Chapter Text
A few days passed without seeing Shepard, and Hogarty buried herself in work at the clinic. Many of her patients tried to make her smile—some even asked her out—but she always tried to turn them down politely, or as politely as one could when they got too persistent. It felt like years had gone by since they left the Azure. So much had happened since then...
One day, she received a strange message from Fred. She caught a glimpse of it, sighed, and kept working for a little while longer before deciding to get moving. After seeing one last patient, she locked her office and walked out at a brisk pace. She ran into Drummer along the way, but gave her only a brief glance before continuing on. The belter fell into step beside her, and after a few exchanged words, muttered that she hoped Shepard was okay. Her stomach twisted at the comment, but she stayed silent, as always. Her thoughts started to blur, and her vision went out of focus...
...Drummer elbowed her, and suddenly she found herself in a different place than she remembered a minute before. She’d zoned out too hard. She took the glass of whisky that Drummer handed her—which had been offered by Fred—and wondered why. Then the cascade of information came crashing down: she might’ve been out of it, but not that much. The unknown artifact, Shepard’s mission, the Alliance acting like they had sole ownership of the system… something inside her tried to react, but she was completely frozen. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. Now she was to become part of station security—she’d have to leave the clinic. Everyone else made decisions for her. No one asked if she wanted to or not, but this wasn’t a situation that allowed for those kinds of luxuries.
Drummer moved quickly and downed her whisky in one go. Why not? Maybe it’d wake something up in her. Hogarty mimicked her while watching discreetly. She was surprised to realize just how much she’d come to understand Drummer. She always seemed cold on the outside, but she could see the lava bubbling just beneath the surface in moments like this. She was about to explode—and when they walked out of the office, Hogarty followed right beside her, like it had been a joint decision.
The sergeant studied her for a few moments, and managed to read her emotions. A few days ago, she’d treated some dockworkers who’d mentioned illegal boxing matches on Level 13. Not sanctioned, plenty of betting, probably lots of testosterone. Maybe it was what they both needed. Drummer seemed surprised, but didn’t object much.
A right hook grazed her ear, and she spun to land a kick with the sole of her foot straight to someone’s jaw. One down. Drummer was fighting a tattooed giant, all rage and chaos. Hogarty, on the other hand, moved with more precision—her martial arts training showed in her cleaner, more fluid technique. Every spinning kick earned her cheers. Drummer took a couple hits to the face and ribs, then launched herself at her opponent like a panther. That was round two. By round four, they were spent and out of the match. They hadn’t placed any bets; they were bruised but alive.
Hogarty started to feel things: rage, relief, the absurdity of it all. She was full of energy, and the two of them ended up at their usual bar, ordering ice packs and cold beers. They spent a while talking about the matches and the other fighters. She sighed a lot—but she also smiled. It was a strange sensation. Was this how Shepard felt after fighting with Drummer in the halls? She must’ve been truly desperate to need something like that to feel better. Hogarty had to reach that same level of desperation to finally understand.
The only difference was that she hadn’t fought against Drummer, but with her. And that meant something. At first, she thought Drummer only stuck around because Shepard had asked her to. But then she started to believe it was out of respect. And she started to feel the same.
Shepard appeared at the bar, looking confused—almost angry. The commander raised her arms in exasperation, barely able to string together a coherent sentence. Hogarty felt a jolt shoot through her body and then burst into laughter—then again, and again. She couldn’t stop. Drummer joined her. It was the cherry on top. After releasing all her tension in the fight, now she had to release everything else like this. It helped her understand so much more: the weight Shepard carried in her mind, what it had meant for her to lose purpose after the Azure, the wounds that never healed.
Hogarty pulled herself together, clutching her sides. First, she looked at Shepard, then at Drummer—who was wiping tears from her eyes with a fingertip. She’d never seen her like that. Hogarty stood from her stool and gave her a quick but strong hug. Drummer stiffened, caught off guard by the contact, but then returned the squeeze.
“You’re a very loyal person and a good friend,” the sergeant told the belter. She offered her a slightly sad smile, then turned to Shepard and gave her a more smug one, patting her shoulder before heading back to the apartment. It had been a long, intense day—and she needed to end it with a little peace.
When she got home, she undressed, checked her bruises, and gave herself an anti-inflammatory injection. Shower could wait. She flopped onto the bed in her underwear and closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she’d fallen asleep so quickly. In the background, she heard a noise and hoped it was Shepard.