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Zaeed and Thane rushed into the server room behind Dr. Archer, but stalled in horror when they saw the contraption David was locked into.
They hadn’t seen what he showed Shepard through the uplink.
They didn’t know the doctor constantly ignored David’s clear signals of distress as he urged his brother further and further past his limits, for the sake of research.
They hadn’t seen the doctor shouting demands at David, too greedy for data to care how much it hurt.
Shepard saw it all, though.
David may not have had the words to describe what his brother put him through, but he was desperate to share the burden, to show someone what he endured. He needed someone to stand up for him, to see him, to know his so-called care-taker forced him into all of it.
Dr. Archer ignored each and every signal of distress from David, time and again, to get what he wanted.
Did he not understand how far past David’s limits he’d pushed?
Did he simply not care?
Given that the doctor was responsible for David’s well being as well as the experiment, Shepard couldn’t decide which was worse.
The only reason he managed to reign in his indignant fury and pistol whip Dr. Archer - rather than simply shoot him where he stood - was David, watching them, from the appalling interface.
Dr. Chakwas, Kelly, and a few others came down to help unplug him safely, for transport to Grissom.
Zaeed and Thane quietly hung back with Shepard as he furiously paced the perimeter of the central chamber. He could still hear David placidly reciting square roots as they sedated and soothed him, the numbers finally drifting off as he fell asleep.
Shepard kept pace with the calculations under his breath.
He released a low, guttural growl once David was safely out of the room as he turned toward Dr. Archer.
The sound alone had Zaeed and Thane closing in to flank him in alarm.
“David’s away? Safe?” Shepard asked, voice quiet and deeply strained.
“Yes, Commander,” Thane confirmed.
“Good, because I’m about to vivisect this cretin,” Shepard growled, prowling determinedly toward the terrified doctor.
Zaeed, almost surprised by his own reflexes, reached out and restrained the Commander, holding him firmly in place with his arms locked behind him. “Get a grip, Shepard,” he growled against his ear.
Phoenix didn’t struggle against the hold. He muttered, “only on his fucking throat,” while he glared daggers.
Dr. Archer slowly backed away, eyes wide with terror, locked on Shepard.
“I’ll peel him like a banana. When he passes out from the pain, I’ll wake. Him. Up. Before I continue,” he grumbled, shifting in a half-hearted attempt to get free.
Thane stepped in front of Shepard, blocking his view of the proposed target. “He may deserve it, Commander. We don’t contest that.” His voice was quiet and sure. “But you don’t. David is safe now. The doctor is repentant. I will remind him of the risks he faces if he fails to dramatically reform his ethics.” With that, Thane disappeared into the bustling room.
Zaeed loosened his grip on Shepard, fingers looped around his wrists, as if they were simply holding hands. They both scanned the room for a hint of the darting drell, who remained unseen until just behind the doctor.
Archer jumped, clearly startled by the quiet croak of Thane’s voice right behind him. He backed away from Thane, eyes still wide with fear. He flinched and darted from the room, realizing he’d been locked between the calm assassin and the furious commander.
Shepard sighed in defeat, finally, as Thane casually returned to his side. “How could he do that? To his own brother? To anyone?”
With a soft shudder Shepard recomposed himself and retreated, almost reluctantly, from Zaeed. “Fuck this place. I need a drink,” he grumbled, heading back to the Normandy.
“Bring a bottle down, if you want company,” Zaeed offered quietly.
“Or you could come up,” Shepard countered, not wanting to deal with all the hard edges of the cargo hold, despite the appeal of getting fucked beyond coherency.
Thane had dropped to walk well behind them at this point. There were rumors of relations between the Commander and the mercenary, but he had no need for details.
“’Cause that’s casual,” Zaeed grumbled.
“It is if we agree it is,” Shepard hissed. “Regardless of whether it’s against a wall, crate, floor, bed, cot, fish tank, desk…” his list trailed off as Zaeed bumped shoulders with him.
“I could head up after a shower,” Zaeed offered, cautiously, in the airlock.
“Good,” Shepard agreed, heading to his room by way of the liquor cabinet in Kasumi’s.
He cracked the bottle open as he stepped off the elevator, taking a couple deep swallows before the burning liquid really hit and he coughed.
He had another swig before dropping his clothes on the way to the shower, bringing the bottle with him.
It dangled loosely from his fingers, forgotten, as he stood beneath the steaming stream of water, pelting his flesh as he stared with empty eyes at the drips condensing and trailing down the wall.
He hadn’t moved a muscle when Zaeed’s voice carried through the door, nor when he appeared in the bathroom, now clad in a sleeveless black shirt and loose canvas pants.
“What the shit, Shepard?” Zaeed’s gruff voice finally jolted Phoenix from his thoughts as he flinched back from the burning water. He carefully pulled the bottle from Shepard’s grasp.
Eyes still hazy, Shepard turned to face Zaeed and moved to offer him the much emptier bottle, before realizing it wasn’t there.
Zaeed took a swig and carefully reached to turn the faucet cooler before he left the bathroom. “Hurry up and wash, pretty boy,” he demanded on his way out, smacking Shepard’s ass for motivation.