Well, damn! It's been an entire year. Bless all of you for being so patient with me. Lots of love from me to you, now and forever. And very, very, very happy N7 day!
Edited 8/15/2021, to cut a couple lines, sprinkle in some details, and add a fight (because I love fights).
17. DISARM
Her legs felt leaden; her head swam. The corridors around her blurred and swayed. After a long, stomach-sucking moment, the universe snapped back into alignment. Shepard blinked away the afterimages.
"Commander? Just dropped into Dholen system. The Neema is in range and hailing."
"Comm room, Joker. I'll be right there."
She drummed her fingers against the walls of the elevator. Brushed past Chambers with barely a nod. The comm linkup hummed, and an image materialized: A red-suited, glass-masked woman staring back at her from the screen. Compact, slender, and stiffly upright.
"Captain Shepard vas Normandy." The woman inclined her head. "Heda'Nael vas Neema. You're here for Tali'Zorah, no doubt. She mentioned you."
Shepard returned the nod. "I need her for a mission of vital importance. With your permission, Captain, I'll send a shuttle to dock for pickup—"
The quarian captain shifted. "Tali'Zorah is on Haestrom."
"Still?" Shepard frowned. "I last spoke with her over two weeks ago."
"We haven't had contact from the ground team in several rotations. They may be struggling with the environmental hazards, or... the geth may have detected their presence, and attacked. We have no way to confirm. None of our scanners or signalling equipment can pierce through the static layer."
Shepard stared. "So— what? You're just waiting? No reinforcements? No extraction plan?"
The captain's eyes slitted. "We have no stealth capability, no intel, no communications, no backup, and precious few of our operatives left to spare. What would you suggest we do, exactly?"
"Whatever it takes! Those are your people down there. Call for help, if you can't help them yourselves. The Alliance would—"
"Would what, Cerberus? They did precious little to help us against you."
Shepard's face froze. "What?"
A pause.
"The Idenna," Captain Nael said, at length. "And her scout ship, the Cyniad. Supporting seven hundred souls between the two. Infiltrated, sabotaged, nearly blown to scrap. Your operatives."
Denial leapt to her lips. But here she stood, wearing a Cerberus uniform. Flying Cerberus colors. Breathing in cold, clean Cerberus air with her Cerberus-built lungs.
"I didn't know," Shepard said, slowly. Her tongue felt thick.
"Neither did anyone else from your organization, it seems," said the captain. "Peculiar."
Shepard did not reply.
Heda'Nael vas Neema regarded her for a moment.
"Forgive me if I do not share your confidence in the kindness of strangers, Captain Shepard. Nevertheless." The captain leaned over and flicked at something just out of frame. "I am forwarding Tali'Zorah's last known coordinates. If you can find it in your heart, or your operations budget— whichever is larger— to retrieve our other crew members while you seek her... I would be very grateful.
"May the stars guide you to your destiny. Keelah se'lai."
The transmission cut out.
"Shit," Shepard breathed, and sagged against the console.
Joker's voice came over the speakers. "EDI filled me in. Stealthed and hustling. We'll be in range in fifteen."
The elevator spat her out into the shuttle bay. Kozlowski spared her a distracted nod, then went back to rushing through the pre-flight checklist. Garrus was already there, slouched against his usual crate, running a cloth over his Mantis.
If he was startled by her appearance as she stalked across the decking, he gave away little; maybe a slight downward tilt of his mandible. Maybe his eyes flicked to the split in her skin. But maybe she was imagining it.
"Glad we're finally going to get her." He pried apart his Vindicator, and scrutinized the innards. "Who's our third?"
"Miranda," Shepard said shortly, jabbing at her omni-tool.
"Lawson?" He paused in his inspection. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"It's a Cerberus vessel, with Cerberus crew. There's no getting around that. I don't want Tali to feel bait-and-switched. Assuming we even find her in one piece, she should know what she's getting into." Shepard rubbed her eyes. "If she makes the choice."
"Tali's tough. You know that better than anyone. She's fine." Garrus lowered his gun, and looked at her. "She'll come."
Shepard looked back at him.
"How are you feeling," she said.
"Great," he said. "Thanks."
"Good. That's good."
They stared at each other for a moment. Then he bent his head back to his rifle.
Boot heels clicked up behind her. Miranda stepped in close and touched Shepard's cheek, frowning. "Damn. I'd thought this might happen. Wilson said your epidermis would need two more weeks at rest to gel around the weave. Frankly, I'm surprised you've held up so well until now. Did you speak to Doctor Ch—"
"Yes," Shepard said, trying not to bat her hands away. "I'm fine, Miranda. It's just cosmetic."
Miranda huffed. "Even if it's not bleeding, it's still an open wound. Be careful to keep it clean. Your immune system was substantially modified to allow the grafted cybernetics to integrate."
Huh. So maybe that's why she wasn't allergic to dextr—
Nevermind. It didn't fucking matter anymore.
"Noted," Shepard said, and resumed prodding at her omni-tool.
A short silence. She finished syncing up their combat medical suites. Tested her shield battery. Spot-cleaned the filter of her CO2 scrubber. Watched Miranda through her eyelashes.
No need to bother asking. Rogue cell. Unsanctioned. We didn't know.
Shepard closed her eyes for just an instant. Then straightened, exhaled, and ran through her sequence of weapons checks. Jacob had kitted her with a squat, heavy electrical arc rifle that he seemed quietly proud of. "Good to go."
Miranda snapped her Carnifex into place at her hip. "Ready."
Shepard gestured them into the shuttle hatch. "Kozlowski, let's move."
Haestrom.
Dead quarians left and right. The sun sizzled against her shields. At least the poisoned atmosphere kept her from smelling their cooked flesh.
They were late. She was late.
What if it was too late?
They found an audiolog. Tali's voice, soft and quiet. I wish Shepard were here.
Her thumb twitched on the console keyboard. The playback stopped mid-breath.
Garrus rested a hand on her shoulder. She barely felt anything through the armor. The phantom heat of his palm made her skin crawl.
She looked up at the blank black surface of his faceplate.
"We'll find her," he said.
Why was he being nice?
"Not if we don't hurry," Miranda said crisply. "Incoming."
Stuttering clicks and chirps. A pair of drones swooped into the sky. Bullets pinged off Shepard's shields. She threw herself behind a cracked pillar and lobbed a tech mine blindly overhead.
FZZAK. Twin explosions. Machinery crunched against stone. Garrus hummed his approval.
Her brow wrinkled, but she elected to ignore him, and crept around the shadowed edge of her pillar to scope the perimeter.
Miranda drew up close by her side. "Radar's clear, Shepard."
Shepard squinted out into the empty, sun-blasted arena, and stayed still.
Silence. The wind gusted. Dust swirled over the pale stones. Across the courtyard, a block of shimmering heat distortion separated itself from the wall.
Shepard threw herself to the ground, yanking Miranda down with her. A high-caliber round whipped through the empty air. "Cloaked!"
"I'm on it." Garrus dropped to one knee, took aim, fired. The cloaking field sparked and shredded. A broad-shouldered, hook-headed silhouette stepped out, one hand to its back.
"That's odd," Garrus said, as he loaded a fresh sink and re-aimed. "Their sniper units used to be a lot smaller—"
The geth unhooked a massive shotgun, and charged towards them.
"Destroyer," Shepard barked, though it clearly wasn't, and flung a biotic right hook.
The geth staggered back. Miranda pitched a tech mine and triggered the charge. Shepard unloaded everything in her pistol, cracking apart the armored plating around its throat. Garrus's next shot buried itself in the exposed wiring. The geth crumpled to the ancient stone. Heat shimmered in the air above its metal limbs.
"Well. That was novel," Miranda said, then checked her omni-tool. "Radar's still empty."
Shepard exchanged a glance with Garrus, and switched out for her Viper.
Clicks. Chattering. It echoed between the broken columns. Shepard tamped down the threshold on her helmet's audio input and leaned out, swiveling her head, trying to triangulate the source.
The chattering intensified. Grew louder. Guttural barks. Hissing.
And then: a bone-shaking, many-voiced roar, so loud her speakers shrieked with feedback. It rattled the stones under their feet and kicked her heartbeat into double-time.
Intimidation. From a species of zeroes and ones?
She'd thought the geth were predictable, before; maybe even a little dim. But her working knowledge of their race had expired the same instant she had. And under Haestrom's blanket of radar-killing static, they might well have dropped an entire colony. One armed with new shapes, new weapons. New voices. Driven by incomprehensible synthetic motivations.
They were late.
Miranda flattened herself into the shadows, fingers pressed to her comm switch. "Normandy. Lawson to Normandy, come in. Normandy."
Faint, shuffling footsteps echoed across the plaza. Then more. And more. The sound swelled into a soft, continuous rush, an ocean of movement, a vast audience assembling in the theater, waiting for their performers to step out and take the stage.
Garrus clicked a fresh clip into his Vindicator.
The buzz of drones grew closer, louder. Rose in pitch.
The comm link hummed emptily. Miranda glanced at Shepard, a crease between her eyebrows.
"Never an orbital airstrike around when you need one," Garrus murmured.
Shepard shelved her Viper, and unhooked the new, untested arc rifle. It flipped into life with a faint whine.
"Miranda. Tech mines on my mark. Garrus, covering fire, burst, two seconds. Both of you reroute everything you can spare to your shields. I'll draw them after me; you circle south-east on my signal and meet me by that old comm tower."
Garrus exhaled. "Classic Shepard maneuver."
His voice was neutral, subvocals compressed, his face obscured behind the black wall of his visor.
Just as well. If he had an opinion about her volunteering herself as bait, he could choke on it.
"This spot will be Alpha. Comm tower is Beta. Tag your mines and keep the links active— we'll be coming back to hit these points again. We'll lay traps, loop behind cover, make them chase us down and pick them off in clusters. They know there's only three of us, so stay at range, keep out of sight, and don't pull attention unless I ask for it. We can't afford to take risks."
"Acknowledged," Miranda said. The crease between her brows had smoothed out. Her shoulders squared.
Shepard hit the sequence for her tech armor, and edged out into the killing sun.
"Hang tight. We're getting through this."
Foot soldiers. Pyros. Not-Destroyers. The arc rifle didn't discriminate. She kept her focus. Called out maneuvers. Counted shots. Carved the way forward from shelter to shelter, shadow to shadow, slowly, methodically, with grinding patience. Garrus and Miranda maintained absolute focus, absolute obedience.
The hum of drone rotors finally cut out. Quiet rang oddly in her ears. Fragments of metal and ropy gray flesh littered the empty plaza. Conductive fluid spattered her boots.
Her radar was still empty. Shepard looked ahead, squinting against the sunlight.
No movement. No strange shimmers, or mislaid shadows. Multiple exit paths to choose from. But only one of them had been decorated with a quarian corpse.
The red-suited soldier lay across the threshold of a massive stone gate, limbs twisted at wrong angles. Their faceplate had shattered and caved in. Pink fluid misted the inside of the glass.
Shepard looked down at the body. Fresh blood still oozed from holes in the abdomen. A recent kill. If she'd gotten here even thirty minutes earlier—
Garrus looked at the body, then her. Shifted.
Whatever he had to say, she didn't want to hear it. She gestured Fall in, stepped over the corpse, rounded the corner of the gate, and walked straight into a wall of blazing white.
The Prime loomed over her, silent and implacable as a monolith. One knotted gray hand stretched out and grabbed her by the head.
Shepard barked a warning. She flared and punched its hand off. Staggered backwards, pawing at her belt for the last of her tech mines.
A snarl of machine language. A click. The gunshot drilled past her shields, burst her tech armor, and slapped her off her feet.
Garrus made a jagged noise over the comm. Shepard felt the first cold clutch of real fear, in an odd, detached, almost nostalgic way; on your ass was no place to be in front of a Prime— a lesson she'd learned hard and often, scrambling over the wreckage Saren left in his wake— but then gravity inverted in a wash of gentle blue, and plucked her off the ground. A rifle round slammed into the geth's elbow joint and blew it apart. Its gun dropped, along with most of its forearm. Shepard's toes touched stone. She was off and running.
POP POP POP POP. "Vakarian, switch—" Miranda's voice, sharp with stress.
"On it." The rattle of assault fire on armor. "Get into shade, Lawson."
"Copy. Shepard, there's cover by Theta point. I've marked your radar."
She didn't have breath to spare. She tapped her comm twice for acknowledgement. Watched the pale stone blurring beneath her feet. Watched Garrus's shield meter plummeting in her HUD.
Somewhere behind her, the snap-whoomph of a tech mine. More gunfire. "It's staying on him," Miranda said. "Shepard, you're clear to cross the plaza. I'll cover. Vakarian, you're awfully close, pull back." Four more pistol shots, steady and even. "See if you can lure it out into the sun."
"Doing— my best over here, but—" A bitten-off curse.
Shepard pivoted at the sound. The Prime had found him.
She spooled up a Throw and punched it at the geth's remaining arm. The Prime lurched, off-balance; Garrus scrambled behind a prefab wall panel, and Shepard darted into the shadows at Miranda's side, panting.
Her shield recharge was still only at forty percent— maybe. Her eyes wouldn't stick to the numbers, now, wouldn't focus on anything; there was a blurry sliver of dark blue armor somewhere between the damaged panels on the other side of the plaza, and raking shafts of light and shadow, and that was all she knew. Most of her consciousness felt like it had floated out far behind her, in the distant light of a remembered sun: Klixen feet scrabbling on old stone. Grunt's feral laughter. The fierce, star-bright fondness that poured forth from her like a fountain, for him, for Garrus, for absolutely everyone under her aegis. She would protect them, she would protect everyone, with dirt matted in her hair and molten gold in her veins, a planetary god, unconquerable, bending time itself to her will.
But probably it was just the side effects of the ryncol.
Miranda's pistol barked in her ear, and Shepard snapped back into the present with a shiver. She pitched her final tech mine at the Prime's feet, got it tagged and synced to their array, then unhooked her Viper and pressed her eye to the scope.
"Thanks for the lift back there," she said to Miranda. "Neat trick."
Miranda nodded, not taking her eyes off Garrus, not taking her hand away from her omni-tool. "Two mines in play. Vakarian, you're still in the blast radius. Break west—"
The Prime kicked down the wall panel and clubbed him across the head with the stock of its gun. Garrus staggered. Fell to one knee.
Miranda sucked in a breath. Shepard adjusted her aim. "Detonate."
Miranda flashed a look at her. "He's still—"
The geth jammed the barrel of its rifle down into the seal between Garrus's helmet and cowl.
"Do it," Shepard said, and exhaled.
Miranda hit the charge.
Static exploded. The Prime froze, muscles twitching, zigzagged with blue-white lightning. Garrus's shield meter crashed to zero. The comm link shrieked. His blip in her HUD glitched and went dark. And in the airless space between heartbeats, Shepard fired.
Once, twice, thrice, letting the recoil ripple and flow out through her shoulders. Tracking minutely up and to the left with each shot.
A gout of white fluid spurted from the underside of the enormous pulse rifle. Garrus shoved to his feet and darted away. The gun began to smoke.
The Prime looked down at its rifle. Shepard unloaded the rest of her clip into its throat.
It didn't drop. It turned, and looked at her. Its eyelight flickered.
Miranda raised her pistol. Shepard lifted one blue-wreathed fist. Garrus, behind fresh cover, aimed his Vindicator. All three of them fired at once.
The Prime shuddered, uttered a soft, clicking cry, and collapsed.
They glanced at each other. Top to toe, scanning for injuries, automatic, detached. Maybe Garrus and Miranda thought about saying something. Maybe they didn't.
"Move out," Shepard said.
Metallic shrapnel crunched beneath their boots. Their shields hissed and flickered in the dying light.
More quarian corpses. More voice logs. Needless agony.
They found a radio. Tali's voice, in real-time, frayed, anxious. Still alive.
Shepard signed off, turned, and marched on towards the next guard station.
All of this could have been prevented. If only she'd been faster. If only she hadn't let her worst impulses rule her.
Instead of screwing around in dust-shrouded bars, instead of stacking lies on top of bullshit, instead of wasting her time trying to build something with someone who would never accept or understand her, she could have been here, on Haestrom, making an actual difference. Shooting bad guys. Saving lives. Her sworn duty. Her sole purpose.
If only she'd just accepted what the universe kept trying to tell her, over and over again: That she was always going to be alone—
Scraping. Stuttering. A severed geth torso dragged itself towards her, hand over hand. Shepard lurched backwards, disoriented, repulsed. Reached for her pistol.
Garrus shot out its eyelight before she could draw.
His head tilted to one side. "Everything all right, Shepard?"
"Fine," she said, and turned away.
Fine. No more distractions. No more fear. No more wallowing in resentment and recrimination.
She wasn't a god; she was a cobbled-together mess of corpseflesh and circuitry. Snarled threads of spacetime ran through her cybernetic veins. Dead universes crumbled to ash with every step she took. Fine.
Colonists were still dying every minute. Miranda still wanted to convert her. EDI watched her every breath. And Garrus—
Fine. She couldn't do a thing about any of that. What she could do was her fucking job. To the best of her abilities, however compromised.
If she died, then she died. If they died...
Then she went with them. To hell with Garrus and his bullshit turian honor. She had a galaxy to save.
And if she didn't manage to get Tali this time around... Well.
She'd burn that bridge when she came to it.
They arrived at a bridge.
A man's voice over the radio briefed her on the situation, in the clipped military argot that spanned galactic culture. A motherfucking Colossus. Seriously? Shepard slapped in a fresh clip, gestured to Miranda and Garrus, then stalked out into the geth-infested atrium.
Shock troopers swarmed the gangplanks. A laser trembled on her visor. She leaned to one side, and kept shooting. The sniper's bullet buried itself in the ancient concrete.
The voice on the radio belonged to a marine, red-suited like his captain, like so many of the corpses. He'd been laid up with a gut wound. He told her Tali was still alive. Tali was still okay. Shepard squeezed his arm. "Reegar. Stay here and keep your head down."
"I can draw attention from—"
"It wasn't a request."
"...Yes, ma'am."
She hefted her arc rifle and gave a short, sharp nod to Garrus and Miranda. They took up their old familiar rhythm. She wreaked mass havoc in front; Garrus picked them off cool and clean from the back. Miranda slotted in perfectly between them, shredding shields, crippling drones, setting up shots with fluid mastery. Like she'd been there from the very beginning. Like a faster, meaner, more self-assured version of Kaidan.
They mowed down waves of geth platforms. Exchanged grenades and heat sinks without a word. Advanced smoothly from cover to cover, ducking the baleful stare of the Colossus, until finally they stood right at its feet.
Without combat and intelligence support from the other geth, it was just a big stupid gun.
They trashed it in about forty seconds.
Shepard marched on.
Smoke clung to the ceiling of the alcove. Bullet marks scored the walls. The massive bunker doors were barricaded at the base by a tangle of geth and quarian bodies.
She gazed down at their faceless suits. Stepped over a three-fingered hand with its palm turned to the ceiling. Tugged the limbs aside.
A muted exclamation. The holographic lock crackled into static. The bunker doors shuddered, and scraped open.
"Shepard!" Tali cried as she turned from her console, and flung herself into Shepard's arms.
Shepard, startled, caught her.
"I can't believe you're really here. Keelah, I—" Tali was shaking. "They... You saw what happened."
"We did," Shepard said quietly. "Are you hurt? Any suit breaches?"
"No. I'm— I'm fine. I was sealed up in here the whole time. The geth found us four cycles ago. It's been constant ever since. They don't sleep, they don't... we..." Tali trailed off. Her glowing eyes fluttered closed.
Shepard began to pull back, concerned, but Tali grabbed onto her hands and held them tight. "My team. I-I don't think anyone else is even left. Lomah said— She said it was because I'm the best with the equipment, but I know that was a lie, I know it's because I'm Rael's daughter, but she—" Tali made a hiccuping noise. "She made me hide in here. To protect me. And then I... I listened on the radio as they... The uplink to the Neema was jammed. I couldn't even call in for reinforcements. I couldn't do anything at all. They were screaming. And I just... sat here, with the data, like—" Her voice broke. "Like an i-idiot, just waiting to die—"
"Tali, I—" Shepard's throat tightened. "I'm so sorry."
A sob crackled through Tali's helmet speaker. Her shoulders shook.
Shepard held on, mute.
Omega all over again. Horizon all over again. How many fucking times was she going to be too late to protect them?
Her whole body felt hot. Itchy. Her eyes flicked down to her pistol.
Could she?
Maybe two, maybe three of Tali's people, if she started over from the beginning. If she moved like lightning. If she did everything right.
But it'd been hours. And the cost. Miranda. Garrus. Tali herself.
"I'm sorry. I wish..." Shepard swallowed. "I wish I could have saved them all for you. I wish I'd gotten here earlier."
Tali sniffed. "Y-You got here. That's what matters."
Shepard just squeezed her hand in response.
Tali's visor lifted. "Oh! Shepard, what happened to your face? Are you hurt—"
"Nice to see you, too, Tali," Garrus drawled behind her, at exactly the right moment.
"Garrus!" Tali whirled and threw herself into his outstretched arms. Her bracers clacked against his hardsuit. "Oh keelah, not you, too. Look at this! Did you get yourself all beat up to match Shepard?"
"No, this time I was the trendsetter," he said, setting her back down. "Feeling left out? We could stencil some cracks on your faceplate."
"Mmmmaybe later." Tali turned around. Her back stiffened. "Oh. And you. I remember you."
"Miranda Lawson. We met on Freedom's Progress." Miranda stepped forward, hand extended, a professionally pleasant mask on her face. "I serve as the XO on this mission. I look forward to working together, Ms. Zorah. Your skills came very highly recommended to us."
Tali's eyes narrowed into glowing slits. "'Us' meaning Cerberus."
"Yes."
Tali turned her stare on Shepard.
Shepard met her gaze.
No excuses. No rationalizations. There was nothing left for her to say.
Silence.
Tali's shoulders rose, then fell. "...I need some time to perform the funeral rites."
It took all of Shepard's remaining willpower not to sag with relief. "Of course."
Tali turned and tapped the console keyboard. A chip spat out into her waiting palm. Her fingers folded around it.
"I need to salvage the rest of the data from the other stations," she said. Her voice was hoarse. "I need to let Captain Nael know what has happened here. And then I need to get off this ancestors-forsaken rock, and never, ever look back."
"I can help with that," Shepard said.
Reegar, limping, met them halfway to the shuttle. Tali let out a muffled shriek and darted over to his side. She patted his good arm, fussed over his suit punctures.
Reegar accepted both the fussing and the data chip with stoic grace. "Seems like you'll be in good hands, Ma'am."
Tali turned back to look at Shepard. Sunlight flashed off the curve of her mask. "The very best."
Shepard had a number of thoughts about that.
"I'll keep her safe," was what she said.
Kozlowski dropped them off, then peeled away to reunite Reegar with the Neema.
Introductions with Jacob did not go well.
"Cerberus!" Tali stalked back and forth in front of the drive core, steel toes clacking against the deck. "Not that I'm not grateful for the rescue, or what they did for you, Shepard, but—" She threw up her hands. "Weren't there any other options?"
"No," Shepard said. "There weren't."
Tali stopped pacing. Looked at her.
"I'm sorry." Shepard rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Jacob should have been more respectful. I should have just kept him clear of you altogether. What happened on Haestrom was... a horrible loss of life."
Tali's eyes closed. "Yes. It was."
Silence.
"I'm sorry I didn't save them."
"Thank you," Tali said, more quietly. "But it's not your fault. The Admiralty Board were the ones who sent us there." Her voice lowered. "It had better be worth it."
"I hope it is."
"I'm going to be writing casualty notification letters for... a while." Tali shifted. Wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't know what to say. Where do you even start? How can you tell someone something like that, in a way that doesn't...?"
"You can't." Shepard spread her palms. "There's nothing you can say to make it any easier. So don't try. Just be honest, straightforward, and respectful. That's all there is."
"Don't I have to say something good about them? I barely even got to know any of them before..." Tali looked down. "Before."
"Were they good at their jobs?"
Her head snapped up. Her voice was fierce. "Very."
"Then you can say that."
Tali stayed quiet, her glowing gaze on Shepard's face.
"It really is you in there, isn't it?"
Shepard let out a low, tired chuckle. "Seems that way."
Tali reached out and took her hand. "Thank you for coming back for me."
Too slow. Too late. "I'm just glad you're safe," Shepard said.
"I was so shocked when I saw you that first time. Alive, and working with Cerberus, of all the— It didn't make any sense." Tali traced a gloved fingertip down Shepard's scarred palm. "Now, I wish I'd joined you on the spot. But back then... I was so angry that you were with them, after everything they'd done, after everything we'd been through together. And what they did to our people, to the Idenna—"
Tali's speaker sounded a long, drawn-out sigh.
"I'm sorry," Shepard said again, quietly. "That was awful."
"Thank you. I'm sorry, too, Shepard. I didn't think even once about what it must have been like for you. All alone on a Cerberus ship, with Cerberus officers, and Cerberus crew. No one you could really trust."
Shepard squeezed her fingers. "I— No, Tali, don't apologize for that. I wasn't thinking either. Of course you would have been upset and suspicious. I didn't explain myself well at all."
Tali's glowing eyes crinkled in amusement. "True. You sounded like a crazy person."
"I was one." Shepard made a face. "Still am, depending on who you ask."
"Well, I'm here now," Tali said decisively. "And Garrus, too. We'll keep Cerberus off your back, Shepard. That should help with some of the crazy."
Shepard tried to contain a grimace. Garrus was a subject she'd rather leave for another day, or never, and EDI was probably feeding the Illusive Man every word they spoke. "Tali. Jacob wasn't kidding about the AI on this ship. You have to be careful. There are cameras and listening devices all around—"
"Oh, you mean the cameras and listening devices I remotely disabled ten minutes ago?" Tali's voice rose to a lilt. "Those listening devices?"
Shepard stared down at her. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve you."
Tali patted her arm. "You saved my life. Twice. Remember?"
Shepard could have saved a hell of a lot more than that, if she'd been trying.
She rubbed her eyes. "I— Um. Thank you. This— It really means a lot to me. To have you here."
Tali's head tilted. "Shepard?"
"I have to go— check on some people. But— Thank you. I'll catch up with you later?"
"Okay." Tali waved, a little hesitantly. "See you later."
Shepard rested her head against the elevator doors. Machinery hummed as it progressed along its glacial path.
Her new chief engineer needed about fourteen hours of sleep and a solid year of trauma counseling before anything else happened. Shepard hadn't even warned her about any of the important stuff yet. Not about the Illusive Man. Not about Operative Lawson's regular reports.
Not about the touchy biotic criminal holed up a half-flight of stairs below, either. Not about the uninspired dextro rations in the mess cabinets. Not about Donnelly's godawful jokes.
And not a word, not a breath, about her schism with Garrus. He'd get to inform Tali of that development all by himself.
She wondered what he'd say.
"EDI, where's—"
"Officer Vakarian is currently in the mess hall talking with Crewman Gardner."
Fuck! She slapped the STOP button on the control panel. "Thanks. You're a mind-reader."
"That is not technically correct, but I do have a number of predictive behavioral algorithms."
Shepard glanced up at the cameras. "I'm sorry Tali doesn't like you. I hope she'll come around eventually."
"That seems unlikely," said EDI. "Distrust and enmity for synthetic lifeforms is woven into the framework of the last three hundred years of quarian culture. But I appreciate the sentiment."
Shepard looked down. Her hand still hovered over the control panel. "Hey, can your algorithm tell me what I'm going to do next? I could use a hint."
EDI's voice was smooth and soft. "You appear somewhat distressed, Shepard. I believe you will probably opt to distract yourself with physical exercise."
Run it off. Brilliant. "You're a genius, EDI. Thanks." Shepard hit the button for the shuttle bay.
By the look of things, Jack had beaten her to the idea about half an hour ago. She was half-naked, drenched in sweat, throwing blue-fringed strikes at the punching bag. Tufts of stuffing and sand lay scattered around her feet.
As Shepard approached, Jack reared back, flaring, and yelled. A shockwave ripped from her fist and tore through the shuttle bay. Crates slammed against the walls. The treadmill toppled; free weights flew off the racks and rolled in all directions. The punching bag dropped off its chain and burst open.
A 20kg plate bounced off the door frame, and slowly rattled to a stop.
"Impressive," Shepard said.
Jack whirled, whipping grains of sand across the deck. Shepard raised her palms. "Sorry! Didn't mean to sneak up on you. Can you, uh... teach me how to do that?"
"Ask the asari." Jack glared at her. Wiped sweat off her forehead. "I'm not a teacher."
Shepard sank back on one hip. "I'm asking you. I've never seen Samara do anything like that."
"...Fine. Whatever. Get over here."
Forty minutes later, what was left of Shepard's nerves had been stripped raw. Sweat dripped from her nose. Her amp socket burned; her skull throbbed. And the treadmill had scooted maybe an inch or two to the left.
"Well, you might be able to tickle some feet." Jack picked something out of her teeth, inspected it, and flicked it aside. "With practice."
Shepard grimaced. "Thanks for the morale boost, but I was hoping for something a little more combat-applicable."
Jack shrugged and turned away.
Shepard watched her for a moment, then suppressed a sigh, and wriggled back into her uniform top.
"Look," Jack bit out.
Shepard, halfway to the door, glanced back in surprise.
Jack scowled and crossed her skinny arms. "You just don't have the juice for it, Shepard. Most people don't. But I've watched how you work." Jack leaned forward. "You crunch your energy down into a little ball, and fling it like a bullet. That's good. Single-targeting makes the most out of the power you do have, so, like... don't mess with what isn't broken. If anything, you should be crunching it down even harder."
"Huh." Shepard looked down at her hands. "That actually makes a lot of sense."
"The cheerleader's the same way. But don't tell her." Jack gave her a bloodthirsty smile. "Let her go on thinking she's perfect."
Shepard shot her a look. "Noted."
Jack turned and gathered up her sweaty tank top. "I'm out. Tell Cerberus to drop the creds on a better punching bag next time. Oh, and Shepard," she called back, as she headed into the elevator.
"Yeah?"
"Your face looks like shit. Go patch things up with your boyfriend already."
She checked in on the rest of her people (minus one). Took a short, blisteringly hot shower. Sat at her desk, towel draped around her neck. Wisps of steam curled off her skin and vanished in the recycled air. She flipped on her terminal. Bullet-pointed mission notes flared to life.
She shut down the terminal. Squeezed her eyes shut. Breathed in, out.
Her fingers flexed. Her shoulders itched. She stood up. Paced the length of her lifeless cabin. She toggled the music player. Switched it off. Made and re-made her bed with unnecessary precision. Gave up, finally, and rested her forehead against the cool, slick surface of her fish tank. Strands of wet hair stuck to the glass.
Faint reddish light glowed back from her blurry reflection.
"Shepard," EDI's voice said quietly.
Shepard let out a puff of breath. "Another hint?"
"Officer Vakarian is requesting permission to come up to your cabin."
"What?" She straightened. A hand flew reflexively to her cracked cheek. "Now? He— Fuck. Okay. Fine. That's fine. Thanks, EDI."
Faint humming came from the elevator shaft. Garrus stepped out into her room. He still wore his battered hardsuit from the surface.
They stood there looking at each other.
"What do you need," she said, finally.
"No, it's not—" He shook his head. "Shepard, that's not why I came."
"Oh?"
"I just..." His mandible flexed. "Do you mind? It feels weird talking to you from up here."
"Oh. Sure." She gestured.
He came down the steps. Leaned his hip against the railing.
Silence.
"How are you holding up?"
She lifted her eyebrows. "Seriously?"
"I mean it. Tali's worried about you." He met her eyes. "I'm worried about you."
Shepard leaned back against her fish tank, folded her arms, and stared at him.
"That was a lot of dead bodies back on Haestrom, even by our standards. I thought you might have..." Garrus paused for a second, weighing his words. "I thought the what-ifs might have gotten to you pretty bad, down there. Thought you might be wondering if you could have done something to prevent what happened."
"Always," she said.
He hummed quietly. "Thought so."
"I'm not just wondering. I could have." If she'd let the Colossus nail her with one of those energy blasts, it might have put her back a fair distance. Not enough to make up for days of procrastination, but at least maybe she could have saved one of—
"Maybe," he said. "But that still doesn't make it your fault. You aren't the one who sent them there. You aren't the one who pulled the trigger."
She frowned at him, wondering why that phrasing sounded so...
...What the fuck. He was quoting her. What she'd said to him on Tuchanka, on the comedown from her ryncol coma. Alone together among the junk of the ancients, in that precious, wind-swept stillness. Bathed in the glow of that rust-colored sun.
"...Get out."
His good mandible dropped open. "What?"
"I mean it, Vakarian. Don't fucking talk to me about not letting things get personal." She stepped forward. Pointed to her door. "I don't want to hear it from you."
"What?" he said again, his subvocals straining. "Shepard, I'm not— Wait." He held up a hand. "Please."
She sank back on one hip. Crossed her arms.
He exhaled. "I know you don't like how things went down with Sidonis."
"Yeah? What tipped you off?"
His jaw clicked. "Look. I told you it felt good to put it to bed, but— I still wonder about the what-ifs. I still close my eyes and see—"
Garrus cut himself off.
She said nothing. Watched him.
"I don't regret killing him. It's over for them now, and I'm glad." He stared out into the empty blue of her aquarium. "But it seems like it's still not over for me."
Shepard kept silent, taking in the slouched, uncertain line of his shoulders. The wrinkled skin under his eyes.
"That kind of thing changes you," she said. "It might never be over."
After a moment, he lifted his head, and looked at her.
She looked at him.
He sighed, and slid a hand down over his face. "...Do you have anything to drink?"
Shepard's arms tightened around herself.
"Funny you should ask," she replied, finally, and went over to her desk.
Shepard dimmed the lights, and they sat down on her couch, a careful distance apart. She put her feet up on the coffee table. Cupped her glass in her hands. Watched the precious, ancient liquid shimmer in the glow from her fish tank.
"On Pragia, you told Jack that walking away was an act of strength." He sat hunched, his elbows propped on his knees. "On Pragia, I agreed with you. But when it was me..." His mandible flexed. "I hated the idea that Sidonis could just— escape, when there was no escape for them. Walking away from him felt weak. Disgraceful. It felt like failing them all over again."
"They're dead, Garrus." She spoke quietly over the low burble of the water. "There's nothing more you can do for them. Vengeance, justice, mercy, whatever— it makes no difference. They won't feel it."
"Yeah." His voice was hollow. "I guess you would know."
Shepard glanced at him sharply, but he wasn't looking at her; he stared at some empty spot beyond the bottom of his glass, tilting his wrist so the liquor rolled and slipped around the base, endlessly, over and over.
She pushed herself up and crossed over to her desk. "I've been holding onto something else for you."
Suspended between her palms, divorced from context, the floor panel from Archangel's base looked like some sort of ancient Prothean artifact.
"What is it?" He reached out. The wan light played over metallic ripples of violet and blue. He turned it over in his hands, slowly, carefully, to reveal the layer of burnt carbon black.
He tilted his head, puzzled. Then his whole body froze.
She counted six heartbeats before he resumed breathing again.
Garrus looked up at her. "Why?"
"I went back to look. Your base was just— open. Stripped bare. A single Suns guard. It didn't sit right with me. I thought..." She shrugged, uncomfortable. He was still staring at her. "You were the one who brought them together, Garrus. You gave them a place, and a purpose. I thought a part of them should come back home to you."
He finally looked away. Cradled the panel between his gloved fingers. "You just told me the dead can't feel anything."
"They can't," she said. "But you can."
He was silent for a while.
"Do you think we could get this cut into smaller pieces?"
"Sure," she said, startled. "Jacob probably has something that would work."
"Butler had a wife," he said. He sounded tired. "I didn't have anything to send back to her."
She reached out, tentatively, and put her hand on his shoulder.
He tipped his head down to rest against it.
She sat down a little closer this time.
"I wish you hadn't killed him," she said.
"I wish you hadn't lied to me," he answered.
Well, there it was.
Shepard contemplated her drink. Swirled the glass in her hand. Watched the glimmering fluid fold and curl into itself.
"I panicked," she said, quietly. "It took me a long time to wrap my head around what was really happening. By that point you were already calling me crazy. You were the last person I had left, Garrus. I was scared you might leave me, too. And after what Miranda said on Illium—"
Garrus made a flat noise. "You seriously thought I was going to throw you over for Cerberus?"
"No," she said. "I thought you were going to tell Miranda to send me back to the sludge pile. And to start again from scratch."
A pause.
"Shepard," he said, voice low.
She thunked her glass down onto the coffee table.
"Don't act so shocked, Vakarian. You told me to my face that I don't measure up to the original. You've been wondering this whole time whether I'm a fucking Reaper construct." Her voice frayed. "Is it really that much of a leap to imagine things might be better if I were gone?"
"I—" His good mandible snapped down with a click. "Shepard. I don't— I never wanted you to think that. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well. Unlike me, turians never lie. So don't try to pretend you didn't mean any of it." Shepard slumped back into her seat. Reached out for her glass. Took a long, long drink.
Garrus let out a breath.
"You're so cruel," she said, around the ache in her throat. "You know that, right? You like hurting others. Saleon. Harkin. Sidonis. Me." She pressed her palms hard into her eyes.
"Yeah," he replied, after a short pause. "I know."
"And just like everything else you do, you're brilliant at it." She tapped the rim of her glass against her temple. Smiled her shark's smile. "You were right about one thing. The original definitely wouldn't have let you fuck her up like this."
He closed his eyes for a moment. A muscle in his throat jumped.
"I thought you wanted to die, Shepard."
Her smile faded.
"I saw what they'd done to you, on Omega." Garrus glanced at her. "The scars. The way you talked about yourself. The way your face went blank when you thought no one was watching. And afterwards, the way you sought me out, the way you kept touching me, like you didn't think I was really real. The way you just— hurled yourself into the crossfire, over and over again, and then you'd check to make sure we were okay—"
He lifted one shoulder, then let it fall. "I told you before that dying and coming back made you more human. But what I really meant was that it made you more like me."
Shepard stared at him.
"I knew you weren't being honest." His voice was rough. "I struggled with it. It hurt. But you had plenty of reasons to be paranoid. I thought that if you started to feel safe enough— if I made you feel safe enough— that you'd come around, eventually. You'd loop me in, and we'd be a team again."
"Garrus—"
"The two of us against the galaxy." He lifted his glass to hers. "Just like old times."
Clink. "Yeah," she said, more quietly.
The drive core thrummed in the stillness around them.
He took a long sip.
"Remember that time on Tuchanka?" he murmured. "We ditched Grunt's party, and wandered out to the plateau. I told you about... what I did with the bodies. The fire. You told me that I had to accept my mistake. To look it in the eye, and carry the weight with me. To try to move on."
She looked down at her hands.
"You're every bit as cruel as I am, Shepard," he said softly. "And the worst part is, you aren't even trying."
There was nothing she could say to that.
He swirled his drink. Stared out into the vacant blue of her aquarium. The alien liquor shimmered in the irradiated, flickering light of the eezo envelope above them.
They sat side by side, unmoving, for a long time.
He let out a long, slow breath.
"I knew it was you the instant you hopped over the barrier."
Shepard glanced up at him.
"When I saw you on that bridge, at the worst moment of the worst day in the worst year of my life, it felt like everything before had been a nightmare, and I was finally— finally— waking up."
"Garrus," she said quietly.
"Even though you'd changed, I'd changed, too. And I thought—" His subvocals rasped. "I thought maybe this time, things could be different. Maybe this time, I could be important to you, the way you always had been for me. Maybe I could sweep in and fix things for you. Keep an eye on Cerberus. Shoot bad guys. Make you laugh. Take some of the galaxy's weight off your shoulders."
"...Garrus," she said again.
"I thought, maybe if I tried hard enough, I could make it worth your while to stay alive."
Shepard swallowed.
"But I wasn't really important to you, was I? Not like I wanted to be." His good mandible tipped out slightly. He flicked a glance up to EDI's shadowed lenses nestled in the ceiling. "Just one of... many."
"Garrus," she whispered.
"And ever since you came clean, all I've done is take it out on you." His gaze landed on her split cheek. "So much for lifting the weight off."
She looked at him.
He looked back at her.
"I'm not who I thought I was, Shepard." His voice was low. "You're not who I thought you were, either. And now I don't really know what to do anymore."
Silence. She contemplated the planes and valleys of his face. The blue-painted blade of his silvery cheekbone. The scorched, chipped plating that disappeared into his bandage.
"That makes two of us," she said, finally.
"Well, then." Garrus tapped his glass against hers. "Cheers to that."
Shepard stared down into the swirling, twisting, incomprehensible fluid. Breathed in, then out. Drank.
He nudged her with his thigh.
She looked up at him.
His eyes were steady. "I'm sorry, Shepard. For everything."
There was so much more she couldn't say. So much more she couldn't ask.
That familiar, alien face. That searching gaze. That stiletto-sharp tongue. She still didn't remotely understand him.
Maybe the real mistake had been assuming that she ever had.
"...Yeah." Shepard bumped him with her knee. "I'm sorry, too."
They sipped in silence, contemplating the empty hum of her fish tank.
After a while, she reached out and squeezed his hand.
He leaned in. Brushed her cracked cheek with his thumb.
She pulled off his glove, and tossed it aside.
That was all it took.