#kestrelmando

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He’s tried being useful around – what were they calling it now? Fett’s Palace? – the palace; taking stock of weapons and resources left behind by Jabba and Fortuna. Weapons he’s familiar with; taking them apart, servicing them, and testing them gives him something to keep him busy and keep his mind occupied.  

He even took to sometimes mirroring Fennec’s imposing, protective place – on the left on Fett, never the right that was Fennec’s earned spot – on the dais when Fett had meetings because no, you should not fuck with the legendary bounty hunter but especially when he’s got a sharp shooting assassin on one shoulder and another infamous bounty hunter clad head to toe in beskar on the other.

He’s done perimeter sweeps with Fennec, who chooses to humor his morose silence, and with Fett, who also allows the silence but is far less indulgent about it. Oh, Fett never calls him out on it. Quite the contrary, bounty hunter to bounty hunter he can read Din like a book and knew from the moment he returned to the Slave that he was not ok. Still wasn’t ok but that doesn’t stop the occasional long drawn sigh from the older man.

All in all, it took a week for Din to be sent to Mos Eisley to ‘pick up supplies’. He wasn’t stupid; he knew Fett could’ve sent anyone working for him to go on a supply run. He initially welcomed the change of scenery before remembering he’d have to travel hours around the Great Mesra Plateau and his only options of landscape were either endless sand or the red rock formations and canyons.

So Din dutifully took a land speeder and set off to Mos Eisley, trying to ignore the repetitive backdrop that allowed him far too much time to think about his foundling and his accidental acquisition of the darksaber with Fett’s warning still ringing in his ears ‘make sure you take that thing with you’.

 ---

 The supplies, or rather supply, in question was a tiny compressor part for the climate control unit that could fit in his pocket.  The vendor had taken one long look at his beskar and held up a bin of the teeny components after Din asked about it and he was done within half an hour.

…Now what?

He found himself following the by now well-known path to Peli Motto’s hanger. She was familiar territory, she was easy to talk to and almost painfully transparent. Perhaps most importantly in this moment; she wanted nothing from him.

The door to Peli’s outbuilding slid open for him and he wandered in, hands painfully empty, and let the pit droids fuss over him. Tatooine’s hot suns greeted him as he stepped into the hanger bay, eyes scanning for the mechanic. The hanger was empty, no parked ship in sight, and the mechanic was elbow deep in a pile of scrap muttering to herself and passing parts and pieces to a pit droid.

Din smiled under his helmet when she tossed a piece of scrap away from her with a huff and it landed near his feet. She turned her head briefly to see where it landed and then whipped it back towards him, hand flying to her heart.

“Stars Mando!” She sat back on her heels and blew out a breath. The mechanic frowned, “Where’s your ship?” Peli stood, dusting her knees and palms off, and took a few steps towards him with a hand pressed above her eyes to block the suns. She looked him over and then stopped dead in her tracks, “Where’s…where is the baby?”

He felt his throat close around any words he was going to say. Peli’s eyes darted around his body; around his hips for the bag, his feet for the little one to pop out around him at any second. She opened her mouth to say something, her face drawn tight, when he simply couldn’t keep up his stoic façade any longer.

A short hiccup, somewhat garbled by the vocoder of the helmet, slipped out followed by a low keen he couldn’t bear to swallow. Din shut his mouth with a snap, a flush creeping up his neck while his hands closed opened and closed around nothing – empty. Peli’s eyebrows rose in concern momentarily before she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before slowly extending her hand towards him. Her fingers closed around his elbow, shoulders losing their tense line when he didn’t protest, and guided him back towards the outbuilding.

Din let her steer him to a small table in the corner and ease him into a chair. She disappeared around the corner momentarily and was back with a bottle of boga noga and two small cups. Peli sank into the chair opposite him and poured a couple fingers the Hutt ale. She curled her hands around her drink and looked up at him, face pinched.

“Just tell me first; is he ok?”

He took a deep breath that sounded strained through the beskar, “Yes.”

Peli visibly deflated as her shoulders sagged in relief, “Oh thank the Force.” She muttered before taking a sip of her ale, wincing a bit.

Despite the lump in his throat, he felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards in the beginnings of a fond grin. Din swallowed, “His name is Grogu.”

She cocked her head, thinking on the name, and smiled. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes and watched the pit droids scurry about the hanger through the viewport. Eventually, she flicked her eyes back up the Mandalorian and asked, “What happened?”

He paused and wondered if it was safe to tell her more than sparse nonspecific details. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; quite the opposite she’d shown herself to be a loyal friend and Din had already entrusted Fett and Shand with the whole story. But Peli was different – she wasn’t a fighter. Still, Moff Gideon was in the custody of the New Republic and Grogu was safe with Skywalker. He supposed it was safe enough.

So he laid it all out for her and once he started he found that he couldn’t stop. He talked about the bounty from the remnant Imperials on Grogu and how the kid had saved his life with the Mudhorn, how he took on the task of keeping him safe as his foundling and out of the hands of those who would hurt him and use him. To their short time on Sorgan and how Grogu terrorized the local wildlife, how he was tasked by his alor to reunite him with other Jedi.  Din told her of his meetings with the Jedi Ahsoka Tano and Bo-Katan, interspersed with a quick and bastardized history of the Mandalore.

He had to pause when he got to Tython. His voice was caught in a steel trap in his throat.

Din considered the shot of ale and tipped the helmet back just enough to not spill it all over himself before downing it. He immediately understood Peli’s grimace when she sipped on hers; it was sweeter and fruiter than he was used to but it was unbearably strong. His eyes watered at the burn. Her gaze flicked to his exposed chin momentarily before darting away and she finished hers too, coughing a little.

She rose her eyebrows at him and he knew what she was thinking; I didn’t think you were allowed to do that.

He continued quietly – Tython, Grogu’s capture, and the Razor Crest getting destroyed. Din covered Morak as clinically as he could and felt the need to explain a bit more about his creed to the mechanic. She watched him carefully and frowned when he began to get hung up. Din gestured uselessly next to her, “I – it should have been a bigger deal. It should have meant everything but I – the kid –“

Peli gently laid her hand on his forearm. His helmet slowly turned to look back at her but she held her ground and patted his arm. Din pressed on and spoke of Gideon’s cruiser, the rescue, and his accidental acquisition of the darksaber. He haltingly recounted his goodbye to his foundling and slumped back in his chair when it was over.

The mechanic was silent next to him, her hand light on his arm, before she turned to him thoughtfully. “Mando—“

Why the hell not. “Din. My name is Din.”

“Din, you did what you had to do for the little one.” She looked nostalgic, “Parent’s sacrifice for their kids. You can’t understand it, can’t know what you are willing to do until you have one. He needed you and you stepped up. I don’t claim to know to know much about your people but it sounds like you fulfilled your mission.”

Peli stood then, collecting the empty glasses. “You say you’re out near the Northern Dune Sea? How long will you be here?”

He nodded absently, “No more than a few days. I’m returning to the palace soon—“

She whirled back around horrified, one of the glasses slipping from her fingers, “Jabba’s Palace?”

Din caught it quickly, “Fett’s Palace.”

Peli wasn’t appeased. “Fett? Boba Fett?”

“Yes—“

“That bantha brain owes me money!”

Din chuckled, realizing she more annoyed than afraid. Fett owed her money? That sounded like a story. Peli headed back towards the kitchenette with a huff and Din dutifully followed with the other glass. Peli sighed exasperatedly, “I was the only one willing to work on that ship of his for years! No one else would touch it, it sat in that hanger for years and no mechanic was willing to do any maintenance on it – oh Peli what if he comes back – well, what’s he gonna be more mad about? That someone was poking around keeping it running or that we just let it sit and get taken by the sands?’

She took the glass from him and deposited it in the sink, “I spent five years taking care of that rust bucket! He comes back looking like hell with no credits and says he’ll pay me ‘soon’. When is ‘soon’?”

He didn’t give it a second thought; Fett had given him way more credits than he’d needed to pay for the part and he knew that she would be a good resource for Fett – she wasn’t afraid of him. He reached into his pocket and held the bag of credits out to her. Peli slowly stretched out her hand and took it, inhaling at the weight of it.

“If that doesn’t cover it let me know. I can pass along that you are willing to work on the Slave, it’d be a regular job.”

Peli passed the heavy bag of credits back and forth between her hands, smiling, and then said, “You know…he can wait a little longer.”

 ---

 Why did he agree to this?

Peli turned from the small table housing drinks and snacks and held out a cup of chilled caf to him. Din slowly turned his head and shoulders towards her and, despite not seeing his face, she read his tone.

She frowned, “Oh right.”

The mechanic turned away for a moment, fiddling with something he couldn’t see, and twisted back with a triumphant grin. Peli brandished a long straw and poked him in the shoulder with it when he didn’t move.

“Come on Mando, just take it.”

With a sigh, Din took the straw and caf before reluctantly following Peli into the other room. All the chatter immediately ceased and six pairs of eyes snapped to him as he rounded the corner with her. He didn’t know what he expected, it was the normal reaction to beskar – still his insides felt hollowed out after his talk and something about it stung a little.

Peli, however, paid it no mind and all but dragged him to a seat next to her. The other occupants, some human and some not, stared and waited for an explanation. The mechanic took a bite of her snack, a large cookie, and chewed slowly. She met the confused and frankly frightened looks of the group and took her time to chew and swallow, all the while rolling her eyes at the over the top reaction.

She was never given a reason to be afraid of her Mandalorian, or even Fett despite his reputation, and he’d always been fair and polite. Oh, she knew their reputation – bloodthirsty, ruthless, and unfeeling. But after seeing Mando with the baby, she had done some digging. Tatooine might be in the backwaters of the galaxy but it had a long history and many colorful inhabitants; between the HoloNet and asking around she’d learned a bit.

That child was never in any danger from the Mandalorian, in fact there was scarcely a safer place to be. Mando – Din – had taken him in and done right be him. Still, she knew he had to be uncomfortable in a place like this. She picked a spot facing the door and had already decided on the way in that she’d do the talking.

She brushed the crumbs off her hands, “Sorry we’re late. This is my friend, Mando.” The silence was deafening but she continued, “He doesn’t say much.”

His helmet turned almost unnoticeably towards her and she met his visor. Peli shrugged and rose her eyebrows; am I wrong? The Mandalorian cocked his head in agreement and leaned back into his seat. She sipped her chilled caf and settled in as a human across from them began to speak. She hadn’t brought him here to talk, she brought him here to listen.

He stiffened when she mentioned it back at the hanger, thinking it was a support group for parents whose children had passed on. But when she clarified that it was for parents without their children with them, whether it be they had simply grown up or were temporarily away, he hadn’t seemed any less rigid.

“I – I’m not his father.”

It was the softest she’d ever heard him and she felt her heart clench at the melancholy tone. His fingers twitched anxiously at his sides, opening and closing.

She countered, “You are in all the ways that matter.”

In the end, Mando tentatively agreed to go with her. The pair listened as the group went around with updates or things they did to alleviate the ache of missing their loved ones; some were grown with families of their own, others had moved off-planet, and some were off training at various academies. They talked about how they kept in contact and how they kept busy. Some tended hydroponic gardens, others kept meticulous journals, and still others traveled. He snorted; one sent his alien foundling with a Jedi across the galaxy and took up being a menacing beskar statue behind an infamous bounty hunter who may or may not be the ruler of Mandalore.

Din retreated into his own thoughts, wondering how Grogu was doing with his training. He could almost picture it in his mind; Grogu’s little brow wrinkled in concentration, maybe with his eyes closed if he was really trying, and the Jedi directing him. He imagined the little womp rat chasing – terrorizing – the local fauna and pouting about not being able to eat all the time. Would he still have his mythosaur pendant? Was he happy?

He blinked back to attention when Peli plucked the straw from his fingers and slid it into his caf with a small clink. People were looking at him expectantly, he swallowed nervously before realizing it was actually Peli there were waiting on.

She stood to get another cookie and Mando took the groups distraction to slip the long straw under his helmet. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but a cold drink was too tempting to pass up. Peli settled back in next to him and began to speak, “Well I have some updates,”

Peli broke the cookie in half and continued, “Corjul still hasn’t left Endor. After all that time on Hoth, he just decided that Endor was ‘perfect’ and he volunteered to monitor the shields. I’m not sure there’s much of anything out there but the natives…but he seems happy.”

Din stared under his helmet – Peli Motto had a kid. He supposed it made sense now he thought about it; why else would she be coming to these meetings? The mechanic finished a bite and folded her arms, “I am glad he’s just an analyst, not running around after Empire remnants. “

He sipped at his now lukewarm caf and wondered what her son looked like. Her voice flitted over his head, "Now Briell—“ Din inhaled sharply and his caf slurped loudly through the straw. Two children? Peli glanced at him, amused, “Briell has been settled nicely on Ord Mantell for a while now with her husband. I’m heading there in a couple weeks, my granddaughter is turning two.”

There was a murmur of appreciation from the group, some congratulating and some asking for a holo. He smiled, happy for her. It seemed the meeting was winding down and he took a long drink of his caf to finish it. “And as for Savi—“ Din choked on his caf, coughing and yanking the straw out from under his helmet to press an ineffectual hand against his chest.

Three. Three children Peli Motto had and Din knew nothing about it. Sure, it hadn’t come up in casual conversation, not that he was much of a conversationalist anyway, but certainly it would have come up? Grogu took to her so quickly and he hadn’t really questioned it but now he could see the pieces fitting together. The way she’d fussed over how to hold Grogu, was he getting enough to eat.

“Anyway, Savi is still planet hopping. He sends a holo when he remembers to. Last I heard he was heading to Coruscant to stay with a friend who’s a lobbyist. Still trying to ‘find himself’.” Peli patted his shoulder, “I’ve got this one to keep me busy and he just hooked me up with a steady new client.”

He took Peli’s cup and his own, following her nodded direction, and went to clean them. It was a simple kitchenette and he used as little of the moisture farmed water as he could to wash them out. His mind wandered again and he palmed the metal knob in his pocket; Fett, in between gasping peals of laughter, telling him that he knew exactly who the Jedi was and that Grogu would be safe with him. He wondered if the kid was pulling all kinds of things out of the air by now – Din smiled – he was going to be a menace once he could grab whatever he wanted regardless of where it was.

Peli’s head poked around the corner, “Hey Mando, you ready to head back?”

The Mandalorian nodded and followed his friend back onto the dusty streets of Mos Eisley. They walked in companionable silence, Din’s head on a swivel watching the road as the twin suns began to set. He fingered the comm unit in his pocket, wondering for the umpteenth time when Skywalker was going to contact him about Grogu’s progress. The man said he’d be allowed to visit, that he wasn’t a believer in separating families but still Din wondered.

“You know, Mando, you’re allowed to miss him and be proud of him.” Peli said next to him.

He looked down to her, “Am I?”

She sighed and stuffed her hands into her pockets, “Yeah. My kids all left Tatooine to do bigger, better things. Of course I miss them, sometimes I miss them more than I can stand but I’m so proud of them. I couldn’t hold onto them forever but it doesn’t mean they are gone for good.”

Din sighed, “I understand that. But he’s – he’s so young what if he doesn’t remember me? What if he’d rather stay with his teacher forever? What if—“

Peli grabbed his elbow, stopping them just outside of her hanger. “He adores you, Din. Anyone can see it, he won’t forget you. He’ll do what he needs to and then you and him will decide what’s next. It isn’t forever.”

He blew out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and swallowed the lump in his throat. It isn’t forever, we will decide what to do next. Din followed her into the outbuilding and stopped when he caught the mischievous look on her face. He slowly tilted his head at her, almost afraid to ask.

---

They liked to joke it was a good spot because it was on the border of two states, Arizona and Utah, and it was a desolate place of red rock and sandstone. The meandering hills and valleys were interspersed with jutting, reaching towers of stone. But really, it was because the lonely stretch of road received little traffic – being far enough away from the natural monuments to keep the tourists away.

So it became their dumping ground for the bodies they were amassing. It wasn’t the original intention, but when you want to send a message? Well, a neat row of shallow graves in the desert worked well.

Sending a message sat just fine with Jack Daniels. He was so tired of this shit; but all it takes it a brief closing of his eyes to see his partner the very first night he met her at Statesmen training already black and blue with a split lip and a chip on her shoulder the size of Texas or, more recently, the purple and scarlet collar of bruises around her neck to reconfirm that this was necessary.

Fucking mob syndicates. Jack knew she was tired of looking over her shoulder and he was always looking even further over her shoulder. Defecting to Statesmen offered a lot of protection and it was a smart move, but when the daughter of one of Chicago’s biggest crime bosses cuts ties and literally sets the place on fire when she runs – some feathers are bound to ruffled.

He glanced over at her and watched the wind tangle and flutter in her dark hair as she leaned back against the headrest of the truck. Her arm was dangling out of the window, fingers tapping along the side of the door to the low music from the radio, and the setting sun was casting her warm tan skin in a fiery glow. He was struck again by how beautiful she was and settled his hand over the top of her knee. She didn’t turn, but he felt the muscle in her thigh twitch but she curled her fingers around his.

The unchanging desert landscape rolled past and despite the comfortable, companionable silence Jack needed to know more. She had stormed into Statesmen a week and a half ago with her voice choked out of her, a blood vessel popped in her eye, and those damn bruises like handprints around her neck. To say he was pissed was an understatement; no one laid a finger on his girl.

Truthfully, he had pulled her into his office with shaking hands and shut the door. His hands had smoothed down her thick hair, turned her chin and cataloged the damage – throat swollen enough to lose her voice, left eye discolored with blood, even a few cracked and broken nails. When those defiant hazel eyes swept up to his, he dropped the pretense and pulled her in close. Kenna’s arms enveloped him in return and Jack closed his eyes, nose buried in her hair as he tried to keep his breathing even.

He was scared, Kenna would know that. Of course he was, she was there all those years ago to see the carnage after his wife was taken from him, but he was also so so angry. He breathed in deeply, letting the scent of her plum and cinnamon perfume sink in, and reminded himself that was she was here. Her hands pressed firmly into his back and he sighed when he felt her face nuzzle into his chest.

Eventually, he pulled back far enough to get a look at her and asked, “Have you been to medical yet?” She shook her head. Jack carefully touched her neck and slid his palm up to her jaw, “They might be able to speed all this up darlin’.”

Jack hadn’t asked for details when she came to him later, voice back but weak and thready, and said she was going to chase the capo who attacked her. Of course, he was going with her – they were partners. Now though? The man seemed to have an unlimited number of underlings to throw at them and Jack was worried his partner’s drive for revenge was clouding her judgement.

Finally, he broke the silence in the cab of the truck, “How did he find you?”

She gave him a wry smile, “That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

He squinted at her, “Whaddya mean you don’t know?”

Kenna blew out a short breath of air, “It means I don’t know Jack. He was waiting for me outside of my apartment.” She watched his face morph into a scowl and sighed, “I was as careful as I always am. Chicago isn’t as far as you like to think it is.”

Jack squeezed her fingers and pointedly looked away from her, “I just need you to be safe.”

Her reply was cut off by a muffled shout from the covered truck bed and a loud shuffling of limbs. She gave him a sardonic smile and turned the radio up.

---

In the twilight of the desert, Whiskey and Mezcal stood shoulder to shoulder and watched as the man struggled against his bonds. The man, in spite of all of his earlier bravado, wouldn’t stop blubbering now. Promises to tell them anything, everything – but they just needed one specific piece of information.

Jack watched her crouch next to the man, watched him flinch when her long fingers reached out and turned his head towards the row of unmarked graves next to him. She spoke softly to him, “Do you know what those are?”

The man nodded and whimpered when she dropped her hand. His eyes flicked to Jack, looking for any potential help, but he found none. Kenna wasn’t drawing it out, she was tired of being chased but Jack was burning with wrath at the very idea of someone having the audacity to try to jump her outside of her home.

No, Kenna was the merciful one this time.

She turned to Jack and held out her hand for the map before turning back towards their captive. Mezcal, like her namesake, gave him a deceptive smile and unfolded it for the man. “Are you listening?” The man’s gaze snapped from the map to her face and he nodded quickly, eager to please her.

“My partner has a copy of this map.” She tapped her finger against it. “And your colleague, old blue eyes that we got last night, he pointed out exactly where we need to go to find your boss. You know who I am, you know I can’t just take his word for it.”

Mezcal pulled a sharpie out of her jacket pocket and uncapped it, before yanking down the man’s gag and placing the marker there instead. “Now, you are going to mark where to find your boss. If they match, then we’ll know you are being truthful. If they don’t…”

She held the map taut for him and watched him circle an intersection. Winking at him, she stepped back to Jack’s side and he pulled out the copy. The pair studied them in silence before the captive began trying bargain, swearing he wasn’t lying.

Instead, Kenna handed her map to her partner and leveled her pistol with the man’s head.

“I believe you.”

---

Notes: Revamped and reposted. Basic background; Adrian Shepard, Earthborn, Sole Survivor, Paragade, Vanguard. I do call my Shepard by her first name frequently. Some mentions and short descriptions of previous Shepard/Kaidan but mostly Shepard/Garrus. Will cover ME2 pretty faithfully and some of ME3 before taking a left turn.

 ----

Commander Adrian Shepard's foot was asleep. She inwardly cursed her habit of sitting on her foot and gingerly set it back on the floor, trying to ignore the odd sensation of pins and needles dancing across her skin. Her eyes felt bleary and dry; she was finishing her fifth report of the morning. No Geth activity, no sign of the Reapers…not a single nonorganic piece of shit she could let out her frustrations on. This was not a good day. She was frustrated that the Council and the Alliance weren't doing everything they could to prepare. They'd look into it, they'd send out a team to confirm what kind of tech it was that attacked the Citadel…Of course, it didn't matter that she and her entire team told them—repeatedly—that it was the Reapers. It had only been a week since the team was cleared from Huerta Memorial Hospital and already the higher-ups were circling and denying.

She glanced sideways at the clock sitting on her desk; Kaidan would be done with his rounds by now. Things had been…different. They had flirted all through the time they chased Saren across the galaxy and it had culminated in one night of stress-relieving sex. She cared about him, it was true, but she suspected that night meant more to him than it did to her. To her, he was a by-the-book pristine soldier and man. She was, well, not. It had been fun and she was open to seeing where it went but Shepard couldn’t shake the thought that she would always be Commander Shepard to him.

The LT had taken up some of Ashley’s duties, helping to maintain the armory and keep their gear in good working condition. After their night together en route to Ilos, Kaidan had seemed to let his guard down a bit. They enjoyed meals together in the mess and talking about their plans. He was always wary of spending too much time in her cabin, always aware this was an Alliance ship and there were regulations to be followed. She was glad that most of her crew had decided to stay aboard the Normandy, if only for a little while longer. Wrex had gone to Tuchanka to try to merge the clans and Tali was being dropped off at the Flotilla within the next couple of days. Garrus was headed to the Citadel to apply to be a Spectre within the week and Liara was going to publish her research about the Protheans when she returned to Illium. Most of the team had decided to go on one last mission, one last Geth killing spree. Except there are no Geth to be found.

A sudden scream jerked Shepard into an upright position, the datapad she was holding clattered to the floor. She started to stand when an explosion rocked the Normandy. Shepard was thrown onto the floor of her cabin; all the air in her lungs pushed out with a hard grunt. Adrian lay still for a moment, straining to hear. The sudden quiet was shattered by the shrill blare of the Normandy's alarms; they were under attack. She scrambled to her feet and ripped her armor off the table it had been resting on. She hastily snapped it into place, grabbed her helmet, raced out of the cabin, and rounded the corner to the rest of the crew deck. Possible scenarios were flying through her head but when she saw the damage all the probable answers disappeared. Flames that had already consumed the sleeping pods were rapidly spreading towards the mess—no ship had the technology to do this much damage to the ship from one hit. Shit. The console to activate the distress beacon was down the gangway to the sleeper pods. Adrian tried to remember where she could find a fire extinguisher. Another blast hit the Normandy and Shepard sprinted towards the elevator to avoid the sudden flash of fire.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday—this is SSV Normandy, we're under attack from an unknown vessel!" Joker called from above.

Shepard threw her back against the elevator doors, flattening herself as much as possible as flames licked around the mess tables. A sudden thump from the other side of the elevator doors made Shepard jump. Her comm crackled, "—pard….elevator—"

Dread filled her stomach and she slammed her palm against the emergency override button by the doors. She heard the locks groaning but not giving. Part of her crew was stuck in the elevator. Shepard's fingers flew across her omni-tool, trying to hack through the elevator's locks. Damn, she needed an engineer.

"Shepard!" Adrian whipped around to see Tali coming out of the infirmary, followed closely by Doctor Chakwas, whose arm had a long burn from shoulder to elbow. Tali's helmet was smeared with ash, her many veils charred and blackened.

Adrian felt her heart quiver; Tali and Chakwas were safe. Shepard closed the distance between them quickly and grasped Tali's elbow, "Tali—I need you to get this elevator unlocked, there are people stuck in it. After that, you and Chakwas get everyone to the escape shuttles."

Tali nodded and began working on the lock. Shepard then remembered; there were fire extinguishers in the medbay and the elevator. She began to head towards the medbay when Chakwas grabbed her arm, "There is too much fire back there!"

"Here, catch!"

Shepard turned to Tali's call and caught the small extinguisher. The engineering crew poured out the elevator followed by Garrus, who was pulling his helmet onto his head.

"Tali, Garrus—get them to the escape shuttles."

"We won't leave you." Garrus replied shortly.

"That wasn't a request."

Adrian turned and began to fight her way through the fiery hall that led to the emergency console. She peered over her shoulder to see Garrus and Tali looking after her before they both turned and began to usher people to the exit. The sleeper pods were twisted and blackened. She reached the console and, thankfully, it was still intact. Her hands flew over the holographic keyboard; Omega Nebula…Amada System…Unknown Enemy. She could hear footsteps behind her as she reached for her helmet and jammed it on her head.

“Shepard!"

She cursed. Everyone on the Normandy knew the procedure for emergencies like this. No one should be seeking her out. Kaidan watched her hit the final keys to send their distress call, "Will the Alliance get here in time?"

The console blinked out, "I'm not doing this just so that can find frozen corpses. We just need to give them time. Get everyone onto the escape shuttles."

The Normandy rocked again, sending Kaidan sprawling into the wall. Shepard dug her fingers into the console.

“Joker is still in the cockpit, he won't abandon ship. I'm not leaving either."

God damnit. "Get to the damn shuttles! I'll haul Joker's ass out of here!" Shepard snarled.

Kaidan paused, "Shepard…”

She shoved him away, hard, "Get the hell out of here!"

The set of his shoulders was tense but he complied, turning on his heel and heading towards the escape pods.

Shepard turned and ran back down the short hall and around the mess to the stairs leading to the bridge. A fire raged on one of the stairs and Shepard turned her face away from the flames. She raced up the curved steps to the bridge and stopped short when the door slide open. The Normandy's hull was nearly in half and the ceiling was gone. Shepard looked up. She was briefly thankful that her boots were magnetically sealed and proceeded to make her way to the cockpit. Joker's hands were flying furiously over the holographic keyboard and various screens.

She leaned in, "Come on Joker, we have to get out of here."

"No, I can still save her!"

Shepard bit her cheek to keep her voice calm, "The Normandy is lost, going down with the ship won't change that. Don't throw your life away."

Joker paused, then turned to look at her, "Yeah…ok. Help me up." Adrian had gently grasped his shoulder when he stiffened, "Shit, they're coming around for another attack!"

She braced herself against Joker's seat and ground her teeth together as the energy beam tore through the bridge. They had to get off the Normandy. Now. Not waiting, Shepard snatched Joker's forearm, not even wincing when she heard a loud crack, and hauled him to his feet. He hissed, face contorting in pain, but said nothing. Shepard tried to lower him as gently as she could into the cockpit's emergency shuttle when another explosion caused her to lose her footing. Shitshitshit. Her boots lost contact with the floor and she suddenly found herself floating.

"Commander!"

Her hands frantically slid along the smooth siding of the Normandy, looking for some kind of purchase—something she could grab onto when she managed to grab the corner next to the secondary emergency shuttle controls. She weighed her options and threw a glance over her shoulder. The ship was coming back and there was no way she could make it back to the shuttle before it destroyed her and Joker.

She looked at him. He squinted before realizing where she was, what she was going to do. He shook his head hysterically, "No! Shepard!"

Adrian hit the override and sealed his shuttle, sending it hurtling away from the Normandy. She tried to ignore his screams, his voice begging her to let him die with her. When the enemy ship fired on the Normandy again, Shepard closed her eyes and waited, she'd seen Sovereign shred enough ships. She didn't want to see the Normandy go down. The explosion knocked her away from the ship and she was rained with debris. She cried out when something heavy slammed into the base of her spine and sucked in a breath, trying to control the pain, even as her legs feebly jerked in protest. Shepard was floating away from the wreck and realized that she was heading towards a planet. I'm going to die, she thought numbly.

The Normandy exploded and she tried to ignore the constant spikes of pain as more debris hit her – until something punctured the tube to her oxygen supply. Shepard froze. Please, I don't want to suffocate. She would rather be consumed in the planet's atmosphere. Oxygen was hissing out of her supply and she frantically pressed her hands against it to try to stem the flow, body contorting. It was no good. Pain bloomed in her chest, as though her lungs were tearing themselves apart, and her heart raced ahead frantically seeking oxygen. Shepard stopped, realizing it futile, and turned her gaze towards what was left of the Normandy. Then suddenly everything slowed; her heart, her blood, her brain. Through her darkening vision, the escape shuttles looked like tiny shooting stars. The icy planet loomed ahead and Shepard knew no more.

---

Drifting, falling

 Floating, weightless