.

Every day, I try to run, but in vain
Anytime I stop, it all starts again
In the shadows I cast
Silhouettes of the past
Every day, I lie and say that I'm cured
Even though I know they're just empty words
If there's nowhere to turn
Am I destined to burn?

Who is
My salvation
When
No one's aware I'm at war

Under this skin
I feel a stranger, her sadness and her rage
Under this skin
I hear her screaming and rattling her cage!

Fight her! Fight it!
I'm afraid of the dark
Fight her! Fight it!
I'm afraid of the dark inside me!

Beyond the Black – Afraid of the Dark

Chapter 6 ~ Madness is the beginning, not the end

Darkness.

I was falling through a void so dark that it filled my soul, even to the remotest corners with a stark, primeval fear. It was so quiet. If I hadn't been terrified out of my mind, I'd have certainly savored the peace. As it was though, the blood and my frantic heartbeat pounding in my ears were just feeding my increasing dread. Around me, the biting cold competed with the blackness in sucking the life out of every fiber of my body. My eyes, transfixed on the fractured pieces of my ship falling with me. I tried to take a breath, although I already knew it was futile. It was as if a great weight was pressing down on me, on and on; forcing my lungs into collapse. A stabbing agony arose in my chest, numbing my thoughts with its intensity.

And still I was falling.

Falling through the infinity of space, towards a frozen hell of ice and glaciers. And at the end, the jaws of death gaped open, waiting impassively to swallow my soul. There were no guiding lights; no beneficent goddess to embrace me. Or perhaps my sorry life simply failed to stir their interest. Just me, the cold and an infinity of fear. Death surged over me like a tide of darkest black; crushing my mind, crushing me into nothingness...

I. Can't. Breathe.

Panting, I sat up with a start, fighting the waves of sheer panic upon reliving my last precious moments before waking in that Cerberus lab: Space diving towards Alchera with my air cut off. I leaned forward and buried my head in my hands, breathing deeply to rein in my galloping pulse. Finally, the anxiety retreated. Agonizingly slow. As if the memories alone weren't bad enough, I died anew in my dreams – every fucking night.

I lifted my head to stare unseeing into the dim of the cabin, infinitely grateful for the faint bluish night lights. There was no such thing as complete darkness on a human ship – at least since someone in an Alliance lab had deducted that it helped tremendously to keep the crews from going postal. And it served as an excellent indicator. If you woke to pitch black dark, you just knew that you and your ship were seriously fucked.

Perspiration coated my body and I pushed the blankets away to get up. Boy, I was sooo not about to sleep anytime soon. Bare-footed I padded to the closet. I got rid of the damp chemise, then I rummaged through the clothes until I found some gray sweat pants and a black shirt. I went to the bathroom. The zombie Shepard that watched me from the mirror made me flinch. All recent sleep had been restless at best and nightmarish at worst, so her eyes were hollow and adored with circles dark and deep as canyons. Thanks to the Doc and her ointments, the thin welts on my face had mostly faded; the new scratch on my cheek, however, glowered in a deep, angry red. I carefully touched the fringe of the wound, almost expecting the skin to peel off in stripes and reveal rotten flesh held together by tech. With a shiver I chased the image off. I really needed to get my head examined – only that anybody who actually tried would run away screaming.

I washed my face and plastered a band-aid on the gash. My loose hair fell forward, covering most of it. Much better. Wait. I peered at my nose, a spark of excitement shooting through me. The time I had spent underneath a real sun so far had actually coaxed a few tiny freckles out. I wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry. Instead I stared into the mirror until I was convinced that once again I did start to look like a real person.

I finally left my cabin to roam around the Normandy.

Everyone on duty was on the CIC deck. It left the crew deck shadowed and tranquil, as if the Normandy herself was sleeping. I leaned with my back against the counter of the Mess and let the lingering calm enfold me. I had spent so much time on Alliance vessels, that I perfectly understood Tali's wish for a sleeping place where she could hear the engines. There was something profoundly soothing in the faint hum of the systems, like listening to the steady beat of the Normandy's heart.

I took a deep breath. My ship. And just like me it felt… wrong somehow. It wasn't the old Normandy, just as I wasn't the old Shepard anymore. Both had perished and had been resurrected by Cerberus as something mimicking. On the outside I might be 'Shepard,' but deep inside, I felt hollow. Like an empty shell.

Because Cerberus only restored your body. They couldn't return your soul, you know?

I shredded the thought and buried its remains.

Ahead, the shutters of the Med Bay were closed. Dr. Chakwas had first stitched Jack up, and then miraculously convinced the ever-pissed biotic to stay put. The good news was that the injury was less grave than it seemed and Jack would be soon ready to fight again. Once, the cold calculation would have made me cringe. Now I just tried to learn from my errors and move on. Because the bad news was I had the unpleasant feeling that Horizon was only the beginning…

I sighed. Perhaps I really needed someone to talk things over. I glanced down the aisle at the Main Battery and sighed for a second time. It was selfish and utterly irresponsible to hope that Garrus was troubled by insomnia as well. I just couldn't help the queasy thought that the turian was the only person on that blasted ship I could really trust. My initial euphoria about finding Joker and the Doc here had slowly turned into suspicion. I mean, wasn't it all a bit too... convenient?

Sure, the Illusive Man certainly was a manipulative bastard, yet no matter how I twisted and turned it about, the hard fact remained: they had left the Alliance and let themselves be hired by Cerberus. Wouldn't it be naive to an alarming degree if I didn't expect them to have their own little agenda?

I slipped into the Main Battery. The lights were dimmed, but I saw his outstretched body on the camp bed on the far end. He had refused the offer of a bunk in the crew quarters, stating that he would prefer privacy to comfort; and somehow I was eerily glad about his decision. I watched him and immediately felt… less alone. It was ridiculous. I had to get away before the notion could infest my head with any more nonsense.

I turned to leave and then he said in his slightly rasping voice, "No need to go, Shepard. I'm awake."

I halted in my tracks. Dammit. Apparently my ninja skills fell short these days as well.

I went over and dropped down on a crate with tools opposite to his cot. He sat up in his blankets, revealing a dark blue shirt with Haliat Armory's stylized shuriken in the middle. You think he would have shorts with little matching rifles on them? Did turians even wear shorts? Heaven help me, I had lost my frigging mind.

"You're alright?" he asked and I winced; my hand already halfway up to cover my face.

"Yeah. No. I mean… Just wanted to talk. Divert my mind before it can sprout even more ugly thoughts."

"I see," he said, while slowly rolling first his injured shoulder then his neck. "Though I'm not sure how my stunted sense of humor fits in there, but I'll give it my best shot."

"Believe it or not, it's already working," I said and smiled bravely for proof. "How's the injury?"

"So-so. The pain keeps me awake as well…"

"Can I get you something? Meds? Booze? Asari stripper?"

He chuckled. "No thanks, I'd rather keep my wits with me. If I don't watch out the Commander will lure me again into taking insane chances. Ahh, you're not going to tell her, I've said that?"

"She won't learn anything from me. Scout's honor," I said with a grin and tugged up my knees to sit cross-legged.

"So… why don't you just tell me what's on your mind?"

I looked up.

This was exactly the point, where I should have kept things brief, rattle off my little speech about how much Kaidan had once again managed to annoy me and hop off again. And a few weeks ago I would have certainly done just that. But then… Then I died and I was fighting to catch my balance ever since.

I was just so… tired of it.

Tired of being surrounded by a team and still fighting all my little wars alone.

Tired of keeping my emotions in check because I was so goddamn afraid of what happened when they broke free.

Tired of pretending that everything was alright, when things were actually as fucking far away from alright as they could possibly be.

So I told what truly was on my mind. And the worst? The moment I started, it was as if someone had opened Pandora's Box, spilling out all of it: my bothers, my worries and, yeah, my fears…

~V~

Shepard stared at some point beyond my shoulder, chewing on the corner of her lip.

Something big was troubling her, and there seemed to be an inner struggle of epic proportions going on if she should tell me about it or not. It was an odd thought. The old Shepard had meticulously avoided giving away too many private notions. But, if there had ever been any doubt that this new Shepard was different, it was quenched by the haunted expression that crossed her shadowed face.

Suddenly she said, "It's just… so frustrating. Cerberus. Horizon. I've got a feeling that no matter what, we could have never saved the colony…"

I took a breath and tried to sound reasonable. "That's the trouble with you humans. You just won't accept that as long as you saved one life, your mission was a success. Dearly bought perhaps, but a success nonetheless."

She waved it off with a weak smile. It was an old argument; one we had discussed so many times back on the first Normandy that it had lost its fire ages ago.

"Well then…" I added. "We saved more than one this time. And we saved Alenko."

Her face soured. "Yeah, right. What the hell is wrong with that idiot? He of all people should have…" For a moment she looked pained. Then she grew rigid and said flatly. "It doesn't matter anymore. He made his choice and so did I."

I hesitated. I never felt comfortable with poking my nose in other people's relations and if the two had indeed that kind of "history" as Tali had always claimed, I liked it even less and yet… I had seen the hurt Alenko caused her with his reaction and it galled me on some primal level. I forced my next words out, anyway.

"You shouldn't be too hard on him. He was in charge of the colonists' security and all he could do was watching the Collectors harvest the colony empty. Then he saw you… and well… he hadn't taken your death lightly. None of us had, but he especially."

The skin on her nose wrinkled. "Oh, spare me. Wanna make me feel sorry for him? On which side are you actually, Vakarian?"

"On yours," I replied with a shrug.

"Aha. Just checking." After a moment of silence she added more serious. "You know what's bothering me? The Collectors' previous target was Freedom's Progress and there are other colonies nearby that would have been a much easier pick. So why Horizon? And how could Cerberus know? Well, I called the Illusive Man out on it and he told me flat out that 'certain intel was released into the right channels'."

"Means, he baited them there?"

She nodded grimly. "And it's getting even better – do you know which intel he sold to the Shadow Broker? Kaidan. He spread the knowledge that Lt. Kaidan Alenko is stationed there and, bam, the Collectors came. Coincidence? I don't think so. Remember what Miranda said about that deal between the Shadow Broker and the Collector two years back? I pressed her on it and she reluctantly admitted what the deal was about and guess what? The Collectors tried to acquire my corpse. First the Normandy, now Horizon… They're targeting us; me. Specifically. Why Garrus? Why would a Collector even care about my existence? And then there is this Harbinger–" She held her breath.

" – and the Husks." I added and we shared a grave look. It was one thing to suspect the worst and quite another to see it confirmed.

"Yes. I think at some point the Sovereign made contact with its kind and shared the intel it had learned so far. I can't think of any other explanation. Harbinger seems to control the Collectors in pretty much the same way the Sovereign controlled Saren and Benezia. And it knows too many specifics, about me, about all of us…"

"So, it's another Reaper and it has taken a personal interest in us. Well, can't say I expected anything less," I said dryly.

"Ever the optimist, huh?"

I shrugged. "You know me, I always plan for the worst – that way there's actually a chance I might get pleasantly surprised."

"Right." She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, as if to find some answers. There were none, I had checked already.

The silence stretched and I watched her still wringing with herself. What had brought her here?

"It's just so… damn. I don't even have words…" Shepard began softly; then sat up straight and turned to me once more. "I mean, dying? Get resurrected? WTF. I try to tell myself not to give a damn about the how and keep going. Not to look too closely. To shut up and take the chance to live and fight another day. I really try, but then there are those moments when it all seems so unreal that I think I'm trapped in a nightmare that just won't end. And there's more. Look –"

She untangled her legs and stood, lifting the hem of her shirt and tugging down the edge of her waistband to expose the smooth creamy skin of her belly. There she circled a spot above her right hip bone with her fingers. Lightly, almost like a caress… and for a moment I struggled with the other image the view suddenly summoned from some darker corner of my mind.

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "The scar from the Thorian… It's gone, but sometimes… it feels like there's still an echo of it in my mind; a phantom of the pain that should be there but is not…"

She lowered her shirt again.

"They're all gone. Every damn mark, scar, and even the order of those blasted freckles is not what it used to be! I look in the mirror and see a stranger wearing my face. A runaway Cerberus abomination, defying nature with every breath it takes. But do you know the worst? The worst is that deep down I feel this wrongness in me and I can't help wondering what else they did. What else they changed. How much of being human did they trade away to bring me back? Am I real? Am I still myself? What if my free will is nothing but a big fat lie they programmed me to believe…"

Huge eyes, filled with something I could only describe as despair, fastened on me and for a moment I felt completely at loss. Sure, I had seen her in bad moods before, but never like this. Not after Virmire and not even on Feros where she almost bled to death in my arms.

Stripped of all her guards, I found myself no longer confronted with Shepard, the Commander, but Shepard, the Woman; and she was showing me a fragility, I hadn't even known existed. In my head a dozen social conventions told me that such open display of weakness should put me off, but instead…

Before I realized what I was doing, I pushed the blanket aside. Come to think of it I've never been a role model turian, anyway. With wooden legs, I got up and reached for her shoulders. Awkward I pulled her rigid figure to my chest. Her arms fell to her side and she rested her forehead against my collarbone. There she exhaled slowly; the warmth of her breath pushing through the fabric of my shirt. Under my palms I sensed how her tension drained away. Mine however… There must have been something wrong with the soap she used, because it elicited all kinds of funny notions. I inclined my head a fraction and stopped when my chin brushed the crown of her head.

You are real. Very real…

"Hey now," I started to mumble and dragged my mind away from the idea of burying my nose in her strange human hair. How come that nature produced such feathery textures that served no other purpose than to look pretty? "I think you shouldn't worry too hard about it… See, on Omega I knew right away that it was you. Your gestures, your words; even the way you move about and pat down your weapons – all the same. Your body might be a little different now, so what? The core which is truly you, is still you. No AI, no wrongness, just plain Shepardness. Maybe it has a little more crazy in it than usual, but I got a feeling we can handle this."

"Just like always, huh?" she asked against my chest.

"Just like always."

A small chuckle escaped her. "You know, it's hard to believe that I survived the first 29 years of my life without having you watching my sixes…"

I looked down just to find her watching me with a hooded expression. Wherever that previous moment of insecurity had come from, it was gone again. The Commander had taken control once more, locked everything suspicious up, and threw away the keys. Quickly, I released her and she took a few steps back, creating an awkward distance. Just… terrific.

"Oh, you're clever, of course you'd manage. Just not as stylish, that's for sure." I said lightly and rubbed my neck. Better to get back on familiar turf quickly.

"Stylish? Nobody with a full deck of cards would put up with this in the first place, and you're here for the stylishness?"

"Why Shepard, as you've pointed out so nicely I can hardly be here for the food or the payment."

She shrugged and crossed her arms before her. "Well, you got to see exotic places and meet interesting people."

"Is this Alliance recruitment speak for 'ending on a toxic planet surrounded by trigger-happy lunatics'?"

"Could be worse, couldn't it? I mean, you might just as well find yourself in the belly of something nasty..."

I winced and it was only halfway play. "Right. Why have I only bothered to ask?"

She lost some of her mirth and said, "Hey… you know you don't have to be here."

"What? And miss the chance to bring down another Reaper in some act of great valor and intrepid foolishness? Are you kidding me?" I locked my eyes with hers and turned serious. "Shepard. What I said back on Ilos… I meant every word. I'm in with you to the very end."

She regarded me for long moment. I thought her lips even twitched into a tiny, very female, cryptic smile, but it was gone so quickly I wasn't sure if it had merely been a trick of the light.

"Thank you. For putting up with this crap and everything else."

"Anytime, Shepard. Anytime."

We chatted another few minutes, then she excused herself and left. I watched her go, still trying to figure out what exactly had just happened. Seeking my company in the middle of the night to talk about the fights ahead certainly would have been unusual but it wouldn't have exactly thrown me off. Seeking my company to talk about her fears did. There she stood, baring a piece of her soul for me, and in this brief moment she had managed to push buttons that technically should have been stone-dead to her… before I could reign in my thoughts, a scene played out in front of my mind's eye.

The edge of her waistband; tugged down to expose the smooth creamy skin of her belly. She is circling a spot perhaps above her right hip bone with her fingers; lightly, almost like a caress… Suddenly she looks up at me; and a new predatory glint enters her gaze. Her fingers slide lower and –

I slammed my mental shields in place and forced the images away. Damn it. What kind of perverted friend was I actually?

I took a slow, controlled breath, then lay down on my cot again and stared at the ceiling. I probably just needed to blow off some steam; work the tension out of my system. Somehow the World without Law must have left me much more desperate and lonely than expected…

Your choice, remember?

Damn…

And just like that I was confronted with something else entirely – remorse. The eventful days following exfil, near death and the exhilarating thrill of being once again a part of the Normandy's team had managed to push the bleak memories to the fringes of my mind; slowly turning the grief into some distant ache.

Have you finally become such a cold-blooded bastard that you can't even mourn your friends? Do you care so little for them? For Mierin?

Guilt hammered down on me. I didn't resist the blows and yet… I thought about their deaths and how we've been betrayed. Anger stirred. It still hurt, yet the excruciating shame, pain and hopelessness I had experienced that day facing my own end was gone and replaced by a deep numbness. Logical or not, it made me feel like dirt. And so I had failed them even more. Not only as their leader, but especially as their friend.

I pressed the heel of my hands against my eyes. This was getting me nowhere. My jaw was hurting like a sonovabitch and from somewhere the grotesque notion arose that I just had to poke with something sharp in there to make it stop. I rolled over to the edge of the folding bed. Not the pinnacle of luxury, but I'd slept a lot worse, especially while campaigning with my unit on some uncharted planet. And it was secluded. In my current state, just the thought of sharing a room with other people, bearing their snores and noises all night long, gave me an even worse headache.

From under the bed I pulled out a box, flipped the lid open and took out the slim orange tablet tube that contained a dozen innocent-looking pills, the Doctor had given me in case of dire need. I'd say fantasizing about ramming my knife into my face counted as an emergency. I shook two pills into my palm and washed them down with a puddle of cold tea. I sat the mug back down to the floor, dimed the lights and buried the uninjured side of my face into the pillow. Slowly, I counted backwards from twenty to zero. When I reached ten, the pressure in my head had lessened. Fast little bastards. Three. The effect of the painkillers kicked in fully and I slipped away into a dreamless sleep.

Mierin's reproachful eyes kept watching me from the recesses of my mind.

~V~

I dreamed.

One moment I had been laying aslant in my criminally decadent bed and the next I was surrounded by naked stone walls, cold and dark. I was in a dungeon and one of that particularly uninviting sort, say, like the kind of scary underground compound where psychopathic mass murderers chopped up their victims.

Still better than dreaming of Alchera.

A corridor stretched out in front of me, its winding path shrouded in shadows. I looked closer. Things seemed to move in there, stirring against the walls with dry, scraping noises. No frigging way. I turned around and –

Wait.

There was a brush over my awareness followed by a sharp tug. I ignored it and tried to will myself away from this place. I felt it again, stronger. It… compelled me to find it. To my left a flight of stairs leaded downwards and mechanically I followed them to an even murkier corridor. Many passages led away from it, and I picked one aisle at random.

Suddenly the walls started to close in on me, faster and faster, falling on me, threatening to bury me alive! My vision blurred and then I was somewhere else. I saw a heavy iron-clad door. Rough stone scraping my skin. The feel of cold steel around my throat. And above all. Terror. Pain. And rage.

In a blink the impression was gone again. I was back in the aisle.

What the hell…

I whirled around. The walls had retreated and looked as solid and unmoving as they had before. I shook off the last remnants of fear.

There. The tug on my awareness was back.

I ventured deeper into the labyrinth.