#acidshenko

The stories had come freely once she and the commander had gotten talking. It felt good to prove, if only to herself, that there was still an Alliance heart beating under that Cerberus-soft gray and white coat. They had remembered the dead in stories—Jenkins and Pressley, Ashley—and they’d remembered the living, wondering where Kaidan might be at this moment, so on.

But through it all, she hadn’t mentioned Adams once. She took a shot when the conversation about Tali inevitably led Shepard to hiccup out a story about Engineer Adams and his terrible poker face.

Karin unhooked the corner of her coat, the alcohol was crawling through her body with a delicious numbing sensation, but her chest was flushed beneath her Cerberus insignia. The lights above her were much too bright.

“What stories do you even have about Greg, anyhow?” she muttered to herself. “Always down with his damn engine.” But the memory made her smile, and the smile made her remember he hadn’t always been down with his damn engine after all.

“Taken care of a lot of drive cores in my time,” she could practically hear him saying, in her old sickbay, “But the Normandy blows everything else out of the water. It’s the turian design, I think: Alliance cores aren’t usually so exposed!”

“’I take it that’s not dangerous?’” Karin asked the memory, one wrist draped over her eyes to block out the bright fluorescents. “And then he goes ‘I don’t think so, but maybe I better come by for a checkup just to make sure!’” She laughed to herself, remembering the way Greg had attempted to wink at her, his whole face scrunching up with the effort, like he’d been practicing.

He used to talk about how exhilarating it was to be so close to the naked core.

“After a while, you start to feel the eezo inductors: shoooom! Straight through your body!”

“Is that so?” The light above the bio bed was so bright. Not like the dim, blue glow of the SR-1’s interiors.

“Sure is. No matter where I am on the ship, I can just feel it. Part of what I love about being an engineer, getting the feel for the ship.”

“Why Greg!” Chakwas mumbled into her palm, smelling the scent of brandy on her own breath. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.” He had smiled when she’d said that, a rusty little full-mouth grin, as if he had not been practicing that.

“Thank you, Doctor,” ‘Shoooooom’ went the core beneath their feet. “More to me than meets the eye.” More than the weathered face and the hard expression, more even than the crows-feet around the eyes and the whisper of a hesitation in his left leg when he walked.

Karin grumbled, rolled onto her side. She should make her way back to the Crew Quarters. There were even softer beds there… but no privacy. She very much needed to be alone right now.

Yes, there were plenty of stories about Greg Adams. So why hadn’t any sprung to mind when she was in her cups with the commander? Kaidan and he coming to the sickbay as a team after the Normandy had sped away from Noveria.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I don’t think Doctor T’Soni would prefer to be alone right now,” Karin repeated to the gleaming chrome medical equipment. She couldn’t help but wondering what kind of terrible migraines this light would give Kaidan. Adams used to tell him he should visit the nice, dim, soothing engine room more often. He was always trying to get everyone to visit him down there, but no one quite so often as Karin herself…

“We know, Doctor,” Kaidan had begun, but Adams had finished the thought for him:

“We just wanted to make sure she was alright, Kar—Doctor. You’ve been spending some time with her, know how we can get her to open up a little bit?”

She’d looked at both of them skeptically, but that craggy smile won her over, in the end. Together, the three of them had hatched a plan. Kaidan would go in first, get her to open up a little bit. The lieutenant had a knack for that sort of thing. After some time, he’d bring her out into the sickbay, and with little tasks and a good deal of joking, maybe they’d be able to make the poor girl laugh a little bit.

And so, while Kaidan was in the laboratory, Greg and Karin had manufactured a mess to be cleaned up in the main sickbay.

“Terrible thing to happen. I feel so bad for Liara,” Greg said in Karin’s memory, hauling a crate of medi-gel out of storage.

“She’s been handling it so well.” Karin muttered, more to herself, this time, than to the memory of Greg.

“I know she hasn’t been on board for very long,” he had helped Karin dishevel some samples. “but I like to think she’s made some friends on the Normandy. When you lose people, I think it’s important to have some good friends to talk through it with.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Greg.” She had meant it sincerely but Greg had only shrugged and dismissed his own words. It made her close her eyes and imagine herself back in that dim sickbay. She and Greg would talk in quiet voices for almost an hour, then Kaidan and Liara would come out of the lab, and very soon they would all be laughing together. Only after they’d all gone would Karin realize she wished she’d had more time just to talk with Greg. She’d been avoiding thinking of him then, too. And this time, she had lost so much.

Liara, Kaidan. Greg. None of them were here, now. She needed to be alone, but she didn’t want to be. Even now, there were so many things you just couldn’t remember by yourself.

She opened one eye to spy the data-pad she’d left next to the biobed before collapsing upon it. It took her a few tries to reach it—her head was spinning—and she switched it on.

Greg,

I know I haven’t written since earlier in the spring, and I’m sorry about that. We’ve been jetting from one side of the galaxy to the other, just like old times.

Not exactly like the ‘good old days’ perhaps! The new crew is not quite so savvy on the battlefield with medi-gel without Kaidan there as a field medic, and so I’m quite a bit busier in the medbay after each mission, patching everyone up. And what an eclectic crew, as well! If you thought we had a diverse crew aboard the first Normandy, you wouldn’t believe the team Shepard has assembled: a salarian geneticist, a krogan, Garrus—of course—and Tali, a drell, and even an asari justicar! I’ve learned more about alien physiologies in the last few months than a lifetime of study could have prepared me for. But I can picture you now, rolling your eyes and telling me I’m selling myself short.

Karin smiled to herself, picturing the very expression of Greg’s face. It made her feel a thrill, like the alcohol.

And just today, I’m willing to believe you’re absolutely correct. I am a fantastic doctor, and just the right pick for this mission, thank you very much!

Tali misses you, by the way. The Cerberus crew are more accommodating than I think any of us were expecting, Shepard included, but Tali says she’ll never forget the first human who ever treated her like an equal. She also wishes you were here to ogle the new Normandy’s drive core with her! Of course, just like old times, I don’t understand a word about any of it. But there’s a window on the core from the crew-quarters (yes, you heard right: real beds! On a frigate!) so you would be able to wake up at night and keep an eye on your precious engine.

She wanted to go on, but the idea of saying anymore felt immodest, somehow. The letter may been written through force of Dutch courage alone, but to push that luck anymore would have been foolhardy, the act of a younger, more foolish woman. She signed the letter with regards and sent it.

It was enough just to reach out. Just to let him know she was doing alright. To let him know that, despite all his warning and misgivings, this Normandy was the Normandy, and this Shepard was the Shepard. And perhaps he would even—

“Doctor Chakwas,” came a voice from the corner of the room. Cracking her eyes open, she saw the holographic image of EDI flicker into her station by the window.

“What is it, EDI?” Karin rubbed a hand across her eyes. No reason to sit up for the AI, which was a good thing.

“I am sorry, Doctor,” the dispassionate voice continued, “But the content of the message you have attempted to send contains classified information on the layout and organization of this vessel.”

“What?”

“Cerberus protocols prohibit divulging information concerning the arrangement and capabilities of this vessel. As such, I have blocked the message.”

Karin had already forgotten exactly what the message said. She didn’t know any secrets, how could she have…

“I just mentioned you can see the core from the quarters!” She scoffed.

“Correct,” EDI intoned. “I apologize for the inconvenience, this information constitutes a security breach in accordance to Cerberus regulations.”

She had a mind to argue, but not right now, not with the room spinning around her. Not with the loneliness. She waved a hand and the hologram disappeared with a chime. Just to make sure she hadn’t imagined the whole thing, she retrieved the data-pad again, and there it was: the message she’d just written, returned, undelivered.

Greg,

I just shared a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy with Commander Shepard. I admit, I almost swore-off the stuff when I lost my bottle with the Normandy. But I thought I’d lost Shepard, too—how fitting!

Remember that bottle I had hoarded away in the sickbay? Of course you would find it, you sneak! Turning the sickbay inside out so we could give Liara something to keep her busy after her mother died on Noveria? I had practically forgotten I’d stashed it—I knew every nook and cranny of that old sickbay like the back of my hand. I should have figured a man like you would so throw yourself into upending my medical station that you would find my private bottle!

And then to insist you should get a glass just for nosing through and finding it? The nerve, Greg! Then to swear you’d earn a chance to share a drink of it with me.

She rolled her eyes at herself and added the line:

Don’t break your word to a lady, Greg.

You should know, though, that Shepard and I just polished off the new bottle, so I’m afraid if you still want some, you’ll have to buy one for yourself! The Commander may be the same as ever, but the cybernetics certainly make Shepard a much more formidable reveler.

A few more placid anecdotes, ‘be well, be well’ etc. She was getting tired. She’d said too much. She was trying not to think about it, she hit send.

But before she could even close her eyes again, EDI reappeared in a blink on the terminal.

“Doctor Chakwas.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Karin grumbled.

“It is a violation of Cerberus protocol to report on the cybernetic modifications made to Commander Shepard’s body.”

“’Violation?!’ I’m the one who has to maintain all those new ‘modifications’!”

“I am sorry, Doctor. My protocols on intra-ship security have been programmed by the Illusive Man himself.”

“I’ve never seen anyone else on board having this much trouble trying to send a simple message to their… to their… loved ones.” That made her think.

“Most Cerberus personnel are not as informed, Doctor.”

Karin groaned and waved the hologram away, but the mute form stayed another moment.

“…however, Commander Shepard has been authorized to override any given security protocol regarding ship-to-ship and ship-to-shore communications. I you’d like, I can relay your message to the Commander for his approval.”

“No,” the thought made Karin grimace. “That won’t be necessary, I appreciate my privacy, thank you very much.”

“The Commander considers you a valuable crewmember,” EDI attempted again, “And a friend. He may grant you carte blanche access.”

“Neither of us have much in the way of friends, right now,” she murmured. “Please, just go, EDI.”

The hologram disappeared, and Karin curled into herself.

Greg,

So sorry I haven’t written. Security here is beyond belief, and it seems that a lifetime on warships has not been enough to teach me proper manners for being on a mission of this caliber—and yes, you may imagine every ounce of sarcasm in my voice, you’ve certainly heard the tone enough to imagine it, I should think!

I’m safe and very busy. Shepard is safe. I still believe we are doing something important, and I wouldn’t dream of leaving Joker by himself.

I support your reasons for not joining us, and the Alliance would be lesser for your leaving. But we could use you. And I miss you.

Send.

EDI did not appear.

Karin closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that, at very least, she wasn’t avoiding thinking about Greg anymore. On her side, eyes shut tight against the bright lights above her, on her too-soft biobed, she imagined arms around her. She’d served too long and on too many ships to tolerate thought crimes and intra-personal taboos. If you wanted to imagine yourself bedding a crewmate, have at it. It didn’t have to go any further and only a fool would let it affect morale. If you wanted to imagine arms around you, no harm in that either. She was in control of what she imagined and how it affected her.