Sequel to 'From the Ashes', in which Shep and Garrus fall in love and save the galaxy from the Collectors. This story is set after the events of ME2. Phoenix Shepard is a paragon biotic badass, and not quite human in a few ways. Shep and Garrus have developed a bond that allows them to sense one another's thoughts and feelings. To avoid confusion, I've used italics to represent thought-dialogue (rather than quotes.)
I start off on a darker and more serious note, but as with my first story there will be citrus as the plot develops.
Anything you recognize from Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.
Shepard raged against the fog enveloping her mind, slowly regaining awareness of her body. She could feel her heart beating, her lungs breathing, but any attempt at voluntary muscle movement was ineffective. She tried to open her eyes, succeeding only in elevating her heart rate and increasing her frustration. Fighting her growing panic, she focused on her breath, attempting to identify her location by scent. The familiar smell of gunmetal and spice was distinct and nearby, but her anguished mental cries elicited no response from the comatose turian. Medical smells, antiseptic and alien tissue, were underscored by a sharp metallic tang. Sensing movement, she lashed out with biotic energy only to be slammed into unconsciousness by an answering blow.
…
"She's waking up again." Samara?
"Shepard. If indeed Shepard. Have administed powerful seeker-derived paralytic. Struggling is futile. Do not attack. Need to run more tests, will explain shortly depending on results." Mordin? What the hell?
So she was in the tech lab, a prisoner of her own crew. Of all the people who might betray her, these were the last two she'd ever suspect. Still, they hadn't killed her yet despite ample opportunity to do so. Shepard decided to bide her time and try to make sense of the situation as she analyzed the Normandy's schematics to plan her escape.
After the defeat of the Collectors, Shepard was delighted when most of her new teammates decided to stay on. Even Grunt and Jack were still aboard the ship, claiming she was the quickest way to find a good fight and worthy enemies. Secretly Shepard hoped they actually cared about the fate of the galaxy, but wasn't about to turn down their help either way. Only a few of the specialists left her: Zaeed took his pay and set off in search of Vido, frustrated by her refusal to waste time on petty vengeance while the Reaper threat persisted. Thane took a brief respite on the Citadel to spend time with his son, promising to rejoin them soon. Mordin promised to continue his efforts to find a cure for his Kepral's syndrome. Miranda said she had some soul-searching to do, and disappeared on Ilium with Jacob in tow. Despite their differences, she and Shepard parted ways on good terms. Although Garrus had long been acting as the Normandy's executive officer, the Cerberus agent's departure made it official without creating friction amongst the humans. Enough of the Cerberus employees broke ranks and joined her to form a skeleton crew, including Joker, Dr. Chakwas and her engineers. With EDI's capabilities they had sufficient personnel to keep the Normandy flying.
With the ultimate goal of mounting a defense against the Reapers foremost in her mind, Shepard made a list of priorities. First she'd go to the Citadel, mending fences with the Council and hoping to earn an official reinstatement of her Spectre status, rather than the secretive endorsement she currently had. With no concrete evidence of the Reaper factory's existence, that might prove difficult. At the very least, she should be able to persuade Councilor Anderson to provide her with Alliance soldiers to staff her ship now that she'd cut ties with Cerberus. Next, she'd contact her various friends and allies to quietly build an army ready to deploy when the inevitable attack came. Rachni, krogan, human, quarian, salarian: all could be counted on for some measure of support. If the Council forces could be persuaded to join her so much the better.
Finally, Shepard had a side project that was dear to her heart. The Illusive Man claimed to have information regarding her identity, her origins. It might have been a bluff, but his words stirred up an old itch, the unshakeable need to find out who she really was, whether she had parents or family, why she was capable of so much that should be impossible for a human. Liara might have some leads, and she owed Shepard a favour. Unfortunately, a stop on Ilium wasn't in their current itinerary, and the subject matter was too sensitive even for encrypted channels. Although many suspected she was somehow enhanced, only Garrus knew the full extent of her abilities. As far back as she could remember, Shepard had always been aware of her cybernetic implants, her synthetics seamlessly integrated with her organic self. She had extraordinary regenerative abilities, impressive even for a krogan. Alliance physicians and engineers had tried to study her during her time in the special forces program, but if they found any useful information they certainly didn't share it with her. Surreptitiously scanning their datapads with her circuitry, she discovered they planned to replicate her technology for use in other recruits, hoping to amplify biotics without the side effects that plagued most with L-series implants. They seemed to think she was the product of commercial scientific endeavours, an escaped test subject of some sort. When she found out the Alliance had been injecting her blood into military 'volunteers', increasing their vitality but failing to provide any lasting effects, she decided not to tell them that her wetware could interface directly with her consciousness. She began to have nightmares of doctors making clumsy attempts to hack into her brain to see what made her tick.
No, she didn't trust the Alliance scientists. Any military or commercial group would simply see her as a resource to research and exploit. After a lengthy discussion with Garrus, she decided to start by asking Samara for help. The justicar graciously agreed to use her considerable abilities to mine the recesses of Shepard's memories for clues to her past. Sitting in lotus position, Shepard faced Samara and let the asari take her hands. Garrus wrapped his arms around his mate as he nestled behind her. His body was warm and comforting, although she was apprehensive about bringing him along for this particular journey.
Relax, Shepard. Let your breathing slow, your mind clear, and focus only on the sound of my voice. Let your thoughts drift back to your earliest memories. Embrace eternity!
Can't breathe so hot can't breathe it hurts so much eyes stinging skin peeling lungs burning I have to fight I have to move I'm going to die so scared can't breathe so hot come on fight push forward fight fight fight…
Gasping, Samara withdrew her hands and moaned in pain. I did not anticipate such an intense stimulus, Shepard. It is difficult to extract meaningful information from such a memory. I am willing to try again, but you will need to be more removed from the source.
I used to have nightmares about escaping from the fire. I haven't had one since the old Normandy. Too much else on my mind now, I guess.
Perhaps if you could recall having such a dream, it will allow me to access the necessary memories in a more detached manner.
Are you sure you're willing to do this again? It must be very painful.
No more than it is for you, Shepard. Let us proceed. I will describe what I see as we go along: you will find it difficult to be subjective as you relive the experience.
Shepard awoke drenched in sweat, flame and destruction receding into the empty darkness of her quarters. Clawing at the sheets, she gasped for air and struggled to bring the world into focus. She was engulfed in all-consuming fire, recalling with perfect clarity the acrid stench of burning hair and the searing pain and delicious numbness where her skin melted away. Wounded and half-blind, she crawled through the endless wreckage, keeping her head low and fighting the urge to curl up and let the flames end her suffering. She forced herself forward, forward for what felt like hours until she felt an impossible draft of air, dragging her body through the open door and across the empty lot beyond. She collapsed as the building behind her gave way, shaking the ground as it imploded in a great ball of smoke and ash.
She regained consciousness days later in the med clinic, her body immersed in a soothing bath of medi-gel, the irritation of the tube in her trachea becoming increasingly unbearable. Thrashing against her restraints brought a flurry of white-coated activity, and she felt herself slipping back into oblivion. Time passed in a dreamy haze, until her head cleared and she was no longer choking, her wonderful bath replaced with gel-soaked gauze. A female voice roused her, strict and motherly, the staff physician conducting rounds with her charges.
"Unidentified human female, age five or six by her growth plates, found unresponsive at 0400 hours on Monday by a gang of vagrant children near the remains of a burned-down warehouse. No citizenship implant." This was a charity hospital, set up to provide a safety net for the City's untouchables and to train young medical residents in the trauma and burn care that was so rarely required by civilized society. "She received extensive burns to seventy percent of her body surface area: it's incredible she reached the hospital alive, and she's out of the gel tank weeks ahead of schedule. Her regenerative abilities are simply unbelievable. Extubation this morning was successful, vitals are stable. She has extensive metallic implants overlying her bone structure, possibly cybernetic, but they don't match anything we have on record."
There was rarely a shortage of interesting cases in the trauma unit, but she had the team fascinated. Dr. Anjali had forbidden all mention of their unusual patient to outsiders, but the secretiveness only helped to fuel speculation about the girl's origin. The synthetics she contained seemed far more sophisticated, more integrated than even the most advanced commercial implants and prosthetics, and strict laws prohibited their use in children. None of their medical devices had been able to interface with her, if indeed such a thing was possible. Tremendous financial and scientific resources would have been necessary to create her, coupled with utter disregard for the laws and ethics of experimenting on children. Dr. Anjali doubted the Alliance military would allow such a thing, but there had been rumours of attempts to create soldiers with superhuman abilities, particularly since it had become painfully clear that humanity's place in the galaxy was insignificant compared with more advanced civilizations. The warehouse where the child had been found was listed as abandoned on the official report, with an unspecified quantity of human remains found in the wreckage. Squatters consumed by an electrical fire, in a building too old to have modern fire retardant measures. It was a story the doctor had heard many times before, but never with only pediatric casualties, never with autopsies hidden from public record. She thought of the tiny burnt corpses and shuddered.
"What's your name, child?"
"I… I don't know."
"It's alright. You've come through a great deal. You're safe now."
"Okay."
She certainly didn't look like a soldier, or a guinea pig, or anyone who could have suffered full-thickness burns less than a week ago and survived. She looked like a lost little girl, bravely waiting for her mother to come back. When asked, she had no recollection of any events preceding the fire, and attempts to get her to use her wetware led only to confusion. It was as though she was seeing the world for the first time, a little phoenix born from the ashes.
"Your name is Phoenix," said the doctor, "and you're going to be okay."
Samara… you learned all that from my dreams?
Yes, Shepard. Although you may not have been aware, your telepathic abilities were latent even then. The doctor's insights were most illuminating.
That's strange. Garrus is the only one I can hear, unless I'm linking with an asari like you or Liara.
You may be capable of heightened perception but unable to listen consciously. Perhaps the dissociative sedatives you received in the hospital augmented your abilities. It would seem that your implants may provide further clues. Have you considered asking Mordin to scan them?
I'm a little wary of scientists studying me. Bad things happen. Just ask Jack.
As you wish. Please let me know if I can be of further assistance.
Thank you, Samara.
For the next few days Shepard ignored the justicar's advice. She and Garrus had an audience with the Council, who were all too happy to publicly claim that Shepard had infiltrated Cerberus under their direction to stop the Collector attacks, although they still refused to acknowledge the Reapers' existence. It was infuriating, but at least her record was cleared. They even offered to make Garrus a Spectre in recognition of his role in stopping Saren and the Collectors, but he turned them down with a snarl when they insisted he'd have to work separately from his mate, on missions of the Council's choosing. Although their relationship wasn't mentioned during the proceedings, the disgusted stares of the turian councilor spoke volumes. Xenophobic bastard.
Their private meeting afterwards with Councilor Anderson was far more pleasant: he volunteered a full complement of soldiers to complete the Normandy's crew, and the support of the Alliance fleet against the Reapers when the need arose.
"I have tremendous respect for you, Councilor, and I appreciate all of your help. But just so we understand each other, I have some conditions if I'm going to work with the Alliance."
"Oh?"
"Any humans joining my crew will have to accept taking orders from a turian XO and working with aliens, even geth. It's been a long time since Shanxi, but I won't put up with any Terra Firma bullshit on my ship. The Normandy is my ship, not the Alliance's: I earned her from Cerberus with blood and sweat. Any missions I accept will be of my choosing, just like old times."
"You're asking a lot from me, Shepard."
"You know that my only goal is to protect the galaxy. I can't do my job if the Alliance's support comes with golden handcuffs."
"Very well. Just be glad you won't be around when I have to explain all this to Udina. It's good to have you back, commander." He smiled warmly, hugging Shepard and shaking hands with Garrus. Wishing them well, he suggested they return to the Citadel as soon as they uncovered any evidence that might further influence the Council.
On their way back to the Normandy, they were approached by a very enthusiastic Emily Wong. "Shepard! Vakarian! Would the twice-over heroes of the galaxy be willing to give me an exclusive interview?" They agreed, knowing that at least Emily would be reasonable with her reporting. News had already reached the public about Shepard's reinstatement as a Spectre, and interest in her had peaked once again.
"So, how does it feel to be back on top of the world?"
"We're happy to say there will be no more Collector attacks, but we can't let our guard down. The real threat is still out there and we need to prepare for the inevitable attack from…" The reporter shifted uneasily. This was supposed to be a puff piece to boost her friends' public image.
"Geth! Gee, those geth sure are awful. Is it true you were celebrating on Earth with your crew last week?"
"We had a great time unwinding after the mission. Even soldiers need to relax every now and then."
"Definitely. By the way, how do you get that lovely glow?" Over the last few weeks, Shepard's skin had acquired a faint shimmer, more metallic than sun-kissed. Sensing her confusion, Garrus leapt in to answer for her.
"Radiation from Haestrom's sun. Does wonders for the complexion," he said, putting his arm around her affectionately.
"Wait! We'll edit that part out."
"Why? Garrus is my mate. Anyone with a problem can take it up with me in person." She patted the pistol on her hip as Garrus nodded in agreement.
"No, no. You really need to leave the PR to me. Of course the two of you are together, but you can't publicly acknowledge it until people have the chance to get used to the idea. Trust me."
"Whatever. Just make us look good, okay?"
They finished the interview, waved goodbye to the exasperated young reporter and headed back to their ship. Your skin does look different, Phoenix. Stunningly beautiful, but different. You really should pay the doctor a visit, and have him take a look at your cybernetics while you're there.
Mordin had been all too eager to scan her, muttering to himself and furiously interfacing with his terminal afterwards.
"Energy signatures unlike anything on record… wait. Repeating the analysis, modulating with recently acquired geth algorithms and reverse engineering along plausible pathways of synthetic evolution…" He froze, a shocking act for a salarian. "Inconceivable." Whirling around to face Shepard, his movements were a blur as he held up his scanning tool, distracting her for the split second it took his pressure injector to deliver a sedative and neuromuscular blocker into her jugular vein.
Now he was standing over her frozen body, accompanied by Samara. The paralytic had worn off enough for Shepard to open her eyes, and from the waves of seething rage she could tell Garrus had regained consciousness beside her.
"Forgive my transgression, commander. Drastic measures necessary to protect the crew. Identity confirmed by genetic sequencing and neural mapping. You are indeed Shepard. Cybernetics baffling. Hard to decipher, at first. Subtle, but irrefutable clues. Unmistakable now. Powerful, resilient synthetic-organic hybrid. Able to interface with ancient Prothean technology. Extraordinary ability to influence others."
Mordin's expression darkened, and his speech slowed disconcertingly. "Implants consistent with Reaper technology. Turian affected also."