High above the mucky-muck, castle made of clouds
“Bottoms up,” the bartender told her with little humor.
Good man. “To the new Normandy and her new crew,” Shepard mumbled to herself before snatching the drink up.
It tasted like nothing at first, and then it was like everything, the drink stabbing at her taste buds and her throat as it settled, hot and heavy, in her stomach. A fire shot through her body. She wanted to laugh, to prove herself the victor over her own stupidity, but the world was gone as suddenly as it had come to life. It dropped out from under her and was thrown into darkness. She didn’t even feel the floor as she crashed to it.
WORD COUNT: 1232
It was surprising how much could change in two years, especially if one was a dead woman for that time.
Shepard thought about that she slammed another drink back; she couldn’t remember if this was her fifth or sixth at this point. It would have been better if she couldn’t remember anything. Being on the Citadel again, it was almost too much. Reminded her of too many things. Much too aware that Alenko wasn’t with her. For that matter, she was all too aware that all of her team was gone.
All except for Garrus. And Joke, of course. Couldn’t forget Joker.
She nodded to the Turian behind the counter, who filled her glass with a sigh.
“Hey, if I’m paying and keeping quiet, you should just do your job,” shepard barked, glaring at the alien before pounding the new drink back in one fell swoop.
Her life was ridiculous mess. Didn’t she have the right to indulge just a little? The tip of her finger circled the rim of her glass, instantly feeling guilty for feeling sorry for herself. She was alive now, back in working order, and able to do what she did best: kick invading ass and constantly have her ideas rejected by the Council. Oh, yeah. This was the life.
Shepard signaled for another drink.
“Why don’t we spice it up a little?”
Shepard looked at the Turian in a haze, head cocking to the side. “What do you have in mind?”
He pulled out a container, the multicolored lights of the bar reflecting off it as he shook the contents up. “This drink will definitely knock you on your ass.”
She snorted, laughing humorously as her hand came down hard on the counter. “Ha! I’d like to see it try. Do you know who I am? No drink can keep me down.”
A dark thought wriggled its way into her inebriated mind. Death can’t even keep me down.
Her skin was already hot beneath her armor, sweat dotting along her arms and the back of her neck. The room was spinning, the lights and the music and the people crowding in on her. She was drunk. She should have gone back to the Normandy, slipped into her bed, and slept the alcohol and depression off.
But Shepard had been challenged, and her sense of honor wasn’t going to let her back down.
“Shepard, maybe you’ve had too much,” came a familiar voice, and she spun in her stool, body wobbling as she looked into the faces of two of her team members.
“Garrus! Jacob! C’mon, sit down,” Shepard grinned and offered. “Drinks are on me.”
Garrus snorted. “Not sure there’s any alcohol left.”
“We should just take the Commander back,” Jacob muttered to the scarred Turian.
Shepard shook her head, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the bartender behind her (missing the alien by several feet). “One last drink, then.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned around again, faced with a glass filled with smoking, green liquid.
“Bottoms up,” the bartender told her with little humor.
Good man. “To the new Normandy and her new crew,” Shepard mumbled to herself before snatching the drink up.
It tasted like nothing at first, and then it was like everything, the drink stabbing at her taste buds and her throat as it settled, hot and heavy, in her stomach. A fire shot through her body. She wanted to laugh, to prove herself the victor over her own stupidity, but the world was gone as suddenly as it had come to life. It dropped out from under her and was thrown into darkness. She didn’t even feel the floor as she crashed to it.
“Shepard.”
“Commander?”
A groan filled her ears before she realized it was her own. Something wet hit her face, and she licked her lips, rolled over onto her hands and knees, and hefted herself up with a moan. “What a drink…”
Her vision cleared enough to make out the tiles beneath her palms. A bathroom?
“You okay, Shepard?” She heard Garrus ask faintly, the tone of concern in his voice apparent, even in her state.
Over him, she heard water running, turning her head incredibly slowly towards the source in time to see the pissing Turian look back at her.
“You boys afraid of the ladies’ restroom?” Shepard teased, sitting back on her haunches as the faces of Jacob and Garrus blurred and blended together.
“We, uh. It was just easier, Commander,” Jacob told her. “Do you need anything?”
She chuckled drily. “A new liver, probably.” Her gaze remained on the urinating alien until her finally stomped out of the bathroom. “Think Cerberus can hook me up with one?” The idea left a sour taste in her mouth that had nothing to with the drinks.
“Good ol’ Shepard. Even drunk, you’re the same.” Garrus chuckled before turning to the former Alliance soldier. “Go let Joker and the doctor know Shepard’s on her way back.”
Jacob paused, looking between them before squaring his jaw and nodded his head as he listened to what he was told, one final glance at Shepard before taking his leave.
Shepard breathed deeply, her body leaning against her friend’s as he helped her up to her feet. “Don’t start, Garrus.” Better to preempt his strike.
“Shepard…” His armored arm wrapped around her waist, and despite the need to walk out of the bathroom with her head held high, she had just enough sense remaining to know that wasn’t going to happen. “This isn’t like you.”
She licked her lips again (why were they so dry? Oh right, the alcohol…), closing her eyes to the lights as they left the bathroom and headed out of the club. “I know,” she said finally. Her voice was soft, unsure. For a moment, Alice Shepard, the first human Spectre, the one who stopped Saren and destroyed Sovereign, was unsure. “I just can’t think anymore.”
Garrus fell silent, and she opened her eyes, emitting a noise that was a crossbreed of a laugh and a sigh, causing him to look at her. “What?”
“You shouldn’t have to do this, Garrus. Carry my drunk ass all around the Citadel Station and bring me back to the Normandy. Let me rot back at the bar until I can come to my senses,” she told him, all of her anger-the anger she held for herself and for this situation she landed herself in, and most importantly the anger for this incredibly weak moment-seeping out of her.
“I can’t do that. You’re falling, Shepard. Ungracefully, at that,” Garrus said, and she lifted her eyes to look up at him as her legs stumbled along to match his pace.
“I don’t do grace too well, Garrus. You should know that,” Shepard scoffed, words feeling thick on her tongue.
A snort brought a smile to her face. “Joke all you want, but I’m being serious.”
“You’re always serious. That’s why I like you.” She slapped her hand against his chest plate, wincing at the sharp pain that zapped up to her elbow. “You’re a rock, Garrus.”
“Then I’m going to be the rock that’s there to knock sense into you when you finally come crashing down.”
It made her smile, knowing that someone was there with her and willing to make sure she got back up to her feet.
Good man. “To the new Normandy and her new crew,” Shepard mumbled to herself before snatching the drink up.
It tasted like nothing at first, and then it was like everything, the drink stabbing at her taste buds and her throat as it settled, hot and heavy, in her stomach. A fire shot through her body. She wanted to laugh, to prove herself the victor over her own stupidity, but the world was gone as suddenly as it had come to life. It dropped out from under her and was thrown into darkness. She didn’t even feel the floor as she crashed to it.
WORD COUNT: 1232
It was surprising how much could change in two years, especially if one was a dead woman for that time.
Shepard thought about that she slammed another drink back; she couldn’t remember if this was her fifth or sixth at this point. It would have been better if she couldn’t remember anything. Being on the Citadel again, it was almost too much. Reminded her of too many things. Much too aware that Alenko wasn’t with her. For that matter, she was all too aware that all of her team was gone.
All except for Garrus. And Joke, of course. Couldn’t forget Joker.
She nodded to the Turian behind the counter, who filled her glass with a sigh.
“Hey, if I’m paying and keeping quiet, you should just do your job,” shepard barked, glaring at the alien before pounding the new drink back in one fell swoop.
Her life was ridiculous mess. Didn’t she have the right to indulge just a little? The tip of her finger circled the rim of her glass, instantly feeling guilty for feeling sorry for herself. She was alive now, back in working order, and able to do what she did best: kick invading ass and constantly have her ideas rejected by the Council. Oh, yeah. This was the life.
Shepard signaled for another drink.
“Why don’t we spice it up a little?”
Shepard looked at the Turian in a haze, head cocking to the side. “What do you have in mind?”
He pulled out a container, the multicolored lights of the bar reflecting off it as he shook the contents up. “This drink will definitely knock you on your ass.”
She snorted, laughing humorously as her hand came down hard on the counter. “Ha! I’d like to see it try. Do you know who I am? No drink can keep me down.”
A dark thought wriggled its way into her inebriated mind. Death can’t even keep me down.
Her skin was already hot beneath her armor, sweat dotting along her arms and the back of her neck. The room was spinning, the lights and the music and the people crowding in on her. She was drunk. She should have gone back to the Normandy, slipped into her bed, and slept the alcohol and depression off.
But Shepard had been challenged, and her sense of honor wasn’t going to let her back down.
“Shepard, maybe you’ve had too much,” came a familiar voice, and she spun in her stool, body wobbling as she looked into the faces of two of her team members.
“Garrus! Jacob! C’mon, sit down,” Shepard grinned and offered. “Drinks are on me.”
Garrus snorted. “Not sure there’s any alcohol left.”
“We should just take the Commander back,” Jacob muttered to the scarred Turian.
Shepard shook her head, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the bartender behind her (missing the alien by several feet). “One last drink, then.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned around again, faced with a glass filled with smoking, green liquid.
“Bottoms up,” the bartender told her with little humor.
Good man. “To the new Normandy and her new crew,” Shepard mumbled to herself before snatching the drink up.
It tasted like nothing at first, and then it was like everything, the drink stabbing at her taste buds and her throat as it settled, hot and heavy, in her stomach. A fire shot through her body. She wanted to laugh, to prove herself the victor over her own stupidity, but the world was gone as suddenly as it had come to life. It dropped out from under her and was thrown into darkness. She didn’t even feel the floor as she crashed to it.
“Shepard.”
“Commander?”
A groan filled her ears before she realized it was her own. Something wet hit her face, and she licked her lips, rolled over onto her hands and knees, and hefted herself up with a moan. “What a drink…”
Her vision cleared enough to make out the tiles beneath her palms. A bathroom?
“You okay, Shepard?” She heard Garrus ask faintly, the tone of concern in his voice apparent, even in her state.
Over him, she heard water running, turning her head incredibly slowly towards the source in time to see the pissing Turian look back at her.
“You boys afraid of the ladies’ restroom?” Shepard teased, sitting back on her haunches as the faces of Jacob and Garrus blurred and blended together.
“We, uh. It was just easier, Commander,” Jacob told her. “Do you need anything?”
She chuckled drily. “A new liver, probably.” Her gaze remained on the urinating alien until her finally stomped out of the bathroom. “Think Cerberus can hook me up with one?” The idea left a sour taste in her mouth that had nothing to with the drinks.
“Good ol’ Shepard. Even drunk, you’re the same.” Garrus chuckled before turning to the former Alliance soldier. “Go let Joker and the doctor know Shepard’s on her way back.”
Jacob paused, looking between them before squaring his jaw and nodded his head as he listened to what he was told, one final glance at Shepard before taking his leave.
Shepard breathed deeply, her body leaning against her friend’s as he helped her up to her feet. “Don’t start, Garrus.” Better to preempt his strike.
“Shepard…” His armored arm wrapped around her waist, and despite the need to walk out of the bathroom with her head held high, she had just enough sense remaining to know that wasn’t going to happen. “This isn’t like you.”
She licked her lips again (why were they so dry? Oh right, the alcohol…), closing her eyes to the lights as they left the bathroom and headed out of the club. “I know,” she said finally. Her voice was soft, unsure. For a moment, Alice Shepard, the first human Spectre, the one who stopped Saren and destroyed Sovereign, was unsure. “I just can’t think anymore.”
Garrus fell silent, and she opened her eyes, emitting a noise that was a crossbreed of a laugh and a sigh, causing him to look at her. “What?”
“You shouldn’t have to do this, Garrus. Carry my drunk ass all around the Citadel Station and bring me back to the Normandy. Let me rot back at the bar until I can come to my senses,” she told him, all of her anger-the anger she held for herself and for this situation she landed herself in, and most importantly the anger for this incredibly weak moment-seeping out of her.
“I can’t do that. You’re falling, Shepard. Ungracefully, at that,” Garrus said, and she lifted her eyes to look up at him as her legs stumbled along to match his pace.
“I don’t do grace too well, Garrus. You should know that,” Shepard scoffed, words feeling thick on her tongue.
A snort brought a smile to her face. “Joke all you want, but I’m being serious.”
“You’re always serious. That’s why I like you.” She slapped her hand against his chest plate, wincing at the sharp pain that zapped up to her elbow. “You’re a rock, Garrus.”
“Then I’m going to be the rock that’s there to knock sense into you when you finally come crashing down.”
It made her smile, knowing that someone was there with her and willing to make sure she got back up to her feet.