried hard over the past few weeks to convince herself that no matter the outcome, it was worth every effort she had put into trying, but the closer it came to the actual conclusion, the less certain she found herself feeling about every miniscule decision she had made along the way.
Just then, the vidcomm screen at the far end of the crew quarters began to ding softly, the screen lighting up blue to inform her that an outside message was attempting to come through. Shepard frowned, surprised at the interruption, trying to remember if she had requested for anyone to call her, before sliding her legs out of bed, not even bothering to put on her shoes as she crossed the quarters to the vidcomm station. Dropping herself down into the chair, she reached forward, pressing the flashing incoming message button, before leaning back in her chair again, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully as she tried to figure out who might be calling. She had heard from Liara only a few days earlier, which usually meant it would be at least another couple days before she called back again for another update. She liked keeping Shepard up to date, but with the galaxy in such disarray, her schedule was often full to the brim, making it hard for her to find time to call more than once every week or so. The blue loading symbol spun lazily as she waited, buffering the incoming message signal, before suddenly, the screen flashed to an image, and Shepard found herself looking at a familiar face she had not expected.
"Garrus," Shepard greeted him, trying hard not to sound as surprised as she felt. "I… didn't expect to hear back from you. Did you get my correspondence request?"
"Sidonis told me you were trying to get in contact with me, if that's what you're talking about," Garrus answered, shortly, shifting to try to get a bit more comfortably in his seat. "I was a little surprised when the appeal came through, to be honest. I thought I made it clear that 'family' included my old crew. I guess they didn't get that memo up at communications." Letting out a short, thwarted sigh, he shifted his broad shoulders, seeming to accept that he was not going to get entirely settled in his chair, before looking up at her again, frankly. "I wasn't ignoring you, Shepard," he told her, honestly, shaking his head. "I've just been really busy lately. The rebuild effort is… progressing, but… slowly." Pausing then, he tilted his head forward a bit, his mandibles giving a quick, anxious tic as he stared at her, preparing to go on. "Plus, I… kind of figured you were upset with me when you didn't respond to my e-mails," he added, thoughtfully. "Not that I blame you. I was… not as kind as I could have been on our last vid conversation."
Shepard faltered at this, taken aback, her hands curling almost subconsciously in front of her as she stared at him, unsure what to say. In truth, she had thought his short, business-like e-mails to have been a dismissal of her, and that he had been the one who had not wanted to converse, but now she found herself wondering worriedly if perhaps she had merely projected her own feelings of inaccessibility unfairly on his words. "It's okay, Garrus," she told him, speaking before she could stop herself. "I… think we're both kind of to blame for that. It was insensitive of me to drop everything on you like that. I should have prepared better."
Garrus save a soft, humourless chuckle at this, looking down towards his hands on the desk as he gave a short grunt of consideration. "Yes, well," he said, giving a soft sigh. "There's really no way to prepare for something like that. You did the best with what you had. I should have been more understanding." Taking another deep breath in, he paused, staring absentmindedly at his hand on his desk, before frowning a bit, his plated brow furrowing as he let out his breath in a long, pensive exhale. Then, seeming to remember something, he looked up at Shepard again, his mandibles giving a few quick, excited, circular tics against his chin as his blue eyes widened eagerly. "Oh," he said, enthusiastically. "I almost forgot. While we were breaking new ground for architectural purposes, we came across a major silver vein. Palaven has been a producer of silver for years, but the mines we had previously set up were almost stripped dry during the War effort, so this discovery is… great, for what it's worth." Looking back down towards his desk again, he gave another quick, excited huff, his mandibles starting to tic faster in anticipation. "Part of our rebuild effort has now been converted into a mining operation," he went on, pragmatically. "It's… not what I'm used to. The value of precious metals has dropped significantly since the end of the War… but, we're still making a small dent in the deficit. Slowly but surely."
"You'd think jewellery wouldn't be that popular after the War," Shepard commented, frowning a bit, intrigued. "It's surprising a precious metal vein would be much help in times like these. People must have more important things to spend their money on, like… food. Shelter."
"They do," Garrus agreed, looking up at her again. "And, it's not. Jewellery, that is. Popular. Only a small fraction of the silver we mine actually goes into the jewellery trade, and that's usually only for people who are buying up all the precious metal they can to save until after the depression blows over." He paused then, considering this for a moment, before taking a deep, contemplative breath in, his plated brow furrowing in thought. "It's not a bad idea," he added, thoughtfully. "Hunkering down for the long run. If any of us had extra credits to spare to take a risk on things like that, it wouldn't be a bad plan of action." He hesitated, thinking about this, before letting out a soft scoff, shaking his head. "I mean, I've always been something of a risk taker," he admitted. "But… never that great with money, unfortunately. I figure it's better to take my chances with hard labour than try my luck with gaming the economy." Looking up at her again, he faltered, considering this, before taking in another short, sharp breath, preparing to move onward.
"Either way, that's just a small fraction of where the silver goes," Garrus explained, matter-of-factly. "The rest goes into more practical things like… dental alloys, soldering and brazing, electrical contacts… batteries… that sort of thing. There's also a surprising amount of demand for sun-sensitive glass for personal shuttlecars." Pausing then, he frowned a bit, his mandibles giving a broad, contemplative dip as he tapped one finger thoughtfully against the line of his desk. "We've also discovered a large market within the quarian and volus communities for silver nanoparticles," he added, interestedly, causing Shepard to look up again. "Apparently they prevent sweat from forming bacterial residue and odours in their exosuits. I had no idea." Pausing again, he hesitated, before looking down towards his desk once more and letting out a soft, half-embarrassed little chuckle. "Then again, turians don't sweat like other races," he added. "So it probably makes sense that I wouldn't know. One thing I can be grateful for for being turian, I guess."
"Among several," Shepard added, playfully.
Garrus chuckled softly at this, dropping his gaze momentarily, before looking back up at her again, the same affection she had grown so used to seeing in them peeking through, just visible through the vidscreen. "Hm," he grunted, good-naturedly. "Yes, well. I suppose I do have a few… other, benefits as well. At least I don't have to worry about getting hit in the groin, unlike your… soft and supple species."
"You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl," Shepard joked back, unable to keep a fond, longing smile from creeping across her face.
Garrus chuckled again at this banter, his smile seeming oddly sad, almost forced, as if he wanted to say something important but could not convince himself to do so. Clearing his throat again, he looked down, his mandibles giving a broad dip as he did so, before taking a deep breath and looking up at her again, forcibly casual this time. "Have you… heard from Earth?" he asked, hopefully, changing the subject again, causing Shepard to have to hold back a look of disappointment. "Anything from the rest of the crew?"
Shepard hesitated, staring at him for a moment, wondering if there was anything she could say to get him to tell her what he had been thinking only moments earlier. Then, letting out a soft breath of her own, she leaned forward towards the desk, folding her hands contemplatively in front of her as she thought back to the last report she had received. "Liara has been giving me updates," she finally answered, frankly. "She says the crew are doing well. They've managed to locate everyone except Thane and Zaeed. Even Kasumi."
"That's good," Garrus answered, conversationally, giving a short, confirming nod. "And how is Anderson doing? Better? Last I heard he was in some sort of coma. Hopefully he's gotten out of that by now."
At this, Shepard instantly perked up, her posture straightening as a delighted smile spread across her face. "He came out of it just last week," she told him, elated at the news. "They had to go into operation when a massive clot formed in one of his legs… they had to amputate it just below the knee, but that seemed to clear up most of his other bloodflow issues. He's still in the hospital, but they're talking about sending him into physical therapy soon." Her smile widening, she shifted happily in her chair, crossing her ankles as she leaned in even closer to the vidscreen, enthusiastic. "He and Kahlee Sanders were going to get married in the hospital when he woke up," she told him, going onward. "But he said he wanted to learn to walk on his prosthetic first, so he could stand at the end of the aisle for her—" Stopping then, she faltered a bit, her enthusiastic voice trailing off as she stared at him, the smile slowly starting to fade from her face at the mention of matrimony. She wanted so badly to ask him his thoughts, his feelings, his plans on whether he still wanted to go through with the marriage they had talked about so enthusiastically before the final battle on Earth, but she knew that now was probably the worst possible time to do it, while he was still hurting from the details of their last conversation.
Garrus seemed to notice the shift in conversation, as he quickly brought a hand up, clearing his throat, before taking a deep breath, preparing to change the subject once more. "So," he told her, his speech rocky as he tried to navigate the touchy topic. "It must be almost time for you to… have your baby. It's been almost… eight months now, I think. Should be sometime soon."
"Just about," Shepard agreed, shortly, not bothering to correct him on the proverbial timeline.
Garrus grunted, following along, his mandibles giving a wary twitch as he tried to keep his gaze from flicking away from her prematurely. "Have you told Vega yet?" he finally asked, politely interested, though Shepard could tell it pained him to ask. "That he's, that… you're… going to be parents?"
"No," Shepard answered, honestly, shaking her head. "I haven't told Vega anything. It's not his baby, Garrus. It's yours. I told you that already."
Garrus sighed at this, trying hard to be patient, his gaze dropping momentarily from her face before looking back up again, determinedly. "It's a nice thought," he told her, softly. "But, unfortunately, I don't know that it will work. I don't know where we stand now, Shepard. I would have been happy to adopt your child with you if you had only told me a little sooner, but right now is… a really bad time for me. And not a great time for us." Frowning then, he stared at her, tapping his thumb absentmindedly against the line of his desk as he tried to decide what was left to say, if there was any way to bring the conversation back to where it had been before. She knew he hated leaving things on a bad note – that was his way, always trying to make things better – but he seemed to be having a hard time finding something positive to say about the situation. "Either way, whoever's baby it really is is sure to be proud," he finally told her, surprising her a bit. "Even if they don't get to actively be its father. Anybody would be proud to have a baby with Commander Shepard."
Shepard frowned at this sentiment, unable to help but feel a bit wounded by his stolid refusal to accept the truth, no matter how many times she told him. She realized it had to be hard to swallow, as she still was not entirely privy to the details of how it happened, herself, but the fact that he seemed determined not to listen to her was still somewhat disconcerting. It was not the first time something impossible had happened within their ship community, but she had to admit that it was likely the first thing of this scale, and so, letting out a sigh, she shook her head, deciding to drop the issue for now, before leaning forward a bit in her chair towards the vidscreen, getting his full attention. "Please don't be so impersonal," she pleaded, quietly. "I don't want this to be the end for us."
Garrus sighed again at this, folding his hands in front of him on his desk and looking down at them, determined, unable to meet her eye for the first time. "I just… don't know where we can go from here," he admitted, shaking his head, sadly. "What kind of relationship could we have if I can't trust you? We were supposed to tell each other everything. This is…" Taking another deep breath in, he looked up at her again, solemn, his mandibles giving anxious, thin twitches at his chin as he frowned. "This is a big thing, not to tell someone, Shepard," he told her. "A baby isn't a small detail. I'm not sure I could ever trust you again after something like this."
Shepard faltered, taken aback for a moment by this stark, painful truth, before finally letting out a huff of breath, trying to keep her unwavering composure as she stared at a point somewhere just below the frame of the vidscreen. "I know," she admitted, shaking her head. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I don't deserve that. I'm sorry, Garrus. It was all my fault. I was selfish, and… I wasn't thinking." Looking up at him again, she frowned, her fingers curling anxiously around the edges of her armrests as she felt her body stiffen around her in dissent at her own inadequacy. "I was an idiot, Garrus," she told him, frankly. "Hate me for that. But don't think I didn't care about you this whole time. I didn't tell you because I cared about you. I cared about what you would think of me. I even…" She stopped, trailing off, her mouth drawing into a hard line, before letting out a soft, conceding sigh. "I even thought about getting an abortion," she admitted, quieter this time. "Just so I wouldn't have to deal with telling you. I didn't know how you felt about me at the time, and I… didn't want to risk what we had on something I wasn't even sure about. I wasn't ready to be a mother on my own, and… honestly… I wanted you more than I wanted that baby. But then something changed, and I guess… I thought…"
Letting out another sigh, deeper this time, Shepard leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, frowning. "I thought, why can't we have both?" she asked, trying hard not to make a guilty face at his unmoving expression. He was working so hard not to react, not to give any indicator of how he felt, but his efforts not to judge her as she spoke were only making her feel worse. "You seemed amenable to the idea of a baby," she added, hopefully. "It was just a matter of asking you if you would be open to it being… this baby. But… I didn't know how to ask you that, and… I didn't want to scare you off. I wanted us, but I also wanted… us. All three of us. Together." Frowning again, she looked down towards her feet, unable to meet his earnest gaze any longer. "I didn't know how to tell you," she told him, quieter, honestly. "I… I didn't know how you were going to react. You loved me for who you knew me to be, this… fun, daring, singular person, and I… didn't know how to tell you that I… wasn't that person anymore. What you loved wasn't what you would have been getting, and I…" She paused again, staring at her feet, considering whether it was worth going on, before finally looking up at him again, taking a deep breath in, steeling her expression.
"I didn't want to lie to you," she told him, honestly, trying hard not to scoff at herself at the bitter irony. "I'm not that person, Garrus. That person you loved. I'm… different. I'm… tired. I'm just… so… tired. And that's not what you wanted. That's not who you needed me to be." Taking another deep breath in, she bit her lip, feeling her stomach twist with anxiety as she held it, before finally letting it out again in a soft, bitter exhale. "So I just… pretended that was who I was," she added, quieter. "For as long as I could. Until it caught up with me and I couldn't hide it anymore." Having finished what she wanted to say, she stared at him for another moment longer, the unbearable silence falling, stiff and unfriendly, over the conversation as she waited for some sort of reaction, anything to let her know that he was still listening, that he still cared about anything she had to say. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Garrus took a deep breath in, his hand curling absentmindedly at the edge of his desk as he stared at her, preparing to respond.
"You're wrong, Shepard," Garrus told her, frankly, causing her to look up in surprise, her brow furrowing faintly at the unexpected response. "I never needed you to be anyone. I'm not a lost soul looking for some sort of poetic redemption. You think I want a hero? I want an equal. A partner, a… a friend." Pausing again, his plated frown deepened, his hand starting to shake ever so slightly at the edge of his desk as he took another deep breath, preparing to go on. "I want someone I can trust," he told her, causing her to look down at the word, ashamed. "Someone I can come home to at the end of the day when I'm worn out and tired. Someone who will love me for my aching back and feet. Someone who can't cook, and can't dance, and… has no idea how to act in a formal conversation. Someone human, in every… metaphorical sense of the word." He stopped again, choking on his words, causing Shepard to look up at him again, expectant, hanging onto his every word, needing to know what came next.
"I know you better than anyone, Shepard," he finally told her, working hard to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke. "I've seen you fall, I know you've got weaknesses just like everyone else. That's what I was looking for. I'm just a guy, and I wanted someone just… to be with. To be myself with." Taking another long, shuddering breath, he swallowed hard, looking down for the first time, staring intently at his shaking fist on the edge of the table. "I wanted you for you," he told her, quieter this time, as sincere as she had ever heard him. "That's all I've ever wanted. You. With all your faults and slip-ups along the way." Another painful, lengthy silence fell over the conversation at this, and for a long moment neither one of them said anything, Shepard staring at Garrus, unable to speak, watching as he kept his gaze fixed intently on his desk, not wanting to let her see him showing any sign of weakness. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Garrus finally lifted his head again, staring at Shepard through the screen, his expression solemn, forcibly blank.
"Let me know after the baby's been born," he told her, still speaking quietly, as if afraid speaking any louder might cause his voice to waver again. "I'll… try to take some leave to come and visit. If I can't, then… call me. Let me know what's going on. I want to be there for the two of you, Shepard, even if…" He faltered, trailing off, his gaze drifting faintly to one side as he paused, before letting out a soft, almost pained-sounding breath. "Even if it doesn't work out for us," he said, quieter this time, returning his attention to her once more.
Shepard faltered, touched by his words, too taken aback by his sincerity to respond right away. Then, clearing her throat gently, she nodded, dropping her gaze to her desk again, her hand fidgeting anxiously in front of her as she wet her lips, trying to think how to respond, working hard to keep herself from choking up as well. "Thanks, Garrus," she finally told him, quietly, her gaze flicking to his face momentarily before dropping again. "You're a… really good guy." Pausing then, she frowned faintly, her fingers starting to drum absentmindedly against the line of her desk as she thought, sucking in anxiously on her lower lip as she tried to decide whether or not to ask what she was thinking. Then, taking a deep breath in, she looked up at him again, narrowing her eyes a bit as she stared at him, hopefully. "Garrus," she said, speaking slowly, going over every word carefully as she said it, making sure was saying exactly what she wanted to say. "Do you think, maybe… possibly… there might be a chance… we can try again after the baby is born?"
Garrus paused, seeming surprised by this question at first. Then, his plated brow furrowing a bit, he tilted his head, his mandibles giving a few quick, rhythmic tics, before looking up at Shepard again and giving a short, thoughtful nod. "Sure, Shepard," he told her, fairly. "I don't see why not. We'll… start over fresh. From the beginning. Get to know one another again. If it works, it works, and if it doesn't…" Trailing off, he considered a moment, before letting out another pensive grunt. "Well," he said. "We'll always have the memories. And at least we'll still be friends. That counts for something." Having said this, he stopped again, looking up at her, thoughtfully, before a soft, fond smile began to curl his tapered mouth gently upward. "It'll be just like old times," he told her, teasingly. "You, me, a bottle of wine… and some bad techno music to lighten the mood."
"Maybe not the music," Shepard answered, giving a soft laugh, unable to help herself. "Don't want to wake the baby, after all."
"Right, right," Garrus agreed, his puckish, toothy smile widening. "The baby. Hm. Well. If it's anything like you, it'll probably be a heavy sleeper. Maybe a bit of a drooler, too."
"I do not drool," Shepard returned, good-naturedly affronted.
Garrus laughed again at this, raising his hands, playfully apologetic. "My mistake," he told her, chuckling. "You know me. Can't tell one human body function from another." Letting his hands drop down again, he paused, watching her, fondly, before letting out a soft, almost longing sigh, his posture relaxing for what felt like the first time since the start of the call. "I do miss you, Shepard," he told her, honestly. "And… you know, when they told me you were pregnant at the hospital, I… I-I know it's silly, but I… couldn't help thinking, for a split second, that maybe, hopefully… it might be mine." Having said this, he paused a moment, his mandibles trembling, his blue eyes wide, but he barely let a hot, pin-drop second pass before he quickly spoke up again, raising his hands, barrelling over any potential response of incredulity. "I know that's… ridiculous," he added, quickly, shaking his head. "We could never work that way. I know that. I know. You said so yourself, but… it's nice to think about, either way. A baby, made from just the two of us." Letting out another soft sigh, he let his hands drop back to his desk, his fingers taut, itching eagerly, as if sitting still physically pained him.
"Do you… ever think about that sometimes?" he finally asked, his voice tentative, as if almost afraid to even bring it up again. "The idea of the two of us… having a baby. I know you joked about it at the party, but…" Pausing again, he fidgeted, his posture stiff, his mandibles giving short, anxious twitches against his chin as he watched her, waiting for some sort of response. Then, letting out another sigh, deeper this time, he sank back in his chair again, his broad shoulders going slack, his hands sliding to the edge of his desk as he dropped his gaze to the holo-keypad. "I'm sorry," he told her, apologetically. "There you are, about to have a real baby, probably worried sick, and here I am… talking about something ridiculous."
"Not that ridiculous," Shepard answered, trying hard not to make a face.
Garrus paused, watching her for a hesitant moment, trying to figure out if she were making fun of him or not. Then, realizing she was being sincere, he lifted his chin, smiling again, his sheepish expression giving way to puckishness once more. "Well then," he told her, his voice a quiet, endearing drawl. "What do you say, after you have this baby, you and I… we try to make one of our own? I figure, even if nothing comes of it… we can't really complain about trying." Shrugging then, he traced his finger across the desk, letting her fill in the possibilities for herself, before retrieving his hand, returning it to his lap, and letting out a soft, tired sigh. "I miss talking to you, Shepard," he told her, more seriously now. "I miss just… conversing. Asking you about your day, and you asking about mine. Small talk, without it having to be about anything major or… groundbreaking. You know."
"I know," Shepard agreed. "I miss it, too."
Garrus hesitated, watching her, waiting, as if expecting her to say something more. Then, letting his gaze drop again, he cleared his throat, gently, reaching out to inspect the small dent in the desk he had been playing with the first time she had talked to him. "I should… probably get back to work," he finally told her, looking up at her again, his expression reluctant, as if he had secretly wished the conversation could go on forever. "Palaven isn't going to rebuild itself. I'll… talk to you later, Shepard."
Shepard nodded, sucking in on her lips as she leaned back in her chair again, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets, equally reluctant to let the vidcomm call conclude. This conversation had lasted much longer than she had anticipated, but she still had no idea when she would get to talk to him again, or if he would even call back. He seemed much more willing to communicate with her this time, but the nearly twelve-week stretch with barely any communication still weighed heavily on her mind, and she took a deep breath in, forcing herself not to grasp blindly for more topics just to keep him on the line as she offered him a wan, amicable smile in return. "You, too, Garrus," she told him. "Take care." Then, reaching forward towards the vidscreen, she pressed the button on the side, severing the comm connection, returning the screen once more to lonely, finalistic black.
An alarm blaring from somewhere within Minuteman Station woke Shepard instantly from her sleep, causing her to shoot up straight in bed, reaching for her gun on her nightstand, only to find it missing. For an instant, she froze, her senses white-hot with dread, trying to figure out who could have taken her weapon, until she suddenly remembered where she was and retrieved her hand, clenching it to her chest. It did not take long for dread to quickly give way to sickening panic, however, and she hastily threw the covers off herself, leaping out of bed, not even bothering to put on her shoes as she ran towards the source of the shrieking alarm. Making her way to the central elevator, she slammed the button over and over, waiting for the elevator to arrive on her floor, before deciding the elevator was taking too long and turning to instead make her way for the stairs. Tearing down the steps two at a time, she finally reached the laboratory floor, and she quickly began to sprint down the hallway towards the ear-splitting sound, looking for the source of the alarm.
It did not take her long to find the origin of the chaos – it seemed that, sometime during the night, her baby's gestation tank had seemingly come alive, the usually gentle beeping of the heart monitor shrieking as the fluid inside bubbled and frothed like a simmering cauldron. An alarm blared loudly from somewhere inside the lab, alerting anyone who would listen to the situation, and Shepard covered her ears against the sound as she made her way up the stairs towards the gestation platform, only to find Miranda already standing over the tank, still in her nightgown, one hand curled against her chest as she typed frantically into a screen near the tank with the other. The hand she held against her was bright red, with a thick, black and purple mark across the back of it, just above the line of her knuckles, and as Shepard got closer, she could see the definitive outline of a latch starting to form as a large, raised welt near the badly-bruised line. "What happened, Miranda?" Shepard demanded, causing Miranda to glance back at her momentarily before returning her attention to the tank. "What's going on?! Talk to me!"
"The tank," Miranda exclaimed, gasping, out of breath, lifting her good wrist to her face to wipe her streaming eyes. "The tank, the monitor, it-it… it informed me during the night that gestation had reached its finished stage, but when I tried to initiate the birthing sequence, I…" Shaking her head, she pressed her hand to her frazzled hair, starting to breathe even faster as she stared in helpless horror at the frothing, screaming tank. "I don't know, Shepard," she told her, frantically. "Something went wrong. I don't… I don't know how, but somehow an airborne bacterium got into the tank during the birthing sequence, and the tank, it— it immediately sealed itself again to purge it. It broke my hand when it closed itself, and I… I don't know how to stop it now—"
"What?!" Shepard shouted, screaming to be heard over the roar of the tank, causing Miranda to look up at her again, her reddened eyes wide, startled. "What do you mean it's purging itself?! Stop it, Miranda – you have to stop it!"
"I'm trying to stop it!" Miranda shouted back, her voice breaking with anxiety. "I'm… I'm trying to override it so it doesn't hurt the baby! But it's… it's cleansing the tank, it's purging the birthing chamber, terminating anything even remotely unhygienic…!" Turning her attention back to the override screen, she put in another set of numbers, her good hand shaking so hard she could barely hold it steady enough to type, and she swore quietly as she missed a number, causing the override screen to flash red. Miranda gritted her teeth in desperation as another wave of frantic tears streamed down her anxious face, and the tank whirred even louder at the blunder, starting to rock violently on its metal feet.
"This is taking too long!" Shepard shouted, causing Miranda to take a step back, alarmed. Stepping forward towards the cistern, Shepard shoved Miranda unceremoniously out of the way, placing her hands on the bar spanning the top as she tried to think of a possible solution Miranda had not. Then, taking firm hold of one of the hefty metal clamps securing the tank to the floor of the laboratory, she braced her bare feet against the cold flooring, beginning to pull with all her might, figuring that if she could just cut it off from its power source, that might stop the panic command, which would stop the tank from purging itself and killing her baby in the process. Her hands glowed white-blue with biotic energy as the sound of the siren blared in her ears, her arms straining against the heavy soldering as she sought to pull the tank up from the floor by its roots. Then, with a shrieking, shuddering jolt, the tank began to slowly move, dragging up out of the sleek metal floor of the laboratory with a loud, crackling shrieking of metal and wires. The alarm blared even louder in response, and Shepard's hands glowed even brighter as she took a step back from the tank, pulling it up as she went. The tank gave another sharp jolt, ripping up from the floor of the lab, sparks flying from the clamps as they strained against the sides of the tank. Then, finally, with one last, satisfying, ringing clatter, the tank came loose from the clamps that held it, giving a low, reverberating clang as it dropped down against the floor of the lab, no longer connected to anything solid.
The empty clamps where the tank had stood keened, red-hot, as smoke drifted up in confused tendrils out of the wires left stripped and broken in its wake, and Shepard finally allowed herself to let go of the tank, her hands still burning, reddened and numb, as she turned from the tank back to Miranda. Miranda stared at her with wide, amazed eyes, her hand still curled protectively at her chest, her mouth hanging open in shock, barely bothering to contain her amazement at the sight of the disconnected tank. The walls still rang with the fading echoes of the alarm as Miranda made her way over to the tank, checking the two attached reservoirs to make sure neither had been seriously harmed. Then, turning her attention up towards Shepard again, she let out a sharp, relieved huff of breath, stepping over the smouldering ruin of where the cistern had been to take hold of one of her friend's hands, turning it over, inspecting the damage done. "We have to move the tank again," Miranda told her, quietly, seeming hesitant to even mention it but for the gravity of the situation. "Without a source of power to drive it, the filtration, steroid, and stem cell supplementation systems can't continue to run. We need those functions running as long as the baby is still in utero, and… I'm not sure how much longer it's going to stay that way. A bit, yet, as far as I can tell."
Shepard frowned at the unwelcome news, looking back towards the still-smoking tank, before letting out a soft sigh, reclaiming her hand, and making her way back over to the tank. Miranda followed along behind her, still holding her wounded hand to her chest, her sculpted brows furrowing in fervent thought as she stared down at the cistern still lying on the laboratory floor. "Can you use your biotics to move it?" Shepard asked, turning to glance back at Miranda. Then, looking down at Miranda's injured hand, she frowned, her brow furrowing in concern as she noticed the black and purple bruise had begun to spread outward from the point of impact. "Want me to bandage that up first?" she asked, nodding towards the broken appendage. Miranda paused, seeming surprised by the question, before shaking her head and raising her good hand, her palm starting to glow with electric blue light as an aura of biotic energy surrounded the tank. Moving over to the tank, Shepard put her hands under it, steadying the heavy cistern in midair as Miranda moved it precariously across the floor, taking care not to jostle the tank as they moved it from one end of the platform to the other, finally lowering it gently down in front of an open incubation station.
Unscrewing the broken remainders of the original plugs from the input valves of the tank, Shepard tossed them aside onto the laboratory floor, instead pulling a large, hose-like plug from the floor near where the tank now sat and plugging it into place on one side of the tank. Giving it an extra, tightening twist for good measure, she waited, making sure it took, before the sound of soft beeping began to reach her ears, followed by a gentle whirring sound as the heart monitor began to pump again. Taking a step back, Shepard frowned, disconcerted by the makeshift setup, before propping her hands on her hips as she watched Miranda come up to stand beside her, looking down at the tank as well. "The baby needs to stay in healthy suspension until we can figure out an alternative method of birthing," Miranda explained, staring down at the tank, her expression stern. "We can't risk the general extraction function again. It thinks the lab is too unsanitary. In order to make the lab sanitary enough, we'd need… weeks of purging, just to make sure, and even then there's no way to run a trial to see if it's clean enough to satisfy the filtration system."
Taking a deep breath in, Miranda turned to look up at Shepard again, her expression grave. "We can't risk this happening again, Shepard," she told her, causing Shepard to look over at her again, concerned. "This time was way too close. Another screw-up like that, and your baby will be dead. But…" Frowning deeper then, she pursed her lips, her shoulders seeming to stiffen a she let out a short, disconcerted huff of breath. "We can't take the time to purge the station," she said. "It will take too long. We just can't risk letting her stay in there that long."
"…What?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing deeper in confusion. "Why not?"
"If the baby stays in there too long after the gestation period ends, it will be extremely harmful to her," Miranda explained, indicating towards the quietly-pumping gestation tank with her one good hand. "It's not the same as a normal womb. If it thinks there's a problem it… overcompensates. If the baby stays in there too long after its projected due date, the nutrients will eventually overwhelm it and its body will toxify. That could lead to liver problems, a breakdown of the skin, cirrhosis of the liver, hemochromatosis, diabetes mellitus… all on top of the existing conditions your baby is likely already going to have as a result of her genetic makeup." Looking down again, she shook her head, letting her hand drop back to her side as she let out another soft, solemn sigh. "I don't know what to do," she admitted. "I suppose we'll just have to play it by ear."
"Why not just pry it open now?" Shepard asked, indicating towards the tank, confused. "If she's ready to be born now, and leaving her in there will only hurt her—"
"Pry it open with what, exactly?" Miranda insisted, looking up again, now sounding annoyed. "My biotics? Would you have me just rip the tank in half? It's not a holiday popper, Shepard, you can't just… pull the end off and have at it." Letting out a soft scoff, she propped her good hand on her hip, turning to look back towards the tank with a stubborn, thwarted frown. "The tank has sealed itself tight for the purgative process," she explained, forwardly. "The only way we're getting in there is with an acetylene torch, and we don't have one of those here. Even if we did, would you really want to risk your baby's well-being on the off chance you could pry her out of there by force?" Letting out another sigh, this one deeper than the last, she shook her head again, looking down towards her feet, before turning away from the tank to start down the stairs, heading away from the gestation platform. "We need an override key, Shepard," she told her, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Shepard was following behind her. "And we need a sanitary lab station. I can get the key on my own, but I have no idea where we could find a lab clean enough to satisfy the decontamination sensor."
Shepard frowned, rubbing the pad of her thumb thoughtfully against the line of her cheek. Then, suddenly, she looked up again, her brows shooting eagerly upwards as she got an idea. "I think I know where we could find a clean room," she suggested, causing Miranda to look back at her again, seeming sceptical, though not surprised. "It might take some persuading, but I think I might be able to do it."
Miranda paused, her brow furrowing into an uncertain frown as she cradled her wounded hand next to her chest. "I suppose anything is better than nothing at this point," she finally said, letting out a soft, tired sigh of defeat. "Whatever you have in mind, go ahead and do it. In the meantime, I'll see what I can do about regulating the flow of nutrients and steroids. If we're lucky, I can make her last another week without any significant harm being done." Reaching the bottom step, she gave a soft hiss, flinching as her broken hand jostled against her abdomen. "Bloody hell," she swore, looking down towards her hand, seeming frustrated by her own human mortality. "I should probably attend to this first… shit. Shouldn't take too long to do, if I'm lucky. We can probably get it set in an hour or so… if you'd be willing to follow instructions for once." Shepard looked up at this seemingly hostile addendum, surprised, before seeing Miranda's expression slowly beginning to shift, her face twisting into a pained, wry smile as she watched Shepard for a reaction. Seeing this, Shepard quickly relaxed again, returning the tired smile, before moving over to help her out, holding her wounded arm steady as she walked.
"Just this once," Shepard told her, good-humouredly. "And just for you. Because you asked so nicely."
"Pushover," Miranda teased, smirking.