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A long while ago.
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11-1-2183
[ SSV NORMANDY SR1 ]
EN-ROUTE TO PANGEA EXPANSE | REFUGE SYSTEM | ILOS
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She was quiet as she sailed through the cosmic black. A blot amongst the expanse traveling through an ocean of nothing. The end was drawing to a close. Saren was nearing his mission, the Normandy tailing behind to stop him.
Grim anticipation and tempered resolve in the air to stop a cataclysmic return. It was the energy that carried through her halls.
Listlessly, Tali worked through the motions of sanitizing her weapon of filth. Satisfied the rifling could gleam from within, she snapped the receivers together and watched the components breathe to life.
She was done. There was nothing to do now but wait. Back against her chair, she bounced her leg and tapped her lip from the anxiety addling her.
Suit still on, she stood and shouldered her gun and stared down its optic, testing its hold to ensure, for some reason, its familiarity. Assured it was the same, she set it back, a sigh escaping. She needed to be in the company of others. Not be here and dawdle silently with only her thoughts to keep her company.
Glass set over her face with a soft hiss of a hermetic seal, she slung her shotgun over her shoulder and left her room to take the lift down to the hangar.
Again. Quietness. Solitude. Hardly a conversation between anyone. She stowed away her gun in her locker and scanned its organized space with a wilted look across her face.
Liara stepped beside her and stowed away something of hers in her own locker.
"Hey." Tali said stoically.
"Hey." Liara rasped back, pausing momentarily her ruffling, "How're you feeling?"
"The same as everyone else, I suppose."
A reserved nod was about the only thing Liara felt appropriate to do.
"Where are the others?"
"The mess."
"Still?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Saying their good-byes." Liara's tone was flat, "Making pacts."
"...Oh."
"Have you made one?"
She blinked and sent her stare elsewhere, "...I have."
"One with John?" She guessed timidly.
An awkward play of hands and Tali shrugged. She never liked thinking so morbidly of such things. But she recalled it with easy clarity. Waves from Virmire's shoreline casting up to meet her and John as they stared on toward a gleaming sea. "My gift." She said finally, eyes blinking away the memory, "I asked him to drop it off in case I—... you know."
"You were right to entrust it with him."
"And what about you?"
"To have my assets donated to the Legacy Foundation." Liara intoned unremarkably, eyes cast downward, "It's an archeological group. And... a letter to my father."
The two made their way to the lift and waited. Tali didn't pry about her dad. She knew enough to know that Liara didn't even really know her. That was more than likely a soft spot to be mentioning anymore, if she had to guess.
"I hope you left something for your dad." Liara said in space of where Tali's reply was supposed to be.
Bit lip, Tali coaxed in the need to breathe and tossed up a hand. "I was... going to. But."
"But what?"
"I don't think he'd—" She shook her head, "No, that's not right. Uhm...— I just don't think it would matter."
Liara's frown couldn't be ignored. "What makes you say that?"
There was a multitude of reasons. One, because she wasn't sure of how to even write one. Of all the things she could conjure in that email to dad, she could scarcely imagine one where she told him everything that she wanted to say. Could she really tell him, over a passing note, that she loved him?
That wasn't an easy answer.
She did love her father. But it wasn't exactly something they outwardly spoke about. They hardly spoke ever. A relationship tantamount to knowing a colleague you hardly knew on a first-name basis.
"If we lose... it ultimately doesn't matter." Tali figured darkly, "We stole a ship. Back home that's... that's treason. If my dad heard that—he'd be the first to make an example of me."
"Circumstances withstanding?"
Tali didn't want her to give her an answer that she didn't want to hear. So she withheld the truth.
"Perhaps not."
It arrived and they entered.
"What are you gonna do until we're there?" Tali said with a languid mutter since Liara hadn't said anything. She reached for the button to take them up to mess.
"Honestly? I think I'm just... going to go to sleep until it's time for us to go."
Tali didn't answer her with anything but a reserved nod.
When the doors opened, Liara faced the quarian and opened up her arms to hug her.
"Just in case. Regardless of however this goes." An exhale that tremored as they held onto each other tightly, "It's been an incredible ride."
"Sleep well, Liara."
The two went their separate ways and Tali stood alone. She could hear subtle conversation just beyond the walled separator.
Reaching the corner, she saw a number of the crew hanging loosely about, beers in hand with banter to keep them entertained.
Wrex and Garrus mingling with the marines and John nowhere in sight.
"Tali," Wrex said with a raised gauntlet, "How are ya?"
"I'm okay." She said lightly. Several of the marines, Ash included, all gave her a mixed variety of waves.
"Okay?" Wrex boasted, "The apex of our fight against Saren should have you thrilled."
She stuck out a hip to match his bravado.
"I'm going to beat you to him, Wrex." Tali dared, "My handcannon will be the last thing he sees."
The krogan heaved a cackling laugh and stomped his foot, "𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 is what I want to hear. Krogan spirit bleeding from your past life."
Hoots and hollers from the dozen men and women, beers raised at the chest pumping.
It was all a facade. Tali struggled to match their energy. Perhaps it was best to just rest until then.
A lingering stare toward John's closed cabin door, it eventually faltered and she waved them all good-bye. "No hangovers. We have a galaxy to save, remember."
More laughs as she departed, the smile she'd forced gone almost as soon as it had come.
She took the lift back down to her floor. When the doors opened, she was surprised to see John pilfering the contents of a container at the far end of the hall by himself, a flashlight set aside as he toiled away.
Finally. A quiet moment with someone she wanted to see. One soundless foot in front of the other, she approached and bent down to see all the things he'd set around him. He still hadn't noticed her.
It was gear. Mission equipment.
"Hey." She said quietly to let him know she was behind him. He jumped slightly and whirled his head around. "Oh. Tali. God. You scared me."
"Sorry."
"Turning in for the night, I'm guessing?" He asked as he took in her posture.
"It's been a long day." She couldn't hide the weariness bleeding into her voice.
"Yeah."
"What are you looking for?"
"Personals." He said at length, glancing behind him.
"Personals?" She echoed, "That looks like the wrong box for that."
"Well." He ran a hand through his hair and gestured vaguely the stuff behind him, "It's, ah... contraband, you see."
"Contraband." she echoed again, a smirk infecting her. "What kind?"
"Oh." He fanned his hand out like it was nothing, "You know."
"Hiding it from the captain?"
An amusing chuckle and it eased the tension that strung her heart. "Yeah. Well. Let's just say I have a little pull with him."
A sparkle in her eye borne from a crinkled smile.
He went back to the box and searched.
"Seriously. What are you looking for?"
"A few weeks back—" More ruffling interposing his sentence, "...I'd ordered, in our onload, a pretty unconventional item."
"Like?"
"Something special. For me."
"Well, don't hold back. I wanna see."
"If I can just... find it... ah. Here." Clinking and scraping, John finally pulled from the freight cube a large case before setting it down. Unclasping its seal, he tossed open its top to reveal the assortment. A box of destructive goods. A rotary grenade launcher nestled in foam, surrounded by stacked, loaded cassettes.
He let out a low whistle. "My, oh my. Saren's going to be in a world of pain."
As much of a treat it was to see, this wasn't why he was down here. By some error, his order ended up here, wrapped up and undelivered. It was supposed to arrive at his cabin. Whether that was the impounding that had caused the mixup, he could only guess.
He was actually here for something else. Something he'd made for her. A momento to gift the woman he'd fallen in love with. Her timing coming down here, however, hadn't been the greatest. He wanted to give it to Garrus after making him promise that if he hadn't survived this ordeal, that he'd give it to Tali when the time was right.
He could see the little box now. A muted sheen from a tungsten finish, inside it, a coined pendant. He saw her eyes had grazed its surface, but she hadn't a clue of what it was nor the suspicion to be curious. Recovering the lid and snapping it all shut, he decided, on a whim, to sit on the whole thing.
"Don't let me keep you." John said curtly.
"You're not." She said easily, kneeling down into a squat so she could see him at eye-level.
"How you feeling?" He asked her.
"Terrified."
He played with the band on his watch and didn't try to hide his frown.
"I am too." A pause that stretched. "...We'll take this as it goes."
"Like we always do." She said grimly. An apparition on the periphery of both their minds, they saw Kaidan.
She sat fully now, like him, voice hardly a whisper as she searched his face. "Do you ever wonder what happens after all this?"
He caught her gaze. "After?"
"When we stop Saren. What then, for Commander Shepard?"
He let out a little breath and bobbed his head with diffidence, "I don't know... I—haven't a clue."
"But if you did," she pressed gently, "what would you want?"
John's gaze softened and he thought of that sun-drenched backyard. He could almost feel the weight of a cold beer in one hand, well-worn tongs in the other. And her. Basking in the sun, a dress rippling in the breeze, bare feet nestled in grass watching him cook over charcoal.
No galactic peril. No looming threat. Just... life. Simple, ordinary, achingly beautiful in its mundanity, life. It wasn't an elaborate fantasy to be having. But it's what stuck.
"Peace," he said at last, voice low and earnest. "Just... peace. A life where I wake up and my biggest worry is what to make for breakfast. Where I can settle down somewhere and... maybe never have to hold a gun again."
Rising to his feet, he offered Tali a hand and gently pulled her up. A few steps together to reach her room, he turned the question on her. "What about you?"
A wince he didn't see, she pressed her lips together. Her true answer, the one lodged in her throat, was wanting a peaceful future like that with him.
"For all this to be behind us," She uttered in its stead.
He opened her door and she stepped inside.
"Get some rest." Eyes soft and gentle, his smile calmed, "We have a big day tomorrow."
Two weary stares met across over a chasm of quiet, and all he could offer for his farewell was silence. An awful substitute for all the words trapped behind his lips.
Doom staring them down, he wanted to reach out and take her hand and hold onto her. To confess it. To tell this woman what happened to his spellbound heart. To tell her he'd never felt this way about anyone else.
The words didn't come.
All of a few seconds to stare at those eyes of hers. He held his tongue. And so did she.
"...Good night, John."
Words imprisoned by hesitation.
"Good night, Tali." A keypress and the door hissed, severing, slowly, his stare from her. A barrier between, the two stood motionless.
Hands at her sides, she could hardly breathe.
Another moment, possibly their final, disappearing.
She nearly reopened that door. To throw caution to the wind. To reveal what had been burning her heart.
But fear held her. Fear of rejection. Fear of complicating their mission. Fear of an uncertain future that towered above them all.
Separated only by metal, yet worlds apart, they each stepped away as if wading through water.
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Present time.
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11-02-2185
[ MFS NEEMA ]
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A ring from her alarm and eyes slowly opening to a slit to get a look of the time.
"Ugh..."
She hated its sound. A crag-like chirp that buzzed and spat. The most annoying noise that'd ever graced her ears. A tired and dark sigh spilled from her lips, hand slithering from beneath the blanket to silence the offending timepiece.
A tap and it stopped. Her acrid and groggy glare didn't abate when she wrapped herself deeper into the sheets.
It was the second of November. The anniversary of Illos. A culmination of a year's long campaign against Saren and Sovereign working to end civilization. Somehow, they won.
Still entombed in her nest, her eyes still had yet to close. An empty and narrow stare on nothing as she remembered it all. Eyes bearing witness to the phantoms of a memory that danced across her vision. From above, the familiar cadence of Enyah's footsteps filtered through, followed by the creak of stairs as her neighbor descended. Muffled conversation drifted through the walls of her home, indistinct yet somehow intrusive.
Two heavy arms drawn up, she grasped the blanket to shed herself of her fabric prison before getting to her feet to meet the day.
Moving through the motions of getting dressed and slipping on her boots, she pulled from memory, his face.
The smile he held or the laugh he used. The stuff he said or the things he did. It all drummed on in the hollowed chambers of her inward library. Pain the same as the day he'd departed the universe. Rarely could it reach out, however, to touch her face. Dullness a permanent resident. A gray dominion that fanned over the corners of her soul.
Curtains set aside, her eyes fluttered about the commonplace before walking out.
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"Tali!"
The cry pierced through the ambient hum of the Neema's crowded corridor. Tali's eyes, hidden behind her visor's subtle facade, narrowed. She turned slowly to face the approaching tornado of enthusiasm personified by two young girls.
Great.
A muttered curse slipped past her gritted teeth to bolster her waning patience.
How these two managed to find her with such unerring frequency defied logic. The bustling hallway of the Neema, usually a sea of anonymity, seemed to part for them like magic.
Initially, she had attributed their uncanny ability of finding her by having such a distinctive appearance—the violet and pale white swirls of her veil, the pendant nestled under her neck. But now, a creeping suspicion whispered that Juel was probably their unwitting accomplice, divulging her whereabouts at their beck and call.
Then again, she mused bitterly, her daily routine had become about as predictable as the rotation of a planet. So.
"Hi, TalTals!" Chilo's voice, congested yet irrepressibly and obnoxiously cheerful, rang out like a blare in the crowded space.
A single twitch of an eye, nerves pressed against a cheese grater. Her broadcasting it as loudly as she did to turn heads only intensified the discomfort.
"What's up?" Siv chimed in, her fingers absently worrying at a loose thread on her suit from a nervous habit.
"Hi, Chilo. Hi, Siv." Tali's response was flat, her honeyed tone conspicuously absent.
If the girls noticed the shift in Tali's demeanor, they gave no indication. Their zeal for everything remained undimmed, like twin stars oblivious to the black hole of grief that continually threatened to engulf their elder.
"Working." Came her clipped answer, "You two should be in school."
"Can't!" They chorused, their voices a symphony of mischievous glee.
Chilo, practically vibrating, "Our Yulah is very busy. We got off early today." She punctuated each word with alternating fist pumps, a dance usually reserved for concerts.
Keelah. She felt a headache coming.
Siv, not to be outdone, rushed to add, "We're going to spend our time at the trading decks to—"
The sentence was cut short when Chilo's elbow found Siv's ribs. "SHH!" She hissed, her eyes wide with panic. Siv recoiled, a stream of half-made apologies tumbling after having coughed, while a tear fell from an eye.
"You can't say anything, Siv!" Chilo admonished with a harsh hiss.
Tali's posture stiffened, her suspicion rising. "What are you doing at the trading decks?" The question was sharp and laced with a level of authority she rarely exercised.
The two froze, their spring-like energy evaporating like water on Tuchanka.
"Girls? I'm waiting for an answer." Tali's tone brooked no argument.
"NOTHING!" They chorused again. A fit of moronic giggles and they bolted, disappearing behind a corridor faster than a varren chasing a pyjak. A man had to skip aside, bolts from his basket sent to the wayside.
"Hrghugh!"
Watching them go, Tali felt a twinge of... something.
Sympathy?
Understanding?
For a moment, she could almost empathize with her father for the way he used to be. If she'd acted like that when she was younger, she wouldn't be around all that often either.
But she didn't act like that. So the point was moot.
She considered giving chase, but apathy, eventually, won out.
Their laughter was soon gone and then Tali was frozen, caught in a moment suspended between past and present, where his voice, low and earnest, touched her ears.
"𝑷𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆." Words as if they held something suspenseful inside them, "𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕... 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆. 𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒇𝒂𝒔𝒕. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅... 𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂 𝒈𝒖𝒏 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏."
Irony swept the woman. Here she stood in the familiar hum of home, living a life that, by all outward appearances, embodied the very thing that man had yearned for. No more frantic battles against impossible odds, no more desperate races across the stars to save a galaxy perpetually on the brink. Just the steady rhythm of daily life. The predictable ebb and flow of existence.
It was all ash in her mouth. A pale shadow of a future she had once hoped for. A deep breath, she squared her shoulders, and made headway to engineering, carrying with her the ghost of his dream.
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A streak in the sky diving past ocher clouds, the Mako plummeted through the thick amber rust of Illos' haze. A misfit assembly of John's team within its hold. A crowded mess of the galaxy's only defenders working to stop the end times.
"Descent's looking good." John broadcast over comms, hands clutched to the yoke, "Pitch is green. Systems nominal."
A fleeting glimpse of the world. Crumbling spires and overgrown ruins as far as they could see. A dizzying horizon.
"Affirmative, Blue-1. Path tracked. Grid is locked and green. You're looking good."
Her jets sang as they shook in their restraints, the ground finally rising up to meet them.
"Flare. * * Flare. * * Flare."
Six wheels, in a bone-jarring impact, punched the earth, plumes of dust and flecks of rock flung from contact. Immediate torque, tires spun and dug to meet destiny.
And like that, the memory that'd been pulled over his eyes was finished, and he blinked away the vision, mandibles tightening into a grimace. Two human years to the day.
Garrus, or rather, Archangel, was bathed in a slanted shadow. A living silhouette against the desolate squalor-scape of the station's nearly endless urban sprawl.
Piercing blue eyes fixed over the acrid stench from his place above. Polluted air and polluted lives in subsistence within the streets below.
Incredible how different it all was. Or how much had been lost since then.
Life was, however, simpler. No grand mission to save the galaxy. No higher meaning other than the one he'd perversely crafted for himself.
This was his reality. A daily purge of what festered in the corners. Sanitizing the underworld ceaselessly with vigilance and violence.
A mirthless smirk as he took in his sightline, optic training his target.
Savior of the galaxy to self-appointed janitor. It wasn't the future he'd envisioned to have in the wake of Normandy's end.
He was okay with that. A delicate finger tucked against the trigger, Garrus eased his breath and began to pull. But he received a call and his eyes flicked downward to see Liara calling him.
Now or never. Take the shot or ignore the call.
He took the call.
"Liara," Back into his sightline to search for his prey, "It's been a hot minute."
"He's alive."
Two words and he felt the galaxy shift beneath him, grip on his gun waning, legs suddenly struggling to keep him upright.
"Excuse me?"
"He's alive." She repeated with more resolve, "It's done. He's awake. He's conscious."
A heavy silence stretched over the phone.
"...So they actually did it. They brought him back." Rifle set aside, he stared out toward the vista of hell with more silence to fill the space. "...Then it's time. This has gone on long enough. You need to tell her."
"No." It was decisive and sharp, "We've been over this. We can't."
His subvocals thrummed, deep and plucked. "How long do you think you can keep her in the dark."
"You are suggesting, in no simple terms, of telling Tali John's alive because of Cerberus' doing. You know what they did to the flotilla. You know how that would color her attitude of what I'd committed to." She let out air to stall herself when Garrus hadn't said anything, "I would even hazard a guess and say that she wouldn't believe us."
Apathy from Garrus from what was her doing. A stupid cloak-and-dagger approach to a situation that should've been transparent to begin with.
Rifle abandoned beside the ledge, he began pacing across the roof, free hand clenched into a fist. "So we're protecting her by lying to her."
"It's not lying."
He scoffed. "This isn't right and you know it."
"You of all people know it's not that simple." Liara bit coldly, "You had every opportunity to be a part of this."
"I think my reasoning was pretty sound, Liara." The way he said her name bellied the hate welled in his chest for having to keep this all a secret. A principled promise Liara had extracted from him years ago. One he regretted keeping.
But even as anger and guilt warred within him, he knew, as he steadied himself against his perch, she had her reasons. Inscrutable, often frustrating, reasons. But ultimately aimed at keeping them safe. Or perhaps, he thought bitterly, at keeping them ignorant.
Regardless of the matter, it was a harsh thing to swallow knowing that John was made whole by Cerberus.
"This can't go on forever. Sooner or later, the truth will find her. And when it does..." He didn't need to finish.
She stole herself a breath. "...We'll take it as it goes. Like we always do. Just be ready for whatever happens these next few months. Life will, undoubtedly, change for all of us."
"Okay." He resigned himself to a murmur, "I'll be here. Doing what I can."
The line ended, and Garrus was alone again to ruminate over Omega's expanse, his vigil charged with a modicum of new purpose and, more worryingly, old guilt.
The coming days promised a storm and he found himself wishing for simpler times. For a crew united. For a cause that was clear. But those days were gone. And in their place, was this tangled web of secrets and allegiances.
Again, his stare met the distance and he wondered if there would ever be a chance to reclaim that past. Time would be the only one to tell him when it was ready.
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The rhythmic whir of a treadmill filled the sterile room. It was punctuated by Shepard's labored breathing.
A battle for every shuffled step. Muscle and bone protesting every stride that used to come as naturally as breathing.
It was definitely not coming as naturally as breathing.
"How much longer." he gasped, voice raw and strained.
Wilson, his attending, glanced up from his console. "We're trying to get some good preliminary data to the boss. Please concentrate. It'll be done soon." A clinical tone that was a little impatient.
Shepard felt the leads on his chest, slick with sweat, threatening to slip off. But it wasn't just the physical discomfort that gnawed at him. He could sense another presence in the room, unannounced but unmistakable.
"You mind?" he muttered between ragged breaths, addressing the silent observer behind him, " I'm trying to work here."
The soft click of heels against metal flooring preceded Miranda Lawson's appearance in his peripheral vision. Her cold stare met his exhausted one.
"I'm here to monitor the evaluation."
His retort was immediate and frustrated. "My doctor is more than capable of watching my..." He glanced at the screen behind Wilson, "...O2 sats and blood pressure."
You'd think it was the walking that was killing him. But no. It was her. She was enough to spike his heart rate. A beautiful woman with an ice-like gaze. It was easy to imagine her younger days interrogating strung-up dolls as a common pastime.
He did not like her.
He attempted to muster a glare, but the shuffle and sweat dripping down his face from what barely amounted to a stroll did him no favors in appearing menacing. "If you want to be useful, get me some water."
Miranda's stare held. "Wilson."
The doctor began to rise, but Shepard threw a hand up toward the man, "No. I asked you, Lawson. Not him."
Tension. She rose a hand and paused the treadmill and it slowed to halt, Shepard stumbling as it did so.
"Wilson," She said again, "I need to speak with Shepard alone."
"Understood." He rose and left without missing a beat, the door closing shut behind him.
John was half expecting her to smack him. But she gently guided him from the treadmill to their closest chair so he could sit and take a break.
"Why are you the way you are, Miranda." John started, wiping away his sheen.
"You believe it arrogance." She said evenly, reviewing the information crawling on the screen, "But arrogance is making presumptuous and uninformed assertions. I make neither."
"You ever heard that you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar?"
"Honey gets more flyes to it, than doth Vinegar." She quoted distantly, "I'm well aware of it."
"Then why the ice-queen reputation?"
"Honey breeds complacency." She said, turning away and finally pouring him a glass of water. She turned back, cup held at eye level. "The Lazarus cell demands precision and efficiency. I demand precision and efficiency. My methods keeps people sharp. Focused. And accountable."
She still stood a breadth away, cup still in hand as if to make a point. "We're not here to make friends or coddle egos. This entire station exists to bring you back to peak condition. My work has been entirely focused on only you and I will not fail."
John kept his mouth shut and tried not to stare at the cup.
"The only currency that matters, Shepard, is the results." She straightened and extended a hand for him to accept the glass. He took it and downed it in one fell swoop. Finished, he set it down, hand trembling from glycogen depletion.
"You are lecturing a man who saved the galaxy with honey." He said with a biting simper.
That actually got a smile out of her. Unexpected, but welcomed.
"That, I am." She relented before opening the door and pausing at its breadth. "I'll be back soon. Rest. Then we'll resume."
A resigned nod and she left. Alone, his facade fell. He dug himself into his chair. Physical exhaustion gave way to something deeper. Weariness that seeped into his marrow.
Two years.
The concept mocked him. An impossible chasm stretching between who he was and who he'd become. Two years stolen, ripped from his grasp like pages torn from a book.
Tali.
Her name whispered through his mind as it so often did. In the quiet moments between grueling physical therapy and terse conversations with his handlers, her memory was a lifeline to a past that now felt like a fever dream.
Eyes closed, he could almost hear her. That lilting accent, musical and honeyed all at once. The way she'd laugh at his jokes, no matter how terrible. Her passionate dissertations on engineering, words flowing like poetry. He'd fallen for her slowly, then all at once, like a star caught in a well.
But now? Adrift. Cut loose. A man that was supposed to be out of time.
Two years. What had they been for her? Was she okay? ...Had she moved on?
The thought lanced his heart. A pain sharper than anything physical could inflict.
He wondered if it would even be right to reach for her again. Would it really be fair to upend whatever life she'd made in his absence?
Doubt and longing. Not knowing was the cruelest cut of it all. Anything he could conjure was nothing but fresh hell. Was she safe? Happy? Did she think of him, or had time worn away everything that ever was?
Would she even want to see him? He was more machine than man. Would she welcome him or leer and keep her distance? He could hardly grace himself with an answer. The only thing he was certain of was his love for her. An anchor to who he'd been and the only thing guiding him toward who he needed to become.
Sullen, he knew that sitting here was prolonging recovery. Grit teeth, lungs screaming, he pushed himself up and clambered back to his rightful place atop the treadmill. Jaw set, resolve and fear hardening his gaze, he promised himself that he would eventually find her.
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Two months later.
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01-22-2186
[ UNKNOWN LOCATION ]
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Radiance from a dying star. An ethereal glow filtered through a panorama that dominated the entirety of the Illusive Man's sanctum.
Color that waged agaisnt each other endlessly. A celestial body that pulsed and rippled. A corona that undulated from the arms of plasma unfurling out to the cosmos.
A room bathed in fleeting light. Hushed interludes between stellar exhalations. A chiaroscuro effect paying across obsidian tile. Periods between the outbursts, when the room dimmed to a smoldering dark, only the ember of the Illusive Man's cigarette burned brightest.
"Miranda," His voice cut through the silence, smooth as the bourbon he drank. The glass caught the starlight, its refraction a momentary distraction from the glow of his eyes, "How is he?"
Miranda stood, shoulders tall and hands stilled behind her back, a complete contrast to her employer.
A savoring sip, ice clinking.
"His psyche is improving. He talks the most when he exercises. Usually opens up with Jacob."
A ghost of a smile. "That was expected."
Miranda inclined her head in agreement, eyes steady. She knew what this was about. It was about the latest colony gone dark. A brief glance at the holographic displays around him showed, just faintly, a sprawling roster and timetable detailing everything about the place. Below it, a forecast of the geopolitical climate that would bloom in the wake of its disappearance.
"He's coping, given the circumstances. Beyond voicing his basic needs, he's mostly quiet otherwise."
He rose a hand and the holos, in unison, sizzled from existence.
"You know why I'm having this conversation," He said plainly, electing to forgo additional platitudes, "You're aware of what's happened to Freedom's Progress."
A deep drag of his cigarette, its ember flaring. "How much time do you need until he's operational?"
"Physically, he's ready." She said apprehensively, "I'm reluctant, however, to be issuing him a rifle and the liberty to exercise his will with it."
A swirl of his bourbon, eyes focused over the glass. "Your concerns are noted. Time, however, is not something we possess. The disappearances will not wait for Shepard to feel fully adjusted."
"If we push too hard, too fast, we risk—"
"—more colonies while we wait." TIM cut in, "Your dedication to Lazarus is commendable. But it's time we move to the next phase. Prepare Shepard for a full briefing. 1100 hours tomorrow. Our purpose was to bring him back. Not to ensure unconditional loyalty. If he doesn't want to stay with us, then we'll part ways. But he needs to be informed of what we're willing to invest in this effort if he chooses to accept our proposal."
That was an ultimatum. Not a choice.
There was nothing else to say. She didn't argue further and sensed the call was coming to a close.
"Understood."
The meeting ended and her composed facade began to crack. She stepped away from the QEC, heels echoing in the empty corridor.
Two years. Two years of meticulous work pushing the boundaries of science, of pouring every ounce of her considerable talent into a single, monumental task. And now, it felt as if she was being forced to release an unfinished product.
But was she being overly cautious? Miranda's brow furrowed as she considered the possibility. Shepard's body was a perfect recreation, a marvel of bioengineering and cybernetics. Physically, he was more than ready. It was his mental state that concerned her.
Yet, how could anyone really adjust to being dead for two years? Shepard had awakened to find himself resurrected by an organization he once considered an enemy. The shock alone would be enough to unsettle anyone.
Moreover, she realized, Shepard's reserved muteness might not be due to maladjustment, but to grief and longing. He'd lost so much time. Was torn away from his life, his death over Ullipses more than likely leaving dozens of threads open ended. How many faces haunted his thoughts? How many relationships left unresolved?
The galaxy had, in every sense, left him behind.
Perhaps the Illusive Man was right. Perhaps John needed purpose more than he needed time. Action instead of contemplation.
What was a frown soon eased into a resolved smile, small and quaint. The Lazarus Project might be ending, but her work was far from over. If this was to be Shepard's trial by fire, she would ensure he had every possible advantage.
Her stride was measured. There was a lot to prepare before tomorrow's briefing, and little time to do it. The fate of humanity might rest on Shepard, but the weight of his success—or failure—rested squarely on her.
And Miranda Lawson was nothing if not thorough in her assignments. Whatever ghosts Shepard was grappling with, whatever adjustments he still needed to make, she would be there, to the best of her ability, to guide him through.
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