#goodbye shitload of dialogue i hated writitng u

[biotic-boshtet]

Aftermath - Chapter 6

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Start from the beginning

Years

Norah Jean comes to slowly at first, then lurching up as she registers the sound of several different alarms reverberating through the room. Instinctively she reaches up to turn off her hearing aids. The hearing aids aren’t there.

“Shepard, do you hear me? Get out of that bed now- this facility is under attack.”

She squints in the bright lighting, bare feet touching the floor just as a tremor rips through wherever she is. She wobbles, bracing herself on the bed until she can steady herself, accidentally pinning a lock of loose hair down with her hand, tugging uncomfortably. Why is her hair loose? It’s never loose, not even to sleep.

“Shepard. Your scars aren’t healed yet, but I need you to get moving. This facility is under attack.”

The voice over the intercom sounds familiar, but Norah Jean can’t place it. The room she’s in a freezing cold.

“There’s a pistol and your armor in the locker on the other side of the room, hurry!”

The sound of gunfire grows, and Norah Jean looks up to see a heavy mech tearing through a target she can’t see. Another rumble tears through the structure. Her whole body aches.

“Grab the pistol and armor from the locker. You don’t have time to wait around, Shepard! Grab your weapon and armor!”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there, sheesh.”

“Shepard, we don’t have time for you to be difficult, get that armor on, now!”

Armor on. Four minutes. She’s gotten slow. When was the last time she put her armor on? Used to be sixty seconds. Doesn’t feel right either. Rubs wrong. Norah Jean absently rubs her right pauldron and freezes. There should be a gouge there. Her favorite gouge. She never got it replaced because she liked the way it looked, how it broke the clean lines of the iconic N7 stipe. Because only fools had perfectly maintained, scratch-free, dent-free armor all the time. The padding isn’t broken in yet, the ceramic plates are too shiny, and the joints are too stiff.

“This pistol doesn’t even have a clip.”

“It’s a medbay. You’ll have to find one yourself. Someone’s hacking security and trying to kill you.”

She falters for just a second when she spots the familiar black and gold insignias in the corridor, stooping to grab the clip from the floor. She’s not sure where she’s seen it before. It’s hard to fight the unease churning in her gut. She pushes it away as the beginning of a migraine blooms in the base of her skull. Keeps walking in armor that isn’t hers.

Taking out the mechs is easy enough, with clean shots to the head. Efficient. Quick. Automatic. Thankfully she hasn’t forgotten how to do that. The collar padding rubs uncomfortably on her neck. Norah Jean rips half a dozen strands of hair from a shoulder joint for the zillionth time.

After dozen more twists and turns and a lot more mechs shot down, Norah Jean finally runs into another person. And, by the looks of it, one she can actually help.

“Shepard? What the hell?”

She dashes into cover, crouching beside him. He’s a biotic, she knows instantly and cringes internally at the way his field rubs against her own, like a pair of balloons. “Looks like you could use a hand?”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were still a work in progress.”

“I just woke up. You probably know more than I do.” She snaps back at him.

“Right. Sorry about that. I’m Jacob Taylor, I’ve been stationed here for- Damn it!”

Another wave of mechs shows up. Both Norah Jean and Jacob make their moves. Clean shots to the head.

“Things must be worse than I thought if Miranda’s got you running around. I’ll fill you in, but we better get you to the shuttle first.”

She takes a deep breath, shoving her curiosity down. “Give me the abridged version, then.” She pops out of cover long enough to send a shockwave clear to the other side, scattering the mechs, blue glow subsiding as she ducks back down. The mechs that didn’t get blown clear off the platform get back up.

“Heh, pretty good for someone who just woke up.” Jacop pulls one of the remaining mechs into the air, dispatching it with a few shots. “Anyway, two years ago, the SR1 went down over Alchera after an attack by an unknown ship. Most of the crew survived, but you died. We put you back together.”

Norah Jean does the same with the very last mech within a few seconds. Biotics are the only thing that feel right. Everything else is different. Wrong. She died. But her biotics are a familiar buzz, humming underneath her skin like a live wire. Two years.

She follows Jacob through the next few rooms until they come across a man bleeding on the floor, and Norah Jean is struck with the same eerie familiarity she felt with the voice over the intercom, Miranda.

“Bastards got me in the leg.”

“I think…” She closes her eyes against the already dim light in the room. “I think I remember you, Wilson, right?”

“Yeah. That was me. How about we talk about this after we fix my leg?”

Her eyes flick up towards the hopefully stocked first aid station on the wall. She gets there and back before Wilson can complain too much. The applicator is different than she remembers, fumbles with it for a second before applying it correctly. She gives him a hand up.

“Thanks, Shepard. Never thought you’d save my life. Guess that makes us even now. I thought maybe I could shut down the security mechs, but whoever did this fried the whole system, completely irreversible.”

“We didn’t ask what you were doing. Why do you even have security mech clearance? You were in the bio wing.” Jacob crosses his arms and eyes Wilson.

“Weren’t you listening? I came here to try and stop this! Besides I was shot, how do you explain that?”

Norah Jean pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re all fucking strangers to me, lets get someplace with a lower ratio of angry mechs, and then we can sort out whose fault this is.”

“Right. We need to find Miranda. We can’t leave her behind.”

“Forget about Miranda! She was over in D wing, the mechs were all over that sector. No way she survived.”

“A bunch of mechs won’t drop Miranda, she’s alive.”

“Then where is she? Why haven’t we heard from her? There’s only two possible explanations, she’s either dead, or she’s a traitor!”

“It doesn’t matter right now. Right now, we need to go! If Miranda’s as good as you say, she’ll probably be waiting for us at the shuttle bay.”

“You’re probably right, Shepard. Wilson, drop it, let’s go.”

The door on the other side of the room whooshes open and a squad of mechs marches through, guns drawn. Norah Jean swears under her breath.

“Wilson! I need you to overload the safety mechanisms on that container. It’ll take out the mechs and clear a path to the door.”

“You better be right.”

The crates explode easily, taking out all five mechs. Jacob stands up and turns to her.

“Okay, we took ‘em down, but this is getting a little tense. Shepard, if I tell you who we work for, will you trust me?”

“This really isn’t the time, Jacob.”

“We won’t make it if she’s expecting a shot in the back.”

“If you wanna piss off the boss, its your ass, Jacob.”

“The Lazarus Project, the program that rebuilt you, its funded and controlled by Cerberus.”

Cerberus. It finally clicks. The humanity first terrorist group. Black and gold. Fucked up experiments to “give humanity an edge”. Akuze. For a second all she smells is blood and acid, all she hears is the wind howling over empty sand. She blinks. Back to reality. Cerberus. Two years.

“I spent a good bit of time wiping out Cerberus labs. Why the change of heart?” Her corona flares and dies with her steady breaths, but her biotics remain under her control.

“Knew we shoulda replaced than damn implant.” Wilson mutters, eyeing her with nervously.

“Those answers are way above my paygrade, but the gist of it? Things change. The Alliance declared you dead. They gave up. Cerberus spent a fortune bringing you back. Look, I’d be suspicious too, but right now we have to work together. I thought you deserved to know what’s what. Once we’re off the station, I’ll take you to the Illusive Man. He’ll explain everything, I promise. But we have to get to the shuttles first.”

“Fine. Lead the way.”

Wilson stepped forward, punching in his security code on the door panel. “Come on, through here, we’re almost to the-“

The door opens, revealing a woman in a black and white catsuit. Her pistol is aimed squarely at Wilson’s chest.

“Miranda? But you were-“

Miranda pulls the trigger. “Dead?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“My job, Wilson betrayed us all.”

“Even if you’re sure, did he deserve that welcome?” Norah Jea’s corona flashes briefly before she smothers it down again.

“He sabotaged the security systems, killed my staff and would have killed us.”

“Are you sure about that Miranda? We’ve known Wilson for years, what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m never wrong, I thought you’d have learned that by now, Jacob.”

Shepard twitches her hand away from her gun. “Okay. What’s out next step.”

“We get on the shuttle and we go.”

“What about the rest of the people on this station?”

“This is the evac point, if they’re not here now, they’re not coming.”

“We can’t leave without knowing for sure, we have to go back and look.”

“Don’t you get it? The only one worth saving is you. Everyone else is expendable.”

“She’s right, we all knew the risks when we signed up. Without you, there’s no point to any of this.”

Expendable. The thought turns her stomach. She sighs. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough of this station to last a lifetime.” She died two years ago, and the people who brought her back were expendable. She needs a drink.

“Or two in your case.”

-

Norah Jean turns to Miranda. “I need at least a dozen hair pins or something. I’m not going anywhere until I can get this damn hair situated.”

Miranda sighs and digs into a belt pocket, pulling out its contents and examining them. “The best I can do is seven pins and a hair tie.”

“I can work with that.” She takes the pins and hair tie and braids her hair, out of practice hands moving slowly to make sure the braid is neat and tight. Tying off the end, she works it into a flat coil at the base of her neck, using the pins as frugally as she can. “There. As long as I keep the helmet on, it should hold up.” Her head is pounding, and the pins certainly aren’t doing her any favors, but the hair is dealt with for now. Maybe she should just cut it all off. Its been two years since she’s braided it.

She checks over the pistol and shotgun assigned to her before putting on her helmet and following Miranda and Jacob to the shuttle bay.

-

“What? Veetor is injured. He needs treatment, not an interrogation!”

“We won’t hurt him, we just need to see if he knows anything else. He’ll be returned unharmed.���

“Your people tried to betray us once already, if we give him to you, we may never get the intel we need.”

“Prazza was an idiot and he and his men paid for it. You’re welcome to take Veetor’s omnitool data, but please, just let me take him.”

“Tali, you don’t have to just take Veetor and go, we could work together, just like old times.” Norah Jean knows Tali’s answer, even before she asks, but she’s so desperate for something familiar, she’ll try anything.

“I want to, Shepard, but I can’t. I’ve got a mission of my own. It’s too important for me to abandon, even for you. When its over, if I’m still alive, we’ll see what happens.”

“Sounds dangerous, what are you up to?”

“I don’t think Cerberus needs to hear about it, but it’s in Geth space, that should tell you how important it is.”

Norah Jean nods, then turns back to Jacob and Miranda. “Veetor is traumatized, and he needs medical care. Specialized medical care. Tali will give us the omnitool data and take him back to the flotilla.”

“Understood, Commander.” She tries to ignore the icy note in Miranda’s voice.

“Thank you, Shepard, I’m glad you’re still the one giving the orders. Good luck out there, if I find anything out there that can help you, I’ll let you know.

-

Norah Jean stands in the semi dark as the QEC powers down, rubbing her temples. Two years. Gone. She died. The door opens behind her.

“Hey, Norah Jean, just like old times, huh?”

She can’t turn around fast enough, stumbling over her own feet to come face-to-face with her best friend. He’s wearing black and gold.

“Jeff!” Her voice cracks, and she knows her face is doing something ugly as she tries not to cry. He throws an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her back, and it’s all she can do to keep her composure as she hugs him.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell a soul that Commander Shepard is an ugly crier.”

“I thought I was all alone.” She pulls back enough to wipe her eyes. “I can’t trust anybody here. They’re all Cerberus.”

“Well, you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me.”

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” She wipes her eyes again, sniffling as they leave the QEC room.

“Look who’s talking, I watched you get spaced!”

“I got lucky, there’s a lot of strings attached. How’d you end up here?”

“It all fell apart without you, Norah Jean, everything you stirred up? The council wanted it gone. They broke up the team, sealed records, and I was grounded. The Alliance took away the one thing that mattered most to me. Hell yeah, I joined Cerberus.”

“You really trust the Illusive Man?”

“I don’t trust anyone who makes more than I do, except you. But they aren’t all bad. Saved your life. Let me fly-“ He pauses, looking out the windows into the dark hangar. “And there’s this. They only told me last night.”

Norah Jean watches as the lights slowly illuminate the massive ship docked there. The Normandy. Only she’s twice her original size. Black and gold. The wrong insignia. Two years. The SR2.

“Its good to be home, huh, Norah Jean?”

“Yeah. I guess we’ll have to give her a name.”

-

The captain’s quarters were disgustingly huge. The empty space echoed and the fish tank was too loud. The lights didn’t turn all the way off. The personal bathroom was nice. Even if she didn’t recognize the ghost in the mirror. Two years.

The clothes in the closet fit her well. They aren’t hers. They’re all stiff and new. No familiar comfort of an undershirt too worn to wear under her uniform. Its all utilitarian, even the civilian clothes look like part of a matched set. The wrong colors. Black and gold stare her down everywhere she looks.

The desk is big. A model of the SR2 catches her eye. Then she sees the photo. She died two years ago, but the photo on her desk was taken mere weeks before it happened. She and Kaidan sit on the bench on the back porch of her parents’ house in Anchorage, doused in golden sunlight. Neither of them are looking at the camera. They’re so focused on each other that the rest of the world might as well not exist. Two years is a long time to be gone. That photo had only existed in two places, her own omnitool and Kaidan’s. The Norah Jean in that photo died. Maybe she doesn’t exist anymore. The frame goes dark when she turns her head away.

-

Dr. Chakwas would be lying to herself if she tried to say she hadn’t been waiting for the Commander to drop by. If very nearly felt like old times, the Commander’s boundless curiosity leading them through several rounds of questions. What she’s been up to the last two years, why she was here now, this and that. Then Shepard gets a look of sheepishness that would fit better on a new recruit than Commander Shepard, scuffing her boot on the deck and glancing around the medbay.

“Have you got another question, Commander?”

“You’ve got a pair of clippers in here somewhere, right, Doc?”

“Yes, they should be in a case on the shelf in the back.”

“I’m gonna borrow them, thanks.”

“Of course, Commander.”

-

The buzz of the clippers is almost as comforting as her biotics. Their weight in her hand feels good as she flips the switch on and off a few times. Turns them back on.

Her hair falls away as easily as those two years. Brown curls just barely brush her shoulders. She can’t place the feeling she gets as she looks in the mirror, recognizing a little more of the person who stares back. The lights are still too bright, but her head hurts just a smidge less.

-

When the Commander returns the clippers, gone is the three feet of rich brown curls, replaced by a bouncy bob, pinned back and away from her face. She carries herself differently, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She seems surer of herself than she’d been a few hours ago.

Chakwas stops her before she gets out of the medbay door. “You know I was half worried you’d come back with a buzz-cut. Your new hair suits you.”

“Yeah? I figured it was time for a change. Thanks again, Doc.”

“Any time, dear.”