Chapter Sixty-Five

He felt more than heard the rumbling begin, a great, shuddering avalanche roaring down to meet them as Harbinger's aft-most tip impacted the Citadel. Gravity and atmosphere were gone completely now. He supposed Harbinger had toppled as it fell, and Nathan's "up" was actually down. That wouldn't last long – soon the Citadel's own gravity would take over and everything would flip again.

Swearing to himself, he lifted Shepard into his arms and pushed off the ground, propelling them as fast as he could into the meagre protection of one of the archways that led to this chamber. There wasn't much more he could do. There were no escape pods, no seats to strap into. Nothing.

He wedged himself in tightly, bracing with his legs as debris began to fall. The room shook around him, great chunks of rock and disturbingly organic-looking material floating past so quickly they might as well be crashing to the ground—ceiling—below. He held Shepard close, feeling her body jerk rhythmically with her hardsuit's chest compressions, and tried to ignore how mind-numbingly frightened he was.

Nathan sat up, gasping, and a sharp pain stabbed his arm. He clapped his hand over it, but yanked it away quickly when that just made it worse. Blinking, disoriented, he stared down at the cord leading from his forearm to a rapid infuser sitting by his bedside. He had just slapped his IV needle. He was in bed. In hospital. The same place he had woken up for the last three days.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, lowering himself more carefully back down to the bed.

He had dreamed about it again. The same dream as the last three nights. He only remembered flashes of what had happened, really, but it was enough.

He didn't wantto remember any of it.

He cringed back into the archway, wrapping his arms tightly around Shepard's body, pulling her out of the way of a slab of obsidian rock as it flew down from above and smashed on the ground beside them. Tiny fragments pinged off his armour. He could hear the pinging and smashing and crashing now, and that meant the Citadel's atmosphere was leaking in. Harbinger's superstructure was collapsing, breaking up, and they were still inside.

They would die if they stayed in here. Frantically he looked around for inspiration. He couldn't see the huge viewport from here but maybe it would help to see outside? He didn't know, but he couldn't just do nothing. Carefully he leaned out, craning his neck to see—

The entire room tilted. Panic speared him as he tumbled out of the archway and lost his grip on Shepard. Frantically he scrabbled and managed to snag her belt as he was flung across the room, through the debris that had once been Harbinger.

Nathan blinked, trying to shake off the memory, and his eye caught on the medal. The Star of Terra stared back at him, platinum gleaming, blithely ignorant in its perfectly manufactured glass casing, looking out of place sitting on a cabinet full of medical supplies. Admiral Hackett had personally delivered it yesterday, along with words of condolence and encouragement, a promotion to Lieutenant Commander, and the promise of a real medal ceremony to come. Nathan had barely heard him. He should have been honoured, he realised after the Admiral left. All he had been able to manage was a brief 'thank you'. Still in shock, they had whispered.

They flew through the huge viewing chamber, slamming into rocky pieces of superstructure and soft organic material, past the viewport he had been trying to catch a glimpse of. All it showed was the wreckage of one of the Wards; but Nathan didn't really notice. He yanked on Shepard's belt and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in close and trying to fold his larger body around hers.

The wall was coming up fast and they were starting to pick up speed as gravity returned. A slab of some sort of metal composite came out of nowhere, clipped him and spun them around and through something fibrous and wet which smeared the visor of his helmet. His vision blurred, but the oncoming wall was unmistakable. He ducked his shoulder at the last second, so he hit it first instead of Shepard.

He both heard and felt a crack, and pain exploded out from his shoulder. Grey crept into the edges of his vision, and his hardsuit trilled an alarm as it delivered a rapid dose of medigel. He slid down the wall – he had no idea which way was up anymore – and hit the floor broken leg first.

He screamed, crumpling to the ground, and finally lost his grip on Shepard. She toppled bonelessly beside him, silent. Stars floated before his eyes, and suddenly everything seemed way too bright, despite the rocky debris raining down around them. Thankfully it was now mostly just dust and fragments.

He blinked, and the world spun. He was blacking out, but somehow he was still alive. For now.

Fumbling for his wrist, he planted a clumsy thumb on the button that would activate his emergency locator beacon. Maybe they had hit the surface. If they had, maybe rescuers could get to them. Maybe it wasn't too late for Shepard. Or for him.

The door to his room slid open, jolting him out of his memories. His nurse, Caelia, entered. "Good morning, Nathan," she greeted him with a smile, setting her datapad down on the table beside the bed. She bustled around, clearly doing her best to bring positivity into the room with her. It was jarring.

"Morning," he forced out, then grimaced. He hadn't intended to sound so reticent.

She ignored his tone, though, and barrelled on as she began to take readings. "How did you sleep?"

"Yeah, fine." He didn't see the point in telling her about the dreams.

"Well, you've improved overnight! Dr Newford says we might be able to start you on a liquid diet instead of the nutrient infusions if this keeps up. What do you think?" she asked brightly.

He was healing. After all that had happened, after everything, he was healing. "Sure. Okay," he replied listlessly.

Caelia stopped what she was doing and sighed. "I'm sorry, Nathan. I know why you're… I mean, I understand…"

How could she possibly understand? "I want to see her," he demanded.

She hesitated. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked gently. "You've been every morning and it doesn't seem to—"

"I need to see her. Now," he insisted.

With another sigh, she nodded. "All right. Get yourself ready."

Nathan eased the crisp white blanket off his legs with his good arm and carefully swung them over the side of the bed. His legs were still half-covered in medical dressings, particularly his right thigh, where he had been shot. His left leg was in a cast from the knee down. His left arm was in a cast as well, held close to his body by a sling. The pain was intense, but manageable, especially with the steady drip of medigel directly into a vein in his right arm.

He gingerly set his right foot on the floor, putting as much weight on it as he dared until Caelia returned with the wheelchair, infuser drip attached securely to the rear cushion. She helped him into it, taking care not to pull on yet more dressings protecting his bruised and battered ribs.

Caelia pushed him down the halls of San Keren Hospital, through the overflowing in-patient ward where his room was located, past the decontamination field and into the critical care section. He knew this hospital was lucky to have such relative luxuries as decon fields and a critical care ward. The word was that many people, civilians and soldiers both, were making do with Alliance and asari field clinics which consisted of little more than a couple of tents, cots and medigel. Bekenstein had been very lucky in that it had suffered comparatively less damage than other, more populous worlds, but that just meant they had a few undamaged facilities where others had none.

They passed room after room packed with people of all different species. Most were silent, unconscious, but occasionally they passed some who were moaning or whimpering quietly to themselves. Some just lay there, staring into space. Nathan always shivered when he saw them, knowing what he had seen and wondering what they had seen.

They passed the closed and thumbprint-encoded door to the psych ward, too. Nathan stared at it, wondering if today was the day he would have the courage to go in.

Dangerfield was in there.

He had found out yesterday, and the guilt had almost been overwhelming, so much so that he hadn't been able to bring himself to visit her. She had been in the Alliance offices, and they hadn't been able to get to her.

They hadn't been able to save seven Alliance officers from her.

She had been indoctrinated after all. She had lied to them all after helping to stop the indoctrinated volus biotic, hoping they would trust her enough to keep her on board the Normandy, where she would have a chance to either kill Shepard or destroy the ship. But Shepard had offloaded her on the Citadel before she could try, and left her with no access to any high-ranking targets. So instead she had bided her time working in admin in Alliance HQ, then on the morning of the Reaper attack, she had stolen a pistol and managed to kill seven officers before being subdued.

Now she was in that psych ward, quarantined and confined to make sure the indoctrination didn't persist after the Reapers' destruction. Evidence from other worlds showed that it wouldn't – at least so far – and that appeared to be the case for Dangerfield too. Nathan wasn't sure if that was a good thing. It meant Dangerfield now had to live with what she had done.

He knew he should go in there and be there for her, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not right now. Not… yet. It was too much.

Finally they reached another door, smaller and protected by a retinal scanner and an alert Alliance guard. She came to attention and saluted on spotting him. He nodded and she used her security override to open the door.

It was a small room, but it was well-equipped and even had a small window – it was a combination of the most secure and the most well-appointed room the hospital had. Caelia wheeled him in and stopped by the side of the bed. She laid a hand on his shoulder briefly, then left.

Nathan reached out and took Shepard's small, frail hand in his own. She was cold, so cold. And so pale, almost pale enough to disappear into the white sheets and white blankets. Her hair was nearly black by comparison. Her chest rose and fell mechanically, precisely once every two point four seconds, governed by the heavy pad covering her heart and part of her chest. There was a tube down her throat and bruises covered her body from head to toe. Her chest had been bandaged to protect a broken rib.

She looked tiny and fragile and nothing like the legendary Commander Shepard. Nothing like his Shepard. Nathan gripped her hand, stroking the dry skin and hoping she could feel it. The doctors refused to speculate on that point, and he refused to think too hard about what that meant.

"Are you there?" he whispered. He heard nothing but silence and the rhythmic sound of the machines that were breathing for her.

But he knew the answer to that already.

The doctors had been reluctantly clear about it when they told him. Her cybernetic implants had all ceased to function, and without them, her body couldn't survive. There was no detectable brain activity. No nerve response. No spontaneous heart or lung function. Without the machines keeping her body alive, she was… she was…

Shepard was gone.

He felt tears welling and he swiped at them angrily. It wasn't fair. She had sacrificed her life for the rest of the galaxy, had been doing so for three long years. And now she would never get to see the results of her efforts.

She had done it, she had destroyed the Reapers. The news was filled with reports of Reapers imploding everywhere, not just in the Widow system. Reaper constructs on Palaven and Tuchanka were wandering aimlessly or simply collapsing and beginning to rot. The indoctrinated were coming back to themselves again, and although they would have a long road ahead of them, many had people around to keep them safe and sane. Soldiers everywhere were still celebrating, three days later, with their new comrades from other species' armed forces.

She had done all of that, and now she would never get to see it.

And they would never get a life together. It felt as though they had only just found one another, despite it having been months since he had first seen her framed in that picture window in her cell in Vancouver. He brushed some hair back from her forehead, remembering the way she had smiled at him when he did that – a little exasperation and a whole lot of love. She was his home too. He had never gotten the chance to tell her that.

He swallowed. What was he going to do now? Without her?

The door beeped and slid open quietly, but Nathan barely noticed. Garrus and Mordin entered, the former limping and trailing an infuser, the latter looking more subdued than Nathan had ever seen him. They were followed by Dr Hyram, the head of the team of doctors assigned to Shepard's care. Nathan eyed him warily as he made his way over to the terminals at the head of Shepard's bed and brought up the interface, studying the data within.

Garrus joined him beside Shepard, laying a gentle hand on her forehead. He cast an enquiring glance toward Nathan.

"No change," Nathan told him quietly.

Garrus sighed and seemed to deflate, looking from Hyram back to Nathan. "I know. I was hoping for something, a miracle, but…" he trailed off.

Hyram closed the interface and turned to face them. Mordin was by his side. "Lieutenant Commander Briggs," Hyram began, and his tone immediately caused a chill to slide frozen fingers down Nathan's spine.

"No," he blurted out firmly, glaring at the man. Garrus' hand landed on his shoulder, but he hardly felt it.

"We've done everything we can," the doctor continued gently, steadfast. "Commander Shepard's body cannot function without her cybernetic implants. Even if it could… there is no brain activity. I'm very sorry, but there is nothing more we can do."

"No," Nathan repeated, and heard his voice crack. "No, she can't be… there has to be something. She's been brought back before!" Garrus' hand tightened on his shoulder.

"Have been working," Mordin spoke up tiredly. "Haven't stopped. Will not stop, until… forced to." He paused uncharacteristically, and took a breath. "EDI saved most of her data from destruction of the Normandy – numerous backups, geth assistance – but did not have complete Project Lazarus records to start with. Too secret. She suspects only doctors and maybe Illusive Man have full knowledge. Illusive Man, killed on Harbinger. Dr Wilson, killed on Lazarus Station. And… Miranda Lawson..."

"Killed on the Normandy," Nathan whispered. He looked up. "Mordin… you're the best scientist I know. You cured the genophage. Surely you can help her," he pleaded unashamedly.

"Will not stop trying," Mordin repeated gently, voice filled with sorrow. "But… chances very low. Am sorry, Nathan."

Nathan looked away, focussing on Shepard's still, pale face. Mordin, who cured the genophage and solved the mystery of the Reapers' armour, was telling him that there was nothing he could do.

"Commander Briggs, this is not a conversation I want to have with you, but you are the closest thing she has to family," Hyram said quietly.

"What?" Nathan asked tiredly. "What about her mother? Captain Shepard?"

"She didn't make it through the final battle," Garrus explained.

"Shit," Nathan murmured. He had never even met her.

"Commander Briggs," Hyram continued. "There is a decision you need to make. Commander Shepard's body can be kept alive by artificial means indefinitely. You need to start thinking about how long she would want that to continue."

Nathan couldn't keep it together any longer. All of a sudden the dam broke, and he buried his head in his hands and sobbed. Garrus' arm was around his shoulders now, but he couldn't remember when that had happened. He couldn't handle the outside world right now. He blocked everything out and gave in to the sheer pain of it all.

He had been so close to saving her. He had found her, kept her safe while Harbinger disintegrated around them, and managed to stay conscious long enough to hit his emergency beacon. They had crashed onto the Citadel, rescue teams had gotten to them so quickly—

But none of it mattered. She was gone.

He had no idea how long it took him to pull himself back together again enough to allow the outside world back in. Garrus hadn't moved. Dr Hyram had left, but Mordin was seated across the bed, holding Shepard's other hand with a look of such… despair that Nathan almost retreated back into his head again.

"You don't have to… make a decision yet," Garrus spoke up, his soft voice jarring in the silent room. "Not even soon."

Nathan nodded mutely. He couldn't bear to think about it, and yet… he knew she wouldn't want to be left like this. When it was her time, she would want to go. "I need time," he said finally.

Garrus laughed, a short, sharp sound that wasn't jovial in the slightest. "So do I."

They all sat by her side for what felt like a long time. Nathan couldn't bring himself to leave her, and he suspected the others – his friends – didn't want to leave him alone. Eventually, though, he forced himself to release her hand. He looked up at Garrus and began trying to lever himself out of the wheelchair.

The turian recognised what he was trying to do and grabbed his arm with a strong, three-fingered hand. Nathan leaned over and kissed Shepard on the forehead, before lowering himself back down into the chair with Garrus' help. "Thanks," he said.

"Sure," the turian replied. He squeezed Shepard's hand before taking hold of the wheelchair and wheeling Nathan out of the room. Mordin followed close behind.

The hospital seemed busier than it had been when Nathan had first been taken to see Shepard. "How long were we in there?" he asked listlessly, watching as a nurse hurried past them to a terminal behind the ward's admin desk.

Two more nurses squeezed past, heading in the same direction they were. "Not that long," Garrus replied.

"Still morning," Mordin added. "Not time for shift-change yet. Something must be happening."

They almost ran into Caelia as they entered Nathan's ward. "Oh, there you are!" she said, sounding almost breathless. "Come with me!"

"What's going on?" Nathan demanded warily. If this was another scheme of hers to try and cheer him up, he didn't want any part of it right now.

"Survivors!" Caelia exclaimed. "They found more survivors! I'm not sure, but… I think you might know them. You need to come and see."

"But that's…" Impossible. Nathan looked up at Garrus and Mordin, who appeared equally confused. Everyone from Shepard'screw had been accounted for.

"Where did they find these survivors?" Garrus asked, pushing him along in Caelia's wake.

"Apparently they pulled them out of a Normandy escape pod," Caelia tossed back over her shoulder as she stepped forward and keyed the door to the emergency department open.

"They what?" Nathan sucked in a surprised breath. He had seen the chain of explosions that had destroyed the Normandy. It had reduced the shipto nothing but chunks of debris.

"That's impossible," Garrus argued, obviously thinking along the same lines as he was.

"Not… impossible," Mordin said slowly as the three of them followed Caelia through the bustling department. "Normandy did not disintegrate. Broke apart. Escape pod could have been concealed within debris."

Before Nathan could argue that even if that had been the case it wouldn't have taken them three days to find it, they broke through the crowd. Ahead of them, being transferred from a hover-stretcher to a medical beds, was an unconscious Joker, and—

Miranda.

For just a moment, everything seemed to freeze as Nathan saw that familiar long, black hair. She was pale, and her slow, shaky movements made it clear she was very weak, but she was very much alive. "Garrus," he murmured, gripping the armrest of the wheelchair with white knuckles.

"Spirits," the turian swore, hurriedly wheeling Nathan over to her. "Miranda!"

Despite her weakness, the stare she fixed on them was undiminished. "Garrus, Briggs," she called as she spotted them. "Mordin. Glad you're all alive." She couldn't quite manage to hide her relief behind flippancy, and it made Nathan grin for the first time in days.

"You too, Miranda," he replied, not even trying to hide his own relief, and excitement, and hope. A spark of hope had ignited deep in his chest. It was tiny, but growing with every word she spoke. Miranda had brought Shepard back from the dead once before.

Maybe... maybe…