Time for another quote! This time, I've chosen one of the more emotional scenes from the fic. I was a little disappointed by how Sha'ira was almost completely dropped in the sequels, and really wish we could have met up with her one more time (interpret 'met up' however you like). Anyway, i wrote this scene a few months ago, and really felt like I nailed the emotion in the scene. There's also a little with Anderson in it, which I think expands on the bond between the Admiral and Shepard. Spoilers ahead, you have been warned.
The Commander burst out of the elevator, narrowly missing Kasumi as she walked towards the Port Lounge. He mumbled an apology absent-mindedly before rushing past, heading straight for the Med Bay.
The doors hissed open, allowing the tangy metallic smell of blood mixed with chemicals to waft over him, the pungent smell of disinfectant cloying in his nostrils. Inside, the lights were bordering on painfully bright to ensure the medical staff could see what they were doing.
As Shepard walked in, Mordin, Chakwas and Archer looked up from their work. They had the insensible Etarn on one of the beds, tending to some broken ribs and a series of life-threatening burns. Other members of the squad were patching themselves up, each one trained in field medicine to a sufficient degree to deal with the few bumps and scrapes they had sustained. As the Commander strode in, Delexia and Garrus slipped out, the former pestering the latter to see under the swathe of bandages on his head like a mother checking on a child that had bumped his knee at the play-park. Some of the crew were chuckling at the sight, but Shepard merely nodded silently to them before entering the Med Bay.
His eyes darted to each bed in turn, catching sight of Septimus and Deridan watching over a ghostly pale Sha'ira. The Turian was sitting by her bed, clinging to her hand anxiously but gently enough to prevent the claws from piercing her eggshell blue skin. The Salarian stood behind him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. At such a time like this, the only thing the former general needed was silence as he watched every breath the Asari took.
Beside them, closer to the door, Shepard finally caught sight of the figure he was looking for. Lying in on one of the beds, face serene, the body of David Anderson was carefully laid out. His face had gone pale, the stony features strong even then.
His heart dropping, Shepard stepped over. A mixture of emotions washed over him. Grief, for the mentor and friend struck down by the Reapers. Anger at the politicians whose dithering had made this possible. Frustration at his own inability in the face of these trying times. But most of all, he felt hollow. There had been too much loss these past few days: Earth, Arcturus, and now Anderson. His arms and legs going numb, an icicle stabbing through his core, Shepard sagged into a seat beside the bed. He looked back at the still face of his own friend before reaching up towards his neck. There, he found the dog tags Liara had given him not so long ago, after helping her rise to power. They represented his life in the military, from his recruitment straight through to his appointment as a Spectre. One had his name and service number on it, while the other bore only the N7 of his unit. He removed the tags from his neck with a tug, then silently reached over and placed them in Anderson's open palm, curling the cold fingers around them. Without a word, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the edge of the bed as he sagged, forehead resting in upturned palms wearily.
"You'd damn well better not be resigning just yet, Shepard."
The Commander's head snapped up at the gravelly voice, his eyes meeting the deep brown hues of the Admiral. Anderson had raised his head ever so slightly, looking at the tags in his hand and raising one brow. He still looked pale, and obviously had trouble moving, but the fire remained in his eyes when he spoke.
"'Cause I have no intention of accepting."
"David!" The relief flowed through the Commander like a flood of boiling hot water, washing away the freezing paralysis of grief. "You're alright!"
"'Course I am! You really think I'm gonna let a building falling on top of my head stop me?"
"But you looked-"
"I'm just a sound sleeper, Commander. Next time, check I have a goddamn pulse before you start measuring me up for a coffin."
"Sir!" Out of reflex, Shepard saluted, a rush of warmth moving across his face at his mistake. He could feel the Doctors looking over with a measure of amusement, Chakwas' expression in particular looking quite impish. He held no resentment, though, the rush of chemical emotion coursing through his system making it impossible to be mad.
"Get your hand down. You look like an idiot." Though Anderson's words were harsh, they had kindness behind them, a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes. "Now, tell me. Did we win?"
Shepard's mood hitched at this, an unwelcome reminder of the disastrous mission.
"Not exactly. We managed to get the Senate out of the system, along with the remainder of the ADI fleets. Hackett and Drescher made it out alive."
"Good. And Arcturus?"
"Intact, Sir. We had no choice but to leave it for the Reapers."
"I see." The Admiral sighed. "Well, maybe it's for the best. That thing did cost a lot of money to put into the sky."
"Sir." The Commander neither agreed nor contradicted that statement. He still wasn't sure he'd made the right choice.
"Any-" Anderson tried to sit up, but let out a groan as his hand reached for his side. "Damn these ribs! They're still healing."
Chakwas strode over, leaning over the Admiral to adjust his bedding under him and ensure he wasn't in significant pain.
"You need your rest, David. It's the only way all of these fractures will be repaired."
"Alright, Doctor." Anderson smiled at his old associate. His eyes flickered to Shepard. "We'll talk later, Shepard."
The Commander nodded, turning away from Anderson's bed. He walked over to Sha'ira, catching Septimus' despondent gaze with his own reassuring one.
"How is she?" Shepard asked, already suspecting the worst.
"She's lost a lot of blood." Deridan answered for the now mute Turian. "Fluid expanders just aren't cutting it, and there are no Asari within range except for your own crewmate, whose blood type isn't compatible. Combine that with the internal damage, and it's only a matter of time."
"I thought Mordin said he could fix this?" Shepard asked.
"And he could have, had we not been involved in that fight. Her using her biotics tore some already damaged tissue. They've done everything they can here, but there's just no way to fix this."
Shepard looked down at Sha'ira's face, a lump of guilt catching in his throat. If he'd been a little faster, fought a little harder…
"This was nobody's fault but the Reapers." Deridan assured him, reading his thoughts through his expression. "You cannot blame yourself."
"Nnh… Shepard?" Sha'ira's head rose from the pillow, fixing the Commander with a bleary stare.
"We're here, Sha'ira." The Commander said in a soothing voice.
"…Come closer, Commander." The Asari's breath was laboured, shallow. Shepard obliged her request, sitting in a chair by her bedside and leaning over to grasp the hand Septimus wasn't holding. The former consort took in as deep a breath as she could before speaking again.
"You must remember what I told you, Commander. My gift of words… for I sense yet more of your story to come." Her breath hitched, a liquid quality to it as droplets of purple trickled from the lip of her mouth. "Your skin remains tough, but now your hide has been pierced by many dreadful weapons. These hurt you… but they do not break you. Instead, like the mighty Nathak, you will become enraged. Beware of that path, Commander, for many a canny hunter has trapped the Nathak by using its rage as a lure…"
She paused to break into a ragged fit of coughing. Septimus reached over to rub her shoulder affectionately until the fit passed.
"…You have shown the strength to survive while others perish at your very side, but if you wish to survive the coming storm you will have to prove even stronger, otherwise you shall lose all that you hold dear and, eventually, you shall lose yourself… Your humble beginnings gave you strength, your rise to power has granted you greatness, but the days to come shall grant you peace or destruction. It remains your choice as to which awaits you."
With a sudden strength, her hand darted forward, catching the Commander by his collar. She pulled him closer, her eyes flashing intensely as they took on a clarity they had lacked since she had come aboard the Normandy. Through them, Shepard could see centuries of hard-earned experience calling out to him, warning him.
"Soon she will need you more than ever. But her need will break you. You must be strong to endure this, stronger than any that have existed before you."
With those words, she dropped back to her bed, head sagging back into the pillow weakly. Shepard's brow creased in confusion at the strange words.
"What does all that mean?" He asked, but Sha'ira's attention shifted elsewhere.
For what seemed like the first time since leaving Arcturus, she looked straight at Septimus, her soft features breaking into a smile.
"Septimus, I am glad you are here." Her voice was weak, barely a whisper.
"I'm here, Sha'ira. Don't you worry." Septimus finally found the strength to speak, though his voice quaked with barely restrained emotions. Behind him, Deridan tactfully withdrew to a respectful distance. Shepard did the same, although he could still hear what was being said. In the background, the medical staff still working on Etarn formed a quiet buzzing backdrop to the near-silent conversation.
"Good." She let out a satisfied sigh, eyes closing as though she were laying down in her own home, safe and secure. "I've missed you greatly, Septimus. Nothing caused me greater grief than to have to turn you away. I am sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry about." The Turian struggled. "I was the one in the wrong to ask such a thing of you."
"And yet would it have been wrong of me to listen to my heart instead of my head?" The Asari countered sleepily. "Not a day goes by I do not dwell on what could have been. If I had said yes. If I had left my position as Consort and come with you to Palaven."
"Then say it." The former general whispered. "Say yes. We can go back to Palaven, to that little farm I told you about in X'enshh where the rivers run freely and the gardens are filled with Jupiree flowers."
"My favourites." The Asari smiled fondly. "You still remember."
"I could never forget." The Turian's clawed hand reached up to stroke her cheek. She returned the gesture, her weak hand trembling until it found his mandible, where it rested heavily. Her fingers curled a little, pulling at his head as they snaked around until her palm rested on the back of his skull. Gently, their two foreheads touched, resting in that tiny moment of contact for a few seconds.
After several moments, Septimus reached up to move her hand, placing it reverently over her heart, moving the other to interlock with it. He then, in perfect silence, stood and turned away, leaving with a quick but unsteady stride, failing to meet anyone's gaze. As he left, Shepard lowered his head respectfully, closing his eyes as a silent farewell to the Asari. Then he, too, left the Med Bay, seeking a place to be alone with his thoughts.
Before he could find such a place, a beep sounded from EDI's nearest interface.
"Shepard, we are approaching our destination."
"Thanks, EDI." Shepard said wearily. "I'll be right up."
The first time I have cried while writing something. Given how well this turned out, I certainly hope it's not the last.
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