Ch 4
Running. It was all that he knew. All that he had known for what seemed to be an eternity.
The ruined skyline of London was barely visible now, dwarfed and outshined by the object in front of him. The transport beam. Was it always this big and bright? He couldn't be sure. A singular thought, an instinct, blared in his mind, barely letting anything else in: Get to the beam.
It stood as a direct path to the galaxy's salvation, and he wasn't about to screw it up. Not now. Not after years of death, blood, and tears.
But the progress he had made so far just wasn't enough. It had likely taken him hours to get to this point, yet he felt no closer to the objective now than he was back then.
Then?
When?
He wasn't certain. All that he was sure of was that he couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't feel much of anything as far as the rest of his body was concerned, either. Probably a result of some crap that Cerberus had implanted while restoring him from the charred mess that he had once been.
His mind went back to the task at hand.
The beam.
He willed whatever energy he had left and upped the tempo, his legs moving as if on their own accord, covering more distance than before.
A pair of Alliance marines went down further in front of him, each of their chests impaled by the sharp claws of a Banshee. Another two bodies to add to the staggering casualty statistics. Two troops, who would likely never get a proper burial, never get the chance to say farewell to their families. Did they even have any family left, or were they the last of their blood? Would someone miss them, or were they about to become just another small piece of the ever-growing pile of bodies that would be impossible to sift through?
Under different circumstances, he would've felt unnerved, maybe even sad or upset. Now, however, he only felt lucky. Lucky that these two Marines happened to be in just the right place and at the right time to sacrifice themselves, and distract the monstrosity, which had once, probably, been some young and full of life asari, allowing him a safe passage while it was preoccupied with disemboweling their bodies. He would pay his respects, eventually. But at present, he had to make his way to the beam. Else, the selfless action of these men will have been in vain.
That was easier said than done. His body felt more and more sluggish with each passing moment, and his legs weren't heeding to his commands. Instead of running, he merely stumbled now, feeling like a diver trying to sprint underwater.
"You okay?" He heard a voice from behind him.
Turning around, the image was fuzzy at first, but his eyes eventually focused in on the dark visor of Garrus' helmet.
"Shepard?" His second-in-command asked again, sub-vocals filled
with a hint of concern.
"Yeah," came out of his mouth, almost instinctively. "Let's move, Garrus. We've got no time to waste."
"John?"
That voice might as well have reverberated in his skull. He spun to the other side instantly, though the action itself was more akin to changing direction while stuck in quicksand.
Liara's eyes beamed at him from behind the clear visor of her helmet. He could've sworn they were never as intense as they seemed now. He almost winced, as if facing the sun.
"Is everything alright?" She inquired.
"Yeah, I'm fine. We have to keep moving," he quickly responded, about to turn away and head forward.
She put her arm on his shoulder. "Not anymore."
"What are you talking about?" He frowned.
"It's too late now. Let it go."
"What?" He growled, the confusion behind her sudden change in character not making any sense.
"You should listen to her, skipper."
He swung his head towards the sound of the voice. Ashley Williams stood in front of him, her pink and white Phoenix hardsuit shiny and spotless, as if it had just come out of the assembly line.
"You have sacrificed so many. Now it's your turn," her voice, devoid of any emotion, said.
Looking up at her face, he could see why. Her normally clear skin was now nothing more than decaying bits of flesh, covered in abscesses, and tumors. He watched in horror as a part of muscle and skin tore off her cheekbone and slid down her face, leaving a trail of blood in its track.
Where her eyes had once been, only dark empty sockets remained. He still felt watched.
"You will pay for the pain you have caused."
He could see a dozen or so salarians behind her, eyes just as empty as hers. He tried to turn and scream for Liara and Garrus to run for cover, but found himself unable, and could only watch the salarians slowly stumble towards them.
The blinding light of the beam was gone in an instant, plunging him into darkness for a moment. As his sight slowly adjusted to the dark, he strained his eyes to look up at the structure which had completely obscured the light.
His head exploded in pain as the roar of a Reaper passed through his bones, through every organ, every nerve, and every cell in his body, and he screamed in agony. He collapsed on the ground, feeling his muscles seize involuntarily. Forcing his eyes open, he could see Liara and Garrus get surrounded by the mindless salarians.
He tried crawling towards them, but suddenly felt something sharp pierce his neck. In an instant, he was flipped around and faced Ashley again. Her empty eyes replaced by glowing red orbs, and wires snaking down her face.
"You have failed," a deep voice boomed out of her mouth as he struggled for air.
He noticed the red beam just for a split second, approaching rapidly behind Ashley, and struggled to free himself from her grip.
Instead, her other hand – fingers replaced by sharp claws – dug itself deep into his chest, stealing his breath, and sending him into unthinkable amounts of pain. Looking back up from his mangled body, he spotted the crimson laser close to him for just a second, before getting plunged back into darkness, in screams and agony.
He managed to inhale now, but each breath felt like scalding hot metal was being poured down his windpipe.
He begged and pleaded for the pain to end, but this was a nightmare he just couldn't wake up from.
"Pulse?"
"Negative. Give him another one!"
The defibrillator buzzes again, and a set of human hands goes to work on another round of chest compressions. Again.
Liara hunched over and squeezed her forehead with her fingers, desperately trying to rid her mind of the images that had been burned into it over the past fifteen hours.
She was a nervous wreck. To say that John had been found in rough shape would've been an understatement. Besides the numerous external injuries, he had been discovered in a state of cardiac arrest. Goddess only knew how long that lasted, and how much damage his body had actually taken.
Sleep was impossible to come by. Urged by Doctor Chakwas, she had tried going back to her quarters to get some rest, even if for a little while, but it was no use. She had considered going over to the captain's cabin as well, but even the thought of it just seemed wrong. John had given her authorization to come and go as she pleased, but lying there, in that bed, without him, would've felt foreign.
Instead of tossing and turning while trying to force her eyes shut, she found herself in the mess hall. Fortunately, the entire deck looked to be deserted, most of the crew fast asleep or at their stations as the Normandy drifted slowly in Earth's orbit. The only indication of the ship being active at all was the quiet hum of its engines, and the occasional faint noise escaping the mostly soundproof medical bay to her right.
Liara sighed and tried to concentrate on those sounds, hoping that the white noise of the engines would help distract her mind from the stress she had endured over the past day. She had to stop asking herself hypothetical questions. To stop burdening herself with pointless what ifs. All that mattered now was the fact that John was alive, and had managed to undergo some of the treatment successfully, if his long stay in the med bay was any indication. With the ever-watchful eye and a wealth of experience of Dr. Chakwas, she felt the love of her life was in excellent hands.
Pushing anxious thoughts to the back of her mind, Liara focused in on her surroundings. The crew deck was in relative darkness, with the lighting dimmed to less than half of its intensity. Only a scarce emergency light shone bright further up near the main battery, and the lamps above the table she was sitting at radiated a warm beige glow. It complemented the steady sound of the engines well, and she found it strangely calming.
She sat in silence for a while, listening to herself breathe in and out in a steady rhythm. After a long day, her overwhelmed mind, it seemed, was finally at ease.
Her auditory receptors didn't register a hiss as the door to the med bay opened. Steps, slightly unsteady and rushed, got progressively louder, clanking off the metal deck. But, although her ears caught the sound, her brain did not raise alarm.
"Liara?" A warm voice spoke, and a hand found its way to her shoulder, startling her slightly.
"Doctor Chakwas? Sorry, I did not see you coming," Liara said, trying to shake off the lull she had been caught in. "How is he?"
"He's stable, honey," the older woman said reassuringly. "And one hell of a fighter, even while unconscious. We've had to perform emergency surgery, but he took it well. Two rounds of it, in fact."
"Does that mean he's going to be fine?"
"For now," Chakwas' warm smile was gone in the blink of an eye. "But..."
"Doctor?" Liara sensed a familiar wave of anxiety wash over her.
The older woman sighed, rubbing her temples. "But… If he's going to survive in the long run, he'll need to be sent somewhere more… permanent."
"I understand," Liara said. Where would they even take him? To a field hospital? That likely would mean worse conditions than here on the Normandy. There had to be some facilities still in operation to treat those gravely injured in the fighting.
"Liara, I don't want to sound defeatist, but–"
"I'll see what I can do, Doctor," she answered. That was it. She finally had a chance to be useful. To help John directly in his survival. The thought gave her new hope, and a way to distract herself from the endless doubts that had been plaguing her mind.
"Okay," Chakwas nodded. "We can keep the Commander stable for approximately another seventy-two hours, but the longer we wait, the bigger the chance that we'll have to take drastic measures." She sighed again. "His left arm may require amputation, and his right lung has collapsed, and will need to be tended to soon. I'm sorry I– probably shouldn't have brought this all up on you…"
"Thank you," Liara said, putting her hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "I just want John to make it through the night, and I'll try to make some connections with my… sources."
"Good to hear that, sweetie," came the reply from Chakwas. The Doctor smiled warmly, and went back to the med bay.
Liara sat quietly for a few minutes, taking in the tranquil atmosphere, which now brought not only calm, but hope, too. She wouldn't get any sleep for a while, but she was more than happy to make that sacrifice. With newfound energy, she stood up from the table and made her way to her quarters.
"It would be easy for a single ship to get lost up there, wouldn't it?"
God, he adored her voice. It was relieving, hearing it without the strain of stress and worry that had accompanied most of their conversations over the past few months.
"Yeah, it would," he said with a chuckle.
"To find someplace very far away, where you could spend the rest of your life…" She turned to look him with a smile. "In peace. And happiness."
But it didn't seem genuine. If he was reading her face right, anyway. Her eyes carried the look of profound sadness and desperation. She knew their time was short and was desperate to prolong it.
Leaning in close, he kissed her on the cheek and caressed her face. "We will, Liara," he said, fully realizing how little truth those words carried. "Soon."
"Yes," she whispered out, acknowledging the lie with another smiley facade. Her gaze faltered and trailed down to the floor, and there was nothing that Shepard wanted to do in that moment than to embrace and reassure her.
"Liara…" He put a hand on her shoulder.
When she looked back up at him, her eyes were glistening with tears. Shepard was about to say something when she pounced, wrapping her arms around him. Her lips met his desperately, like that of someone whose life was slipping from under them. Soon, her tongue joined the fight for supremacy and quickly won over the barely contested territory in his mouth, all the while her hands were desperately rummaging their way through his short hair.
He grunted, the need for air increasing by the second. She finally let go, and he felt her hands slide down to his thighs.
Panting, he opened his eyes, searching for their azure match. But something was wrong. Darkness blanketed his cabin save for the small lamp on the nightstand illuminating the bed. Liara's face in front of him looked contorted in pain, blood seeping from her nose and mouth.
Panicking, he scrambled in search for his omni-tool which must've fallen down somewhere in the heat of passion. Stepping off the bed, he quickly reached down to the ground, fumbling for the device in the dark. No luck there. He tried getting back up, but found himself exhausted.
Reaching for the nightstand, he attempted to lean on it for support, but his suddenly weak muscles took him nowhere. He collapsed on the cold metal floor after a momentary struggle, as the world around him blurred. A veil of weakness took over his mind, as his peripheral vision slowly faded to black, in spite of his desperate attempts to stay lucid.