Unacceptable
- Chapter 1-"Shepard." The Illusive Man's oily, businessman tone grated on Shepard's nerves. "You're making a habit of costing me more than time and money."
Shepard was aware of her teeth gritting together most uncomfortably. Tense muscles transferred her laden weight from one foot to another, the press of her weapons against her sore, tired back. "Too many lives were lost at that base. I'm not sorry it's gone," she replied evenly.
"The first of many lives," the Illusive Man puffed deeply on his cigarette, his eyes closing as he savoured the heady draught; one of the few things he found favourable at the moment. "The technology from that base could have secured human dominance in the galaxy. Against the Reapers and beyond."
"Human dominance, or just Cerberus?" Shepard spat, her eyes narrowing in disgust.
Stillness filled the air for what seemed an eternity. Flames of rage danced in Shepard's tired eyes as she watched the calculated tapping of the cigarette in the ashtray. "Strength for Cerberus is strength for every human." The businessman unfolded his legs and rose to his feet, quick to shorten the distance between the twin image of Shepard and himself. "Cerberus is humanity. I should have known you'd choke on the hard decisions," he accused, brandishing a finger in blame. "Too idealistic from the start."
"I'm not looking for your approval. Harbinger is coming, and he won't be alone." Shepard straightened her back, military habit forcing her to stand straight when she spoke. Yet venom laced each spoken syllable that left her lips. "Humanity needs a leader who's looking out for them. From now on, I'm doing things my way, whether you agree or not."
That statement was the last straw. The Illusive Man bristled with rage, his imposing form quick to narrow the distance so that he was only a foot from the flickering image of Shepard. His brow was creased in anger, shoulders stiff. "Don't turn your back on me, Shepard! I made you. I brought you back from the dead."
It was a moment before Shepard could find a remotely polite response to the situation. Myriads of vulgar profanities seemed immediately, yet foolishly acceptable. "Joker," she prompted eventually, eyes glancing upward. "Lose this channel."
The last image of the Illusive Man's seething expression seemed burned into her mind as she turned sharply on her heel. His parting gift was the Commander's strong gait as she strode away before the feed was cut.
Commander Shepard felt conflicted. She was sure her decisions were correct; each and every single one. She froze in the doorway, framed by the wreckage as her body crumbled against the edge of the steel beam she had righted moments before. The sharp bite of cold metal pressed against her sweaty cheek. It brought with it the pain of every beating and bullet she had taken no more than half an hour ago. Her chest heaved in a painful sigh. It seemed more like an eternity ago now.
Shepard's fingers gripped the edges of the beam tightly, forehead banging loudly as it came to rest against the plated region of her outstretched arm. "Damn it," she grumbled, eyes squeezing shut. A flood of emotion overwhelmed her: fear, anguish, anxiety, elation, suspense. Dread. Every sensation battled for dominance in her mind, wrenching at her heart as it caught up to her. A soldier had no room for petty emotions on the battlefield. Not when so much was at stake, threatening to take control of clear-headed thinking and sound reason. Yet she was still human, not a machine. This was sentience, what it meant to live, to feel, to think for oneself. It could not be suppressed indefinitely.
Her pale green eyes glanced downward to the wreckage littering the floor at her feet, her boot crushing the remnants of what was once the plastic panel covering a light fixture. It brought memories of the old Normandy; memories that she pushed into the far recesses of her mind as she shook her short, auburn hair, wispy and in a mess, off her face. Shepard's eyes squeezed tightly, forcing the hot tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks away with a heavy breath. In and out. The act jarred her ribs, prompting her to return to the present; to stop dwelling on mistakes that might have been made and focus on the situation at hand. They were still in danger, as she saw it.
'If I cried my heart out every single time I ran into a problem, I would have failed long ago. My crew needs me'. The thought brought some purpose, overriding the aches and pains of fractured ribs, the poorly attended gunshot wounds and the sensation of fire ripping through her leg where she was sure she had sprained her ankle. Granted, Cerberus had made sure that they brought her back harder, faster, stronger than before; cybernetic implants, multiple skin and bone weaves to dispense medi-gel. In the long run, they were a poor substitute for an organism's natural healing process. It was technology meant to keep you alive for the moment. First aid, one could call it.
Pity there was nothing similar for Shepard's troubled mind. Determination was her mental crutch, carrying her into the ruined Combat Information Centre as the stoic, collected figure of the Commander she aspired to be. The upturned faces of her crew greeted her, eyes beaming with victory, yet expressions resolute. They had all survived the Collector base, but a greater threat approached them. The thought sent shivers down Shepard's back, her fingers clenching against her thigh.
"Commander."
The voice brought her to a halt, weight resting uncomfortably on her bad leg. Amid the debris her team struggled to clear, Joker approached her, his fingers gripping an ominous looking datapad. "I thought you might want this."
Shepard glanced at the information in her hand, breath catching in her throat at the sight of numerous Reaper schematics. "EDI managed to download this much from the Collector base before it was destroyed. I know you meant to destroy everything, but - "
"That's fine, Joker," Shepard assured, her hand gripping the helmsman's shoulder. He met her eyes almost sheepishly, worry etched into the fine lines around his eyes. It troubled Shepard to see them there. Jeff did not deserve any of the anguish they had been put through. Her death, in particular, had hit him hard. To see his Commander, the one person he had come to admire, to worship almost, die for him – to give her life so that he could survive – it had broken his heart more than once during those two years.
"Commander," he mumbled. "I'm glad – I'm glad you made it. Everyone else too."
"So am I Joker." Shepard swallowed dryly, her throat suddenly parched. For his sake, her crew's sake, she smiled, albeit quite falsely. "So am I. But we're not through this yet. First things first, we clean up this mess the Collectors left us with."
"Yeah, alright," he grinned despite himself, stepping aside for the Commander to continue toward the remnants of the galaxy map. The eyes of the crew followed her every limping step. It gave Shepard the sensation of being an exhibit on display at a national museum. Worse, she felt like the space hamster sitting on the shelf in her cabin. A treacle of guilt gripped her as she contemplated the outcome of the hapless fuzz ball. Surely it had lived, right?
"Whatever happens," Joker's voice followed her. "We're with you, Commander."
Shepard turned to face the room, each individual looking to her with such fierce expressions of the same determination she so weakly clung to. Something stirred within her. A sense of pride. Pride in her crew; their bravery, their actions. Warmth unlike any other flooded through her, giving her strength. Faint, a mournful sigh pushed past her defences. Shepard knew now, for sure, that her decisions were correct. For now, for this moment, their loyalty, their friendship, their lives, told her she had made the right choice.
If only her wounds would have let her enjoy the moment.
However it had transpired, Shepard found herself leaning heavily on the ruined balustrade surrounding the inoperative map. The Commander became quickly aware she felt much like shit. Nay, she felt worse, if that was possible to express. Like two shits? A groan pushed past her lips, chin falling to her chest in a sudden release. Adrenaline lasted only so long. "Being beaten to a pulp with a sack of bricks would hurt less," she grumbled, clenching the edge of the railing.
"Now, I'm sure it's nothing so dramatic."
Shepard could have recognized that voice anywhere. The humming undertones, audible even with the translator's effects were a standard tipoff. "Garrus, if you weren't my bestest friend – " Shepard made sure to draw out the syllables as sarcastically as she could. "I would have had a little something to say that would have made your ears wilt." His chuckle was deep and playful, but there was a sadness there. She reached back and softly rapped her knuckles against his armour.
"So you're going to hit me instead? I am so deeply honoured, Commander." The unexpected change to seriousness that followed in his tone struck her sharply. "Honestly, if you continue at this rate, you're going to get yourself killed…" He trailed off softly. Though her back was to the alien, she could envision the grimace on his face. Yeah, she sighed, bracing her weight against the bar more securely. 'I already died once, remember? Big deal.'
Her reluctance to continue the conversation bit deeply into her conscience. It was a subject not to be broached; she had made that clear enough. Nausea flooded her as if she had dipped neck-deep into a pond of krogan waste. Her damp, sweat-drenched hair was plastered to her cheeks, reminding her of clammy, bloodied hands – a leftover memento from Akuze. The cries of her comrades as they were ripped to shreds by the thresher maw tore at her mind. Something warm, solid, startled her from the dark thoughts that plagued her. Garrus's taloned hand, firmly wrapped against her upper arm, beckoning for her to straighten out.
"You'd better come with me to the medical bay."
"Garrus, I'll be alright." Her tone was sharp; to the point. It if was one thing Shepard hated, it was the incessant worrying the crew gave over her own health. Hypocritical, she knew, given her own share of constant 'checking in'. "Dr. Chakwas has a dozen other crewmembers to attend to. She's busy. In fact, she should be worrying about herself as well! After what they went through on that base..."
"Commander..."
Shepard scoffed. "Garrus, I said I'm fine. Really, look." It was a stupid idea for her to try and prove it. She took her own false affirmations to heart – as they said, you tell a lie enough times, you end up believing it – and in the heat of the moment, pulled herself upright to face Vakarian. Bad move. She caught sight of the warning light flashing on her wrist far too late; her armour's attempt to scream to her that it was out of medi-gel packs and had been for some time. No sooner had she completed the turn, a smug grin already on her face, did the pain hit with the force of an asteroid. Nothing was left to numb the sensations now.
Shepard doubled over, her forehead smacking against the turian's chest. She wanted to remark that her vision was black and her lungs were having trouble drawing breath, for one. Given the previous conclusion however, her air was best reserved for blood oxygenation. Trust Shepard to be as stubborn as she could be, making a fool of herself in front of the rest of the crew, she was sure. The mighty Commander! Defeated by a few broken ribs and gunshots. Bah!
She could almost hear the turian officer launch into a triumphant, 'I told you so'. Shepard only groaned.
"Enough of this, Shepard," he growled, the resonant hums in his voice deep and threatening. Was he scolding her? Surely, he would abstain. The use of her last name further added weight to his words, despite their being in a low whisper. At the very least, his convention of military conduct kept him from openly defying a superior. "I've had enough of your stubborn pride. Do you want to die aga-?"
Garrus caught the hitch in his own voice far too late to hide it. Why, why, why was he constantly referring to her death? Something in his chest, a pang that squeezed his heart uncomfortably, prevented him from attempting to complete the sentence. Shepard caught it too, her bleary, darkened vision staring straight into the turian's shoulder. She was vaguely aware of him forcing her to move. "If you won't see Chakwas by your own accord, then dragging you down there will do."
Leave it to Shepard to continue struggling in vain.
It struck Garrus rather sharply just why humanity had risen so quickly in power and dominance since the turian encounter with their kind in the Relay 314 Incident; the First Contact War. Their kind was strong, inquisitive, and full of motivation and willpower. Granted, their bodies were fragile, so easily wounded and torn by the slightest of implements. It was this very fact that seemed to compel them, drive them forward to reach newer and greater heights in their evolution, one could say. It was an admirable quality, indeed, but one that branded them as the bully of the galaxy. The other races, Council and non-Council alike, found it hard to deal with humanity's demands at times.
Shepard was a breath of fresh air. A welcome change in the constant, beleaguering attitudes of the xenophobic masses of humans he had often encountered on the Citadel during his work with C-Sec. Garrus couldn't help but wonder if this opinion was influenced by his privileged knowledge of the Commander. Commander Shepard was his most trusted friend, his comrade; the one person to whom he would gladly entrust his life.
To see her before him, wounded, broken – no, not broken – but tired, fatigued, ill-at-ease, made him wonder if perhaps she shouldered too many burdens. Surely, had she asked, he would have lent his aid in an instant.
Garrus's own mental rambling was cut short by the familiar hiss of the elevator doors drawing aside. "Honestly Garrus," Shepard was continuing her tirade of half-mumbled excuses. His mandibles flared in frustration. 'Too stubborn,' he thought to himself. "If it will get you off my back, I will go and see Dr. Chakwas."
He sighed deeply, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his short, turian nose with his taloned hand. "It will," he grumbled to the closing elevator door.