"Hey dad?"

"Hmm?"

"When am I gonna learn to play like that?"

The man looks down at the child, scratching his stubbly chin. He smiles, creases forming at the corners of his eyes. "I don't know, John," he says, feigning hesitance. "You're small enough to fit right inside 'er. You sure you wanna try?"

"Please dad," the boy cries eagerly. "I can hold it! I'm big enough."

The man chuckles softly. "Alright," he says, pulling the child onto his lap. "Let's give 'er a try, eh?" He slides his palm up the neck of the old guitar, fingers curling familiarly over the steel strings. "Like this, John," he says. "This is an 'E'." He drags his right hand over the strings, and the body of the instrument rings.

The boy's face scrunches up in concentration as he places his fingers alongside his father's. The child presses until his fingertips turn white, then, straining to reach, strums the strings awkwardly. A few muted notes escape the guitar and the boy looks up happily into his father's eyes, grinning widely at his first music.

The man smiles too, but suddenly he feels anything but joy. Cold dread claws at his stomach as he looks into his son's eyes. Stop, he wants to say. Put the damn thing away, you won't need it. Not like I did. Sarah, forgive me but I still need it. Please God, he thinks, entering a desperate plea to a being he's never had cause to believe in. Please don't let him need it like I do.

The boy turns away, scowling. He sticks his fingers in his mouth.

The man smiles again, sadness in his eyes. "Hurts at first, doesn't it?"

The boy shakes his head, then blinks and nods ruefully, "Kind of," he mumbles.

"That's alright," consoles his father. "It does hurt at first, but the pain goes away. We'll keep practicing, a little at a time." His gut gives a savage twist and he thinks, I can't save you, John. God knows I wish I could save you from myself, but I can't. This is all I can do.

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Sparks: Part Two

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THE LIGHTNING STRIKE

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Chapter One

Deep within the cold void of space, the darkness is complete. Faraway stars give no more than the merest suggestion of light. There are patches of space even within often-traveled clusters that have been cold and dark since the beginning of time, sitting still and undisturbed by even the smallest particles of floating dust.

Much of the galaxy is like this, and space travelers will tell you that they feel different than the busy shipping routes. They carry a strange sense of melancholy, of deep cold and timelessness. Stories exist of deep space crews going insane on long voyages, mocked by the vast, quiet emptiness around them. Pilots tell stories of unease on such journeys, of feeling like an intruder, breaker of a peace that has been held for trillions of years.

One of these places lies within the terminus systems, near the Omega-4 relay. It is very cold there.

And then suddenly it is hot, thousands of degrees with vented steam and the burning of thrusters, and as a brilliant blue light tares by even its physical laws are violated, warped and twisted in a flash as the intruder disappears out of sight, carving through space and time.

Aboard the Normandy, Jeff Moroe bites his lip, his fingers flying over the controls before him as he prepares to pull the ship back into the realm of Einsteinian physics. Jacob Taylor sits at his work bench in the armory, methodically cleaning his weapons, trying drive away any distractions from his mind. What needed to be said has been said, he tells himself. Now it's just the mission.

In the port cargo bay, a young krogan shifts his armored shoulder plate a fraction to the left, grimacing at himself in a small mirror. It'll look cooler once it's covered in collector blood, he decides. I'm never gonna clean it.

In her office on the crew deck, Miranda Lawson reshuffles some papers in a cabinet, very pointedly not looking in the direction of her computer, which has just registered a new massage. Her eyes flick to the console, but she turns away quickly, telling herself she doesn't care what he has to say.

All of the crew are preparing for war. Thane and Samara sit quietly in their respective chambers, going through their pre-battle meditations. Jack is lounging on her cot in the hold, watching an old movie in which the human actor Bruce Willis kills lots of other human actors. She imagines herself in his role, methodically hunting down and destroying all those foolish enough to stand against her.

Mordin Solus stands before the window in his laboratory, hands clasped behind his back, singing along quietly to the opera playing on his sound system. Sad and heroic. One of his favorites. Mess Sergeant Rupert Gardener is stowing the leftovers. He scratches his head, momentarily confounded. Now this ain't right, he muses. I'm out of containers, and I still have the mashed potatoes from last night and the peas from Thursday. They can't go together, they'll get all mixed up! He stares at the leftovers for a moment then dumps both pans into the last container, deciding that if they survive this the crew will have casserole and be damned thankful for it.

All the crew go through their last minute rituals, preparing for the suicide mission how they know best. All the crew are alone. All except two.

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy presses her hand against the window, eyes fixed on the void a few inches away from her fingers. It reminds her of her own glass barrier, and she remembers how shy she used to be, thankful for the mask because it hid her face. The corner of her lips turns up a little at the thought of how much has changed. She's not Tali'Zorah nar Rayya any longer.

Her heart quickens as the door slides open behind her. Even through the helmet's filters she can taste his scent, like leather and citrus and countless other things she has no name for. He moves closer, his arms reaching around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Hey," he purrs.

She leans back into him, smiling at the pleasant heat of his body. "Hey, Vakarian," she murmurs, closing her eyes. His arms encircle her, embracing her strongly and gently at the same time.

"Happy to see me?"

"Always." She pulls back a little, tilting her eyes up to meet his. "Have you seen Shepard? I haven't seen him since we got back."

"Don't worry about Shepard," says Garrus softly. "I think he needs to be alone right now. Just, you know, a human thing."

Tali blinks, and Garrus's deep blue eyes stay locked on hers. "I don't want to be alone," she says.

The turian raises his hands, slowly reaching behind her ears and unlocking the seals of her visor. As the glass comes away in his hands revealing her face, a look comes over him that makes Tali feel as if her insides are melting into plasma. "You won't have to be alone," he whispers, running a talon down her cheek. "Never again."

…

Click. Click. John Shepard fastens the clasps of his greaves. He slides the magnetic locks together slowly, paying minute attention to his task. Click. Click. He flexes his fingers, feeling the tension of his armored gloves. He forces himself to focus on the straps and seals, forces himself to put all other thoughts from his mind. He refuses to think of the three fingered hand clasping his own, gentle and surprisingly warm. He refuses to think of the single bright blue eye, refuses to dwell on the memory of what he might have seen behind it, if only for a moment.

John Shepard refuses himself these thoughts, and he does his best to push them from his mind. There is a battle coming, and nothing can be gained by senseless panic. He must be focused, and he knows this, but for just a second his defenses fall and he is stricken by memories of strong arms around him, of a feeling he should have recognized from the beginning, one he never wants to let go.

John Shepard sits for a long moment with his elbows resting on his knees, staring out into space. His face betrays no sign of emotion, his eyes gazing blankly at the gray wall of his cabin. Then, slowly, as if waking from sleep, he straightens up and goes back to fastening his armor. Click. Click.

…

Garrus's back hits the wall hard and he rolls, an energy beam scything through the air where he was standing a moment earlier. He leans away from the edge of his cover, where molten metal and steam fly into the air as the collector weapon tries to burn through the bulkhead. He shoots a glance to his right, where a few meters away Shepard and Jack are pinned down by more collector drones. Garrus puts a hand to his visor, activating the comm link. "How are you doing, honey?" he yells over the noise of battle.

Static crackles over the link, followed by the voice of an irate Tali'zorah. "I. Am. On. Fire! What the hell are you doing out there?"

Garrus winces, his eyes flicking to the ventilation shaft running overhead, where the tech team is trapped in a rapidly overheating chamber. "Shepard!" He calls, ducking down as the beam makes another pass.

On the other side of the wide passageway Shepard nods. He and Garrus have fought together for long enough that verbalization is rarely necessarily. They share the subconscious link formed by long-time fellow soldiers. It is because of this link that Garrus suddenly rolls to his left and sprints out of cover, past the two alien soldiers reeling from Shepard's concussive shot. He ducks as a flash of blue light streaks overhead, and as the next two collectors go flying from Jack's shockwave he vaults over the low wall and slams his omni-tool into the wall's control panel. The display flickers, then turns green, and he hears the hiss of steam from the shaft above them.

Garrus taps his communicator. "Hello? You alive up there?"

"Yes," comes the slightly distorted reply. "But I was nearly baked alive in here! A little quicker next time, maybe?" There's a pause, and then Tali adds, "And don't call me 'honey' on duty. It's unprofessional."

"What should I call you then?" asks Garrus, peering around the corner for more collectors. "I can think of lots more names, like-"

"Garrus Vakarian!" Tali cries in exasperation.

"Ahh yes, I seem to recall you saying something to that effect recently. Except louder. I think there might have been an 'oh keelah' in there somewhere too..."

"Garrus, I swear I'm going to fucking kill you. I'm going to literally kill you."

"Don't worry Tali," laughs Garrus, taking out a fresh thermal clip. "I put us on a private channel."

"I wish," says Jack's voice in his ear. "Honestly, do you two not understand the concept of 'get a room'?"

Garrus fumbles the pick up the clip he's just dropped. He straightens up in time to catch Jack's look of amusement as she slides into cover across from him. He feels his mandibles twitch as he trains his rifle on a target in the next chamber. Let's hope everyone forgets about that one...

Tali's voice chimes in his ear. "You are so dead," she says, a smile in her voice.

Garrus blinks, trying to focus despite the very distracting thought of just what Tali's revenge might be like.

…

Shepard is a machine. He is a single purpose, mindless in its simplicity. He is death.

His finger squeezes the trigger and the gun in his hands coughs, spitting bursts of fire with deadly accuracy. Armor buckles, chitinous skulls explode, and enemy bodies fall as he fights on, slipping in and out of slow-time, absorbed by the trance and rhythm of battle. Battered by shockwaves of energy, cut by shrapnel, engulfed in fire, still he fights on. The collectors keep coming, emerging from endless dark corners as he and the squad push forward through the base. They come to the pods, thousands upon thousands of compartments, all awaiting a human host to drain the life from. Shepard barely sees them. He doesn't need another reason.

Finally they come to a small room lined with computer consoles and work benches. The husks of human beings lie in grotesque piles, discarded and empty. Whatever creatures have been playing their sick game of scientist here have long since fled.

The squad advances, and Garrus links his omni-tool to the console, downloading the data. Shepard scans the room, then he stops dead in his tracks. There is a long metal table in the corner of the room, and on it lies a motionless black figure. Shepard steps closer, his breath catching. The metal body on the table has a hole torn in the side of its chest, clusters of dark wires showing through the metal skin. Its single circular eye is dark and lifeless.

Shepard's feet pull him closer slowly, his eyes remaining fixed on the body of the geth. His mind is completely blank; he has no idea what to do. Almost of its own accord, his hand raises to rest over that of the motionless geth, tightening around its fingers until Shepard's knuckles go white. His heart pounds in his ears, and he feels his stomach sink beneath a sea of dread. What do I do? What can I do?

And then he feels a squeeze. He freezes, wondering desperately if it was his imagination. The fingers of the geth stay still, and then they give another weak squeeze. The machine's eye flickers, glowing faintly for a moment before lapsing back into darkness. Its hand relaxes again.

Shepard moves, his body breaking out of its paralysis and running on ahead of his mind. He hoists Legion's body over his shoulders, grunting under the geth's weight. He turns to Garrus. "Got the data?"

Garrus nods. "Yeah. Should I patch it through to EDI?"

Shepard shakes his head. "Later. Let's get off of this damn station first."

"Yeah," says Jack, retrieving a gigantic shotgun from one of the piles of equipment. "Let's blow these creeps to hell."

…

They continue through the wide corridors of the station, fighting through wave after wave of insect-like collector drones. Their path is relatively easy, barring the occasional appearance from Harbinger. When the collector leader takes direct control of one of his minions, the squad is forced to take cover while they whittle away his armor and destroy Harbinger's host body. These times are few and far between though, so the squad makes good time until they reach the lift.

The elevating platform takes them to an observation deck overlooking the thousands of waiting pods, and it is here that the collectors' true motives are revealed. Shepard and the squad find themselves confronted by a half-finished human-reaper hybrid, a giant machine infused with human genetic material from abducted humans.

The inevitable battle is long and painstaking, as the squad takes shots at the monstrosity's open mouth, ducking back into cover to avoid the particle beam it vomits out at them. The situation is made only worse by the sudden appearance of a battalion of collector soldiers, and only after a drawn out and wearying fight is the unfinished mechanical horror finally destroyed, falling from its supports into the depths of the station below.

Just as they prepare to set an explosive charge to take out the entire base, the EDI patches through the Illusive Man with an urgent message. Shepard's mysterious benefactor appears as he always does, although to Shepard this time he looks less well composed than is usual. He hurridly explains that there is another way, a radioactive pulse that will kill all living things within the base but leave the structure standing for Cerberus agents to come and investigate. They will use the unfinished reaper, the Illusive man says, for the good of humanity.

Shepard gives the man's offer a moment's thought, but no more. He remembers his encounters with Cerberus scientists in the past, and their extreme measures and disregard for ethics are still fresh in his mind. He recalls too all the times the Illusive Man has mislead him for his own gain, using Shepard as a pawn in a larger game. What the game might be Shepard doesn't know, but he decides that he will no longer be a part of it. He also decides that the research in this base can't be allowed to fall into Cerberus's hands. He has seen the things they do for "the good of humanity," and he wants no part of it.

...

They cut off the channel and plant the charge. Garrus follows Shepard and Jack as they step off the lift and rejoin the rest of the team. They retreat through the base, through the swarms of drones back toward where the Normandy waits outside. As they make the last frantic charge for the ship's open ramp, Garrus feels a sudden searing pain in his shoulder. He staggers, his armor deflecting the main body of the particle beam, but he has already fallen behind the rest of the team. He drops his rifle, putting all of his energy into the last hundred yards as the Normandy begins to pull away. He feels his boot his the edge of the deck and he leaps, pushing off from the deck with all his strength. He seems to hang in midair, a hand reaching up toward the edge of the ship's ramp, and then gravity pulls at him and he feels himself falling.

A hand grabs his wrist, and it is quickly joined by another one as someone takes hold of his arm and heaves him over the lip of the ramp. He hauls himself up, sprawling onto the deck of the Normandy as the bay closes and Joker guns the engines, pushing them away from the collector base even as it explodes.

Garrus looks up, his hand still wrapped around his rescuer's arm, and his eyes meet a pale purple visor. He thinks he can see the outline of a smile behind the mask.

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A/N: Thus begins the second chapter of the story of John Shepard and Legion of the geth. We pick up right where Sparks leaves off, and if you have not read Sparks yet then I would strongly recommend doing so. Also, you should play Mass Effect, but that goes without saying.

This story will end up going into the time period of Mass Effect 3. I know well the controversy surrounding the third installment of my favorite game series, but I am not interested in being a part of it. I'm not out to re-write the ending because I think I can do a better job than Bioware; I'm going to tell the story I have set out to tell from the beginning, and although I shall follow the canon events there are obviously going to be differences. Just how large the consequences of those differences will be remains to be seen.

Regular updates have not commenced at the time of this writing. I am still in the process of writing The Kiss of the Moon (another ME fic, check it out), and therefore am going to be a little bit pressed for time. I'll try to get out a chapter whenever I can, but don't expect weekly updates for another month or so. Consider this chapter a preview, if you like.

That's all. I don't intend to bore you with long author notes like this throughout the story, so I thought I'd get it out of the way now.

Cheers!