#in case you were wondering if Maya was a high functioning sociopath

[forlornmelody]

Spare Parts Chapter 18 -- Rational vs. Emotional

Rating: M/E (See below for notes)

Ship: FemShep Clone/Maya Brooks, FemShep Clone/Asari OC

AO3 Links: First Chapter. Previous Chapter. This Chapter.

FF.net Links: First Chapter. Previous Chapter. This Chapter.

Buy Melody a Coffee: here.

Summary:  Cerberus wants Shepard’s clone dead. Hope Lillium wants the clone to replace Shepard. The reapers want to exterminate her along with the rest of the galaxy. No one asks what the clone wants–and even she isn’t sure if she has the right to ask. But she asks that question every day.

Notes: While this chapter is safe for all platforms, previous chapters have different versions.(The extended, explicit cut is hosted on AO3.)

On the shuttle, the Clone realizes some of the blood on Brooks is Brook’s own blood--especially after the ebony woman deflates in her chair. Fuck fuck fuck. Had she been bleeding this whole time?

“Commander?”

The Clone is too busy wracking her own brain for first aid. Her implants, again, prove unhelpful. She starts an extranet search on her omni tool, pulling up the first result--

“Ma’am?”

“What!?”

The merc slams into the wall, making a small noise as the wind is knocked out of her. She winces, taking several seconds to get her breath back. “We uh, we found out who hired the commandos.”

The Clone kneels in front of Maya, applying medi gel generously. Probably a little too generously. Maya smiles at her lazily, her eyes glazing over. Shit. Fucking hell. English words don’t serve well enough, so the Clone swears under her breath in old Asari--some words Dreya taught her for shits and giggles. “Find them and eliminate them.”

“It’s Kai Leng, ma’am.”

Maya sucks in a sharp breath, and her eyes focus.

“I don’t know who that--”

Maya snarls. “It’s The Illusive Man’s second in command, now that Lawson has defected.” She hisses as the wound starts to re-open.

“Shut up.” The Clone presses the medi-gel patch tighter against the wound, trying to stay calm. Her implants supply information on Leng and his recent exploits. “Thought he was busy with Shepard.”

“That’s why he hired outside help.” Maya manages to say between shallow breaths. “Cocky bastard usually does his own dirty work.”

“I told you to shut. Up.”

Maya hums. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

The Clone rolls her eyes. “You’re delirious.” She turns to the pilot. “How long until we get back to base?”

“We’re rendezvousing with the ship in 10 minutes. 10 Galactic Standard Hours from there, ma’am.” The pilot looks over his shoulder briefly between typing in commands.

Most space vessels have medical bays. The Clone sags with relief, and then realizes how long ten hours can be when the woman you lo--care about is bleeding out all over you. They really should have kept a doctor. Then again…

Turning to Dagger squad, the Clone nods. “Get me a doc out of one of the med clinics.. Someone who just got off their shift.”

“Yes ma’am.”

 “You can’t keep me here!” The doctor currently sits in a chair, with three guns trained on him. ‘Sitting’ might be the wrong word. He’s squirming and shaking. Honestly, the Clone is surprised the doctor hasn’t pissed his pants.

“What was your name, Doctor?”

“Graham Johansson.” A bead of sweat slips down his forehead.

“Well, Doctor Johansson, we don’t plan on keeping you here any longer than necessary.” The Clone steps aside, revealing Maya, now unconscious, on a gurney. “Whether you leave here on your feet or in a body bag is up to you.” She really hopes the doctor takes the first option. Her ears are still ringing from—from the last gunshot she made.

Doctor Johansson stares at the gurney, or perhaps through it. The Clone kicks his ankle. He stumbles towards Maya, stuttering. “I’ll need--”

“These are yours, are they not?” The Clone nods at one of her mercs, and he hands the doctor a large bag.

Johansson nods.

“Then get to work. If she dies. You die. Got it?”

“Y-yes.”

“I’ll leave a couple of my men here to keep you company. See you soon.”

 Later, when Brooks has stabilized, the Clone has the mercs escort the doctor to the restroom, then holding. She sits down beside the bed, watching Maya breathe in and out. The color is coming back to her face, slowly, but surely, and her breaths seem less shallow. Now she just needs time. Idly, the Clone wonders how much time they have left.

Maya shifts and her eyes open as she yawns. She lazily eyes the Clone. Half smiling, she mumbles, “You’re always watching me sleep.”

The words tumble out of her mouth, warmer than usual. Medigel, the Clone realizes. It must not have worn off yet. “I’m not doing this without you.”

Nudging herself to the edge of the cot, Maya pats the empty space next to her. “You could do it without me, you know.”

The Clone shakes her head, gently maneuvering Maya to the front of the cot, and sliding in behind her, so that her partner’s back is resting on her chest. “What makes you say that?” She wonders how much of this Maya will remember later.

Maya leans her head back, nuzzling the Clone’s nose with her own, and she feels her heart skip a beat or two. “You’re stronger than her. More capable. More determined.”

Winding her fingers between Maya’s, the Clone chuckles. “For someone high on medigel, you sure give a good speech.”

Squeezing her hand weakly, Maya argues, “I mean it.” Her eyes, still a little glassy, search the Clone’s. “Sometimes I wonder why you keep me around.”

Something dark and cold pools in the Clone’s stomach. She knows this is dangerous territory, because she’s been here before. Even delirious, Maya can probably see through her best lie. “You mean something to me, Maya.” The Clone swallows hard. “Despite everything.”

Maya’s gaze drifts across the room, as she traces the Clone’s hand with her thumb. “Sometimes I wonder what it’s like.”

“What?” The Clone watches her, letting her fingers skim the exposed part of Maya’s thigh.

“Caring about someone else. Liking them. Loving them, even.” She frowns comically, as if faced with a mathematical formula she can’t solve. “What you had with Dreya--that was real, wasn’t it?”

Shifting in the cot, the Clone answers quietly. “I think so.”

“At Cerberus, we had psychological training--how to determine the strategy of your enemy by identifying their wants and needs. I always struggled with that.” She leans her head against the Clone’s. “I lied my way through those evaluations, using logic and reason to pull myself through.” She sounds almost angry as she says it. “But humans aren’t rational creatures, are they?”

The Clone presses her lips into Maya’s hair. “I doubt most sentient beings are.”

Maya sits up sluggishly, so that their lips are centimeters from each other, “Are you?”

“Emotional? Empathetic?” Biting her lip, the Clone leans in for a kiss. “More than you.”