Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Prologue

“Man is not saved until the moment he himself becomes a savior”

Abbe Pierre

Soldiers and medics were waiting.

I was waiting.

Ready to snap at the first order.

The vastness of space was shielding us from the echoes of a defeat that had already occurred before it begun; unlike the intercom, which occasionally announced the loss of fighters and interceptors. A hammer that doesn’t stop.

No human losses, fortunately.

No human losses for the Einstein.

But that rock, resembling so much Earth, couldn’t say the same. Mindoir rotated – just as everything else in the galaxy continued its course, indifferent to the massacre that had been going on for over eight hours on its surface, unabashed by the slaughter of our people.

Langdon finally appeared, tension tangible even in the typical rigidity of his rank as Major. “Zabaleta, you’re assigned to Chakwas for the rescue and recovery of the main outpost. Your UT in dock seven. At the double.”

Defering adherence to the protocol in front of a superior, we rushed to the elevator, as if gaining a few seconds would have saved more lives down there. In reality, we just wanted to alleviate our guilt.

Tennison immediately took command of the shuttle while the rest of us packed into the cargo hold; shortly after, the Kodiak’s thrusters roared to life, and we left the hangar.

Trapped in that cockroach with its opaque glasses, I couldn’t escape the nausea. The only relief was knowing that no one could see my face — the only one hidden by the helmet; I had the freedom to wriggle in my anguish without shame.

We all knew what we were facing, sure that no one on board had missed the DNRs of the few squadrons that had managed to land on the surface. What an ill omen it was.

And to make matters worse, the fact that the higher-ups had assembled my team with four soldiers and only one medic spoke volumes about how little was left to salvage on the planet.

Only Chakwas was hiding the discomfort a little better behind her usual demeanor.

I struggled to hold back a wave of nausea at the thought of wading through my own mess. I paced back and forth, unable to control my nerves.

“Stop it. You’re not helping anyone, least of all yourself, by doing this,” the doctor said before handing me a pill. “It’ll help you.”

The respirator receded, and I swallowed it down. I looked at her, and Karin returned the gaze before approaching. “What we can do now is save what’s left of the colony. Don’t dwell on what we couldn’t do.” She concluded, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. I reached for hers, craving an affection that now belonged to the past, but she had already moved away.

For a moment, I felt better.

Thanks.

I wondered if I had actually thanked her, or if the word had died in my throat.

The doubt vanished at Tennison’s voice announcing the imminent landing. We filed out one by one, welcoming our feet to the damp earth.

The Kodiak lifted off, lighter without its cargo, but I felt only heavier.

Bathed in the light of an alien dawn, the air filter kicked in. For a moment, I asked whether I had forgotten to leave the armor in for repairs the last time, because despite the system working, a strange burnt smell reached my nostrils.

We marched for a few hundred meters before finding the source of the stench. Four Avengers and a Raikou pointed to some sort of clearing, in the center of which was what must have been a large flowerbed; now, charred logs burned what remained of the vegetation. The prefab buildings around lay in ruins, completely stripped of their normalcy. Only gray and black flooded our eyes.

Everything was lifeless. The Alliance was too late.

The grip on my stomach that had held me hostage since the beginning of the service, became only more rending when I found the first corpses. Some were alone, others clustered in groups. The blood, the dismembered bodies, tortured or burned, made me realise why the smell I had sensed earlier bordered on the profane.

“Look for survivors.” I had the strength to order.

Each of us took a corner of the clearing, waving the omnitool in the hope of finding a heartbeat. Even just one, and there would be atonement for our delay.

My thoughts were interrupted again, this time by the usual static noise preceding the use of the channel; it was Chakwas.

“It’s the eighth victim I’ve found with neural control implants in the skull,” she sighed before continuing, “they’re neural control chips, identical to the ones found on Anhur. They died from excessive stress on the neural net.”

Anhur? A name I’d heard before, but knew little about. I looked over her shoulder but was momentarily blinded by the reflection emitted by a chunk of metal. I squinted: it almost looked like a spider—or more like a parasite, repugnant, which with its eight claws secured itself on the back of the unfortunate person’s nape. A piece of scalp dangled from the chip, the now old and encrusted blood had turned what once was a coppery mane into a dark tangle.

“Fucking four-eyes. They kill us and then screw us like this.” Rios was the first to speak, after a pause that, although short, seemed eternal.

“Blame the Citadel for this. We’ve been having problems in the Traverse and at the Skyllian verge for years. Have you ever seen them intervene to help us with the Batarians?” Chen retorted, the hatred with which he pronounced the last word was palpable to all.

“You know why? Because they’re all a bunch of assholes who only care about their gain. And we’re even bigger assholes for accepting it!” Rios shot back.

“Both of you, cut it out!” I shouted—escaping nausea once again, immediately embarrassed because I was disturbing the final resting place of fellow humans. I had to continue. “Are we here to do our job or to argue about politics?! I don’t want to hear you a—”

From the west, four shots cut off my voice; gunshots?

Instinctively, I gripped the rifle tighter.

“If it’s a bat, I’ll kill him with my bare hands, I swear to God!” Rios shouted furiously.

“Alex, get a grip!” I grabbed him by the shoulder, my mind already racing along paths of blind hope though. As nefarious as they were, those shots were a sign of life, hopefully human.

So I made the call. “Rios and Chakwas, with me. We’ll cover the west area. Moreno and Chen, you take the east.”

Step by step, I walked the streets following the sound. The more I progressed, the more the tar faded in favor of a gravelly and uneven terrain, often interrupted by tree trunks, streetlights, or vehicles. My pace, however, remained steady, fueled by that flicker of hope. There might be survivors.

Three hundred meters were traversed when the sight settled on the best ex-Terra version of a small cottage, its metal and geometric walls reminding that this was not the Homeworld.

Nostalgia had slowed my reaction time, but nonetheless, I raised the rifle when a voice shouted at us.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”

My right eye focused on the sight.

A line of hanging clothes kept me from giving a face to the voice. At its feet, lay two bodies, both batarian, both struck down by two shots to the head. Rios spat on one of them.

“I told you not to move!” The voice reminded us again.

Passing beyond the clothes line, two Avengers and one Raikou lowered at the sight of a tall girl in green dungarees.

“We’re with the Alliance! We don’t want to hurt you!” I said, trying to inspire as much trust as possible in my words, my eyes fixed on the object of my redemption. I laid the weapon on the ground, and my companions did the same, but the stranger’s pistol continued to point at us, bouncing between the three of us with an unusual certainty and expertise for someone like that.

“Show me your heads!” She shouted firmly, just like her gun, now set on my head; Rios moved a few steps toward her, freezing in place when she fired a shot a few centimeters away from the corporal’s feet.

“YOUR HEADS, NOW.” She ordered, shouting at the tops of her lungs.

I remained still, captivated by the unpredictability of the one in front of me. I stared at her, intimidated and moved by that pale face partially covered in blood; her eyes looked back at me, uncaring to the voiceless tears that continued to flow.

Passing me, Chakwas made her appereance, and with her hands on full display, she turned her back to the girl. “It’s okay! It’s okay!” She announced loudly. “None of us have the chip.” She continued, moving her hair in different directions to show her nape. Soon, Rios mimicked her, and once the helmet was off I tagged along. “I’m a doctor and I can help you. But only if you allow me to, dear.”

Long seconds of silence followed, before footsteps on the damp ground grew closer. The girl handed us the weapons back. “I have people in the basement… and… my brother is seriously injured.” She informed us finally. She took her place next to Doc and led her a few meters ahead.

Beside the entrance steps, I spotted a motionless, bloodless boy. He was barely breathing, sitting in a puddle that I assumed was his own blood. What kind of caliber hit him?!

Chakwas knelt in front of what would have been the first patient of this hellish day.

“How many people are there? Could you tell me their conditions?” She asked the girl, without shifting her attention from the young man.

“Nine… the medigel fixed the big issues… I can take you to them but someone has to stay here with him.”

“I’ll stay here, but come back as soon as you’re done, okay?” Karin squeezed the girl’s hand before turning to me, “Ern, you take care of the evacuees.” She took my hand, and in that subdued grip, I realized.

I took his hand, Ernesto needed to see life, and where I was, life seemed to be slipping away.

How selfish to think about what we feel, what we need, when the true misery is what those in front of us have experienced…

I thought, looking at the girl’s trembling dirty hands, tainted with colors that should never been seen on a youngster.

Ern nodded, and before I could say aloud the words I held in my heart, he turned his attention to the stranger. “We can find the way ourselves, stay with the doctor. I'm sure your brother will be happy to see you when he wakes up.”

“Th-thank you.” The girl stammered, before rushing over the wounded boy.

With my companions inside the house, and under the watchful eyes of the sister, I cut the pants of the young man and, aware that it was beyond saving, I tied a knot at the base of his thigh.

“Are your parents home?” I asked as I applied the medigel wherever the wound wasn’t covered in fabric.

She didn’t answer.

“Can you tell me if you have the same blood type?” I asked her then.

“We’re twins, yes! Zero negative!” She replied quickly, and figuring my intentions, she quickly rolled up a sleeve of her sweater.

I didn’t have time to confirm the truth of her words or to follow the standard procedure, her blood was what I needed now. A wrong transfusion was a tolerable risk, death from hemorrhage was not.

I pricked both siblings’ arm and fixed the flow regulator. What I had left, was to wait and pray.

One minute became two, and two soon became fifteen. The noise of the trees around marked the passage of time, as the only sound to play in those moments where I hoped I had done the right thing, and the hand of a sister held that of a brother.

For a moment, I watched her, drawn by the contrast between her hair and a white petal carried by the wind, resting on her long mane. She was sitting next to him, legs drawn up to her chest, arm wrapped around her knees; she looked up when she sensed my attention.

“They’re dead… Mom and dad didn’t make it.” She confessed, hiding her face when tears returned to roll down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry.” I only said when I removed the needle from her arm. What could I do but remain in a silence of commiseration?

I wrinkled my nose, and not because I was bothered by the smell of burnt flesh.

She passed the back of a hand over her face, wiping away tears and blood. The long cut across her visage reopened slightly. Regardless, she asked me, "What about him? Will he make it?"

One.

…

Two.

…

Three.

…

The omnitool took three minutes to fully reprocess the vitals of my patient. It seemed like three hours.

"He's out of danger," I replied relieved, releasing a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Her red eyes settled on her brother, staying immovable for some time before a faint smile appeared on her quivering lips. She rested her cheek against her twin's.

She uttered words only him could have heard.

"But I'll have to amputate his leg," I added, ashamed to disrupt the only moment of peace for that young girl. The prognosis seemed not to affect her in any way; her gaze remained entranced by her brother, almost lost in what I suspected was the deep realization of not having lost him. "The good news is that it can be reconstructed; in a few months, he would have his leg just as he always had."

"Today I lost everything..." She confided with a maturity and awareness that stained my soul with slight unease. "But you prevented me from losing my brother."

"I just did my duty," I replied, deeply touched by the intensity of those words addressed exclusively to me, reassured by the awareness that I had truly helped someone. Thanks to those two, my report wouldn't have ended up in the files of forensic medicine of the ship. "And if I managed to accomplish it, it's because you protected him until my arrival. And not just him... You saved many people today." I smiled at her, dabbing a gauze on her face, attempting to remove marks that she would have beared for the rest of her life.

"I owe you everything," she insisted, blocking my hand from proceeding further. "Even if it takes a lifetime, I'll repay you. Tell me your name."

"It's not neces-"

"Please."

"Karin Chakwas," I finally said, a slight smile creasing my lips. The sticky tepidity of her hand still warming mine. "Can I know yours?" I managed to ask, the violence with which that stranger was getting under my skin, made my flesh crawl.

"Jane Shepard."

"I can't. Not after everything I've done to get this far." She sighed, her gaze turning past the glass, to look at the one lying on the bed.

"Leave that up to me." Was the only thing Anderson said to her.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about not accepting his offer? We could work together again,” Jane said and then choked down a mouthful of her burrito. Not spicy at all.

“You know how much I’d love to, but I have business to take care of with the Admiralty,” her brother replied, his attention focused on the final lines of code displayed on his computer. “There you go, the decoy is set and done.”

“Its current stats?” She inquired as she put the omnitool band back on her wrist.

“Recharge speed, sixty point four sec; duration, nineteen point five sec,” he recited before stealing a bite of her food. She saw him slightly frown, he was disappointed just like she was. “It’s not spicy at all,” John remarked.

Jane smiled to herself, some things would never change.

She had been awake for two hours already, and just got back from the empty, hence, very enjoyable, mess hall.

She approached the window and laid her gaze on the scenario in front of her. Vancouver was always a welcoming sight. To mark the occasion, the higher ups had even supplied her with a room of her own. The luxury of being a Commander, or maybe being Captain Anderson’s protégé.

Not that she cared anyway.

Such a pity that pampering wasn’t meant to last a little longer.

Once in the bathroom, Shepard ran the steps she religiously followed every morning: shower, brush teeth and the usual makeup.

Just ten minutes. Bless the rigidity of military discipline.

Failing to find the comb, she raked her fingers through her hair – freshly trimmed the day before to its usual length, two centimeters below her chin.

Finally satisfied, she took her dress uniform hanging on the door. She dressed, taking her sweet time, lingering over each button and zipper, savoring the beloved smell of starch typical of the Alliance’s laundries.

She let out a smile when her eyes met her owns on the mirror, the reflection silently revealing pride and fulfillment.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She lifted the upper arm and the omnitool display instantly materialized above the sleeve.

It was no secret that Anderson wanted her by his side.

They’d been acquainted for more than a decade. They had been working together for years, and quite well she dared to think. The dossiers always described their teamwork as clean, efficient and commendable. Indeed, Shepard hadn’t been that surprised when the Captain formally requested the relocation of his XO from the SSV Tokyo to the SSV Normandy.

Excitement filled her chest when she savored the word ‘Normandy’ on her tongue.

Working on the former had been an extensive experience, seeing at work a Geneva class heavy cruiser and being the Executive Officer of its crew had been a dream come true. But the latter… It was the upmost embodiment of what two alien species, Humans and Turians, had been able to accomplish when put together. According to David, the SSV Normandy would be the most advanced military stealth starship in the galaxy.

A thrill ran down Shepard’s back at the thought of what that ship could do in a fight.

[Twenty hours earlier]

Service no. [5923-AC-2826]

Surname: Shepard

Given name: Jane

Sex: F

DOB: 04/11/2154

POB: [███████], Mindoir

Alliance Military NAVY RANK: Lieutenant Commander. Enlistment 04/11/2172

Alliance NAVY division: N7 Est. 05/01/2174, class specialization | commando soldier |

HGT: 182.7 cm

WGT: 72.3 kg

Eyes: D. BLU

Hair: BRO

Distin. Feat.: 2.7 mm wide – 10.9 cm long knife scar (> 10 years old) /running from right eyebrow to left cheek /both eye-periorbital areas unaffected by the scarring

[ refer to biometric scans for further information ]

The last line was blinking at the footer, but he scrolled up to go through her dossier and her report about the Eden Prime’s events once again. Precise and detailed, she had left nothing to chance: the number of geth units neutralized, the unknown technology found and its uncanny way of repurposing organic matter, and even the particulars about the Spectre’s corpse. Her comrades’ accounts had been a redundant formality by comparison.

With some strokes on the holographic field of the keyboard, Commander Shepard’s ID photo popped up on Garrus' display. A face he had seen many times, either on the Alliance’s recruitment campaign posters or in the photos her brother had in his house.

Garrus wondered if John knew what had happened.

He locked eyes with Jane Shepard’s on the picture, failing to detect the blue hue her profile indicated. The Commander–Jane and John somewhat resembled each other, in their own strange dizygotic way. Garrus could sense the same demeanour; from what little a single picture could tell him.

He straightened up in his chair instinctively as he felt the weight of her serious expression cutting through the pixels.

“Going all stiff, huh? See your dad on the screen or what?” Chellick, ever the sharp observer, asked, suppressing a laugh.

 “You’re not funny, Decian.”

His office mate got up from his desk and joined him.

He surveyed Garrus’ screen before letting out a low, subharmonic rumble.

“I didn’t know you were into humans, Garrus. I honestly didn’t think you were the type.”

“Save your bullshit for another time. She’s work, one of the key witnesses, no less,” Garrus snapped back, in a vain attempt to shift the focus of the conversation. He wasn’t particularly in the mood today, not with his workstation buried under all the files and documents he had gathered over seven long months about Saren Arterius.

He retrieved from the stack on his right Powell’s testimony and proofread it, hoping to find anything he might have missed, or that Decian would return to his post.

“She’s pretty; who is she? I swear I know her from somewhere…” Missing the hint, Chellick asked, dropping the mockery. He tilted his head toward the screen again, contemplating.

“Commander Shepard.”

“You aim high, huh, big boy!” Chellick almost shouted, giving Garrus an excited pat on the back.

“I’ll make you pay for it next time you ask to swap shifts.”

[Twenty hours later]

“Guess who just arrived on the Citadel! Any bets?” Lamont nearly shouted while entering one of the many C-Sec breakrooms. He threw on the main table a magazine pad. A smug grin creeping across his face, he was eager for the possible answers.

Ridgefield took a brief look at the pad, then quickly returned to his sandwich. “Anderson is great and all, but the Citadel is a regular stop of his. We met him barely three weeks ago… Anything we need to know, Lamont?”

“Always a jackass, aren’t you? Go to page twentytwo.” Lamont quickly responded.

Ridgefield tapped the screen with the clean hand. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Jackson from customs spotted her on Dock Bay four twentytwo! She’s heading toward the embassies!”

“Who are you talking about?” Garrus joined the room and caught the pad passed by Lamont.

“Page twentytwo.”

The best guerrilla tactics with Commander Jane Shepard

‘Elysium hero’s darkest secrets’

“That’s cheap journalism at its best!” Garrus snorted. He was pretty sure she didn’t know about the existence of that exclusive interview.

“That’s what I like.” Lamont fought back.

“That explains a lot, indeed.” Garrus retorted. His fangs swinged to Ridgefield’s rich laugh.

“You’re assholes. Not autographs for you two, then.”

No reply came from the turian this round, as the word ‘Shepard’ had his mind already racing back to his work.

The Alliance had spared no effort regarding the amount of data supplied to the C-Sec Investigation branch over the last twenty hours.

The mere possibility of Eden Prime being attacked by a Spectre and a geth force – not to mention the death of Nihlus Kryik – had been enough to mobilize all the major political forces of the galaxy.

The assault had given Garrus’ case – the biggest since he became a detective – a significant jolt. While he had been saddened by the losses that remote colony had suffered, it was the perfect opportunity to finally pin Arterius down, once and for all. Saren wouldn’t be able to use his Spectre status to escape his charges anymore.

Despite a small voice of his brain telling him it was premature to cry victory, Garrus snapped out of his deep state of reflection, spurred on by all the pieces falling into place.

He rushed to the elevator, ignoring why he had come here in the first place.

“If I run into her, I’ll ask for an autograph!” He shouted to Lamont.

“Me one, too!” Ridgefield’s voice came when the door slid shut.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your investigation is over, Garrus.” With a dismissive wave, Pallin left, no longer dignifying him.

His contact had vanished, and Dr. Michel hadn’t replied. Was it really that hard to buy a little more time? He was so close to bust Saren. So close that he had stupidly, already, tasted the satisfaction of throwing the Spectre into a cell.

Nice job, Detective Vakarian.

His mandibles were clenched so tightly they ached.

This couldn’t be it.

There has to be another way.

There had to be a rule somewhere in the C-Sec codex he could use to his advantage.

No way. I know it by heart.

There had to be something he had overlooked.

Anything, by the Spirits.

Then, as if in answer to his silent plea, he spotted the red and white stripes of an Alliance Special Forces uniform – her uniform.

“Commander Shepard?” Garrus finally spoke up.

The group of three humans, halted halfway up the Audience Chamber’s stairs, to turn his way.

“I think the Council is ready for us, Commander,” The man of the trio, Alenko, informed his chief.

“Just a few words about the Arterius case. That’s all I’m asking for, Commander,” Garrus insisted.

“Go ahead. I’ll catch up,” The N7 officer instructed her party, then descended the stairs towards him.

As her clanking steps grew closer Garrus queried anew, if such pale skin was considered healthy among her kind. Her hair and deep gray armor only emphasized that peculiarity.

He bowed his head, “I’m Garrus Vakarian, I was the officer in charge of the C-Sec investigation into Saren.”

She returned the gesture with a slight yet respectful nod. “Jane Shepard. Come across anything I should know about?”

“Most of Saren’s activities are classified, I couldn’t find anything solid. But I know he’s up to something, like you humans say, I feel it in my gut.”

He tugged at the collar of his undersuit. Was it just him, or had the anteroom suddenly gotten very warm? He checked her reaction; the Commander didn’t seem affected, unless crossed arms and a raised eyebrow were human signs he was not aware of.

No, it was just him; he was a nervous wreck.

She hasn’t left yet. That must mean something, right?

“You’d know better than me that mere hunches can do nothing.” She observed straight, as some of her fingers drummed on her arms.

Don’t screw this up, Vakarian.

“An informant of mine got hard evidence on Saren. But I wasn’t able to meet them before the hearing.”

“Let me guess,” Shepard said and cupped her hand over her chin, pondering. “You want me to buy you more time, don’t you?”

His fangs twitched. Not the response he expected. How much had she actually heard of his head-to-head with Pallin?

“I’m off the case. I can’t officially show up to the Council anymore. But you can! You can still do something about it, Commander.”

You can, Shepard. Your dossier says so, the Alliance says so, your eye says so. Kryik said so.

Garrus ventured his final stand: “Stall them and I’ll make sure Saren pays.”

She averted her eyes, seeking a moment of intimacy with her own thoughts.

He stood there, more nervous than before. Ironically, he preferred her staring at him, no matter how serious and inscrutable she was.

She eventually moved her gaze away from the fountain nearby, and back on him. Her drumming stopped.

“Is the informant reliable? Do you trust them?” She asked him.

Spirits be damned if the way the soldier emphasized that ‘you’ didn’t ignite something within him.

“I can’t say much per professional secrecy but, absolutely.”

The Commander took four standard seconds before speaking again. After a moment, she extended her hand, “It’s a deal, then.”

Her fingers hovered between the two of them, waiting for him to seal an agreement that even his most trusted associates had refused to grant him.

And when they finally met in a firm handshake, there were no second thought, hesitation or concern to sully the Commander’s features.

“Sorry to keep you, ma’am, but the meeting is about to start,” the soldier at the top of the stairs, Ashley Madeline Williams, urged.

Still hot by the unforeseen allegiance, their hands departed.

Garrus exhaled the breath he had been unconsciously holding.

“Go find them. I’m counting on that, Officer,” Shepard told him. He could hear confidence giving an edge to her professional tone.

She joined the Gunnery Chief afterwards, dissolving behind the Tower arcades.

“Good luck, Shepard,” he muttered, heading to the opposite direction.

And thus, the red and white stripes went to accomplish what they had been summoned for, and a blue and black armor went to collect his second chance.

Chapter Text

The floor was rocking to the beat of six armored feet marching in unison–a brisk tempo, though not enough to draw undue attention.

Not that heads hadn’t turned their way anyway at the sight of three figures moving in synch, with the fierceness and the coldness typical of a military unit. Garrus had adapted quite well to the rhythm, although his legs were too long to match the human stride of Shepard and Williams, or the sting still badgering him from the Commander’s reproach for shooting the bastard holding Doctor Michel.

They had just passed Expat’s store when Shepard, without a glance, remarked: “That was a hell of a shot, Vakarian.”

Garrus faltered ever so slightly.

Humans commonly believed that the only way to distinguish one turian from another was by their colonial tattoos. It was a bias he had difficulty understanding but inevitably shared. Just not towards humans; for Garrus, it was salarians who all looked alike.

This is why when he saw a salarian near the gardens, all Garrus could do was connect the dots. A strange gadget in hand? Standing a bit too close to a keeper? It had to be him.

The alien, who turned out to be Chorban himself, jumped when he saw the C-Sec officer, but quickly calmed down when his bulbous, dark eyes rested on Garrus’ visor, positive that that Vakarian would turn a blind eye, as he had done the last four times.

“You better find another keeper today, Chor.”

Chorban nodded reverently, quickly retreating but Garrus didn’t watch him leave; his gaze was already focused beyond the steps of the Audience Chamber, scrutinizing what little of the Commander he could see from down there. To hell with his job and C-Sec; right now, Garrus just wanted to be anyone attending the hearing.

“Spectres are not trained, but chosen. Individuals forged in the fire of service and battle; those whose actions elevate them above the rank and file,” Valern’s voice echoed from the petitioner stage.

Only three guests had been accepted to stand before the Council for the final meeting: Commander Shepard, her Captain, and Ambassador Udina. Her makeshift team had parted ways as a result, Tali'Zorah, the young quarian who had turned out to be his contact, had vanished into some corner of the Citadel to contact her fleet whilst Artillery Chief Ashley Williams had returned to the embassies.

Garrus, however, had stayed, overwhelmed but willingly clinging to the adrenaline still coursing under his plates. Grasping at a desire he couldn’t even name.

Still, before long, a tinge of displeasure crept in and tainted his excitement. He sighed as if that small gesture could be enough to push away the lump in his neck.

With Shepard becoming the first human Spectre, Garrus knew their partnership would draw to a close; and that meant returning to his usual job, perpetually hindered by the endless red tape and bureaucratic obstacles designed more to safeguard the Citadel’s politics than to uphold justice on the station. Back to that damned job that would have been in vain without her.

After tasting such freedom and finding someone who, just like him, wanted to do things that really mattered, the thought of returning to his life as it was twenty hours before was unbearable.

Then again, what could he do about it? Go and beg her to join? It seemed unlikely. After all, they had simply used each other—he to buy time, she to eliminate a threat. There was no benefit to prolonging their relationship. What justification was there to continue working together? Shepard would leave to carry out her mission and just as she had come, she would leave just as quickly.

His stomach twisted painfully, mimicking his throat. He didn't know what hurt more—the realization that it was all over, or the impending goodbye from the Commander once she descended those steps.

His feet moved unconsciously and Garrus did nothing to resist. He didn’t want to face all that, didn’t want to sink deeper into the frustration by shaking her hand for the last time. Not that his absence would make the ending any less final, but avoiding it all seemed like the best option in his mind.

Better to end things while he still had the power.

The image of her, resolute and unwavering, stayed with him as he walked away, a reminder of what they had achieved together and what he now had to leave behind.

He gave one last look at the Commander before leaving the Tower for good.

Udina rubbed his chin and addressed her despite it sounding like he was thinking aloud. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, Shepard. You’re going to need a ship, a crew, supplies…”

Any ship would have sufficed, though she hated bidding farewell to the Normandy more than she wanted to admit, and the supplies... well, supplies were a universal and unequivocal factor. What Shepard was more concerned about was the company that would fill that ship and deplete those supplies.

“The crew is an issue I would like to take care of personally, with your permission, Ambassador.” She bowed her head but did not miss the aghast look on Udina’s face. Apparently, it was out of the question for him that a soldier didn’t have to be rude and braindead cannon fodder.

Anderson patted her arm, his lips curved in a reassuring smile. “His permission? You’re the Spectre here, my child! We’re just here to make it easier on yourself.” She didn’t miss the Ambassador’s miffed reaction either this time; pretty sure the Captain did neither.

“I suppose the Captain’s right; I would still like, on behalf of the Alliance as well, for you to provide with the details of the candidates you wish to hire before making any official decisions,” Udina retorted. “Anderson, come with me. Shepard, you will find us in my office, once you’re done with your matter.”

He eyed her with the same lofty attitude he revealed when they first met.

What do you expect from a politician? Shepard thought as she squared her shoulders and entwined her thumbs behind the back. “Of course. Captain, Ambassador.” She acknowledged both with a nod. They turned and left, Anderson exchanging one last amused smirk with her.

Once by herself, and after quickly compartmentalizing her pride in becoming a Spectre to focus on more pressing matters, Shepard climbed down the flight of stairs gazing across the chambers, more involved in finding the turian officer than in admiring the astonishing beauty of the Citadel Tower.

Regardless, she froze halfway down the steps when she recognized the armored man standing below her. Her mouth opened in surprise but no words came out.

With long strides, the N7 soldier advanced toward Shepard, beaming with a broad smile–a rare sight. “Commander Shepard, my biggest congratulations!” Her brother exclaimed, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

Their armors clinked together in a symphony of metal and warmth.

“John?!” Shepard pulled back, their red and white arms still clinging to each other. “Weren’t you stationed on Arcturus? What brings you here?!”

He pulled her into another hug and kissed her head. “We can talk about it later. The first human Spectre, Jane? Damn.” The words brushed against her hair, and Shepard noticed the fondness mildly crack in her brother's usually cool and steady voice. She sank even deeper into his familiar arms, relishing the rare display of emotion.

They only parted when they went to find a quiet place to catch up.

“So, can you tell me what you’re doing in here?” Shepard asked when they finally sat on a bench.

“Besides helping move in all your stuff?”

“Damn, I forgot,” Shepard admitted, mentally blaming her job for the oversight; so much effort to find a home close to John and away from the chaos of Arcturus, only to forget about it at the first assignment. A new house to escape from work, yet it’s work that brings me home. The irony, she considered.

“You’re a workaholic, Shep,” Carter’s voice echoed in her mind, reminding her why she had broken up with him two years ago in the first place.

“I’ll stop by on my next leave.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Jane.”

She took a quick look at his armor. “Seems like you’re on duty, so I presume you’re not here just for that. Are you on a classified mission?”

“Not that I know of.” His left knee bumped her right one. “I’m here with RA Kahoku trying to secure an audience with the Council. It hasn’t gone well so far.”

“What’s the issue?” Shepard queried, resting her elbows on her knees as she gazed at the blooming trees nearby.

“A group of his marines has disappeared during a recon mission in the Artemis Tau cluster.”

“Why not assemble a rescue team?”

“Were it so easy…” John sighed, joining Shepard’s gaze. “The missing group is the same one that found Banes’ body some time ago. And anything related to him is heavily classified.”

“Explains why the Alliance is turning a deaf ear. Who’s Banes?” Shepard looked at her brother, her eyes filled with curiosity.

He ran a gauntleted hand over his always neat stubble. “Someone the Alliance worked with for some research in the Attican Traverse. Anderson might know more than me. Just enough for you to realize how dire the situation is.”

She replied without thinking twice: “I have yet to figure things out with my mission, my Spectre status and… who knows what else. Once that is done though, I’d gladly look into the matter.”

“Always there to save my ass, Jennie, huh?”

Shepard nestled her head on his shoulder and watched the leaves fall. “Heh! Doing my best.”

John kissed her forehead. “I’m so proud of you. So much, Jane.”

“Thank you,” she breathed as the leaves gathered on the ground.

A lone leaf broke free from gravity's grasp, swirling through the air in an unseen dance before gently landing on the water's surface of a nearby fountain. It was the same pond where she had first encountered Officer Vakarian. A faint smile played on her lips as she pondered the ingenuity of how that Kuwashii visor had been remodeled for turian anatomy. Did he buy it like that, or did he do the work himself?

I’ve got to talk to Pallin.

Shepard stood up breaking the unexpected moment of calm. “Duty calls.”

John grasped her hand, his icy blue eyes fixed on hers with the same restraint their mother had shown when she wanted to mask her concern. “Be careful,” he said.

Shepard affectionately ran a thumb over the small scar to the left of his hairline. “I’m always careful.”

He silently thanked the Spirits that Decian was away because Garrus wanted anything but company at the moment.

Their office was immersed in an unusual quiet, even as the glass wall was not completely filtering out the hustle and bustle of the C-Sec Academy: officers coming and going, animated discussions with coworkers, noisy suspects being escorted to the station, the continuous flow of news murmuring in the background.

He glanced beyond the window, losing himself in the swarm of colors, sounds, and activity that had accompanied him for five years of his life, and breathed deeply; he would miss his colleagues, but not enough to stay in an institution that professed to guarantee safety and fairness yet allowed too many offenses to go unnoticed. Saren had been the last straw, and Garrus had no intention of going back.

He retrieved a photo from the desk drawer: the one Solana had taken on his first day at Citadel Security.

On the left, a serious and stoic Castis, and on the right, a smiling, hopeful Garrus. On the left, a father so close yet too aloof from his progeny, and on the right, a young son who, sharing his old man’s sense of duty, just wanted to bridge the gap between them.

How did you manage for all these years, Dad?

A sad sigh escaped his mouth plates as he placed the dusty frame in the box along with the rest of his things.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He raised his eyes when the door slowly swished open.

“The Executor told me I would find you here.”

Shepard! Shepard?!

Garrus straightened; it was remarkable how much authority the Commander could exude, even without her armor; or maybe it was the memory of how uncanny she had been on the battlefield – in their case, Chora’s Den – that caused his spine to straighten. Or perhaps it was both.

Shepard took off her Alliance blue beret as she took a step inside the office. “Can we have a word?”

“Of course. Please, have a seat, Commander.” He nervously moved a chair for her. He took the box off the table, and taking a seat himself, Garrus tried to hide the agitation that had returned to consume him.

“I would have congratulated you earlier but-”

“I’m not here to collect congratulations, don’t worry Garrus,” she reassured him, sitting down.

They are in order though, he dared to think it but not to say it. Oblivious of it, she had stopped him from spouting some random excuse. Garrus wasn't the type to try his luck, let alone twice.

He gave a glance at the small counter behind him. “Can I offer you some water, coffee, or maybe a Tupari?”

“Coffee sounds good, the dextro one will do just fine.”

Recalling her medical data, he quickly prepared two cups of instant turian coffee and placed them on the table. He nudged one toward her.

She targeted one of the files cluttered on the desktop. “May I?”

“Sure, they’re yours, after all. The C-Sec will forward you the rest of the evidence documents by tomorrow.”

She nodded already engrossed in the data pad, and leaned back in her chair. Garrus watched her, feeling the wound he thought had hushed up in the last few hours since her nomination reopened. He lowered his gaze, focusing on the swirling steam rising from his beverage.

Why is she here?

“You’re a meticulous one, Garrus,” Shepard observed matter-of-factly minutes later though she was still absorbed by the strings of his report. “What led you to suspect Saren?” She queried when she finally put down the datapad.

“A year ago, a Citadel-affiliated trading vessel carrying experimental weapons disappeared. Salarian technology, big stuff. It was found three months later at the edge of Sentry Omega, the entire crew and cargo missing,” he replied nonchalantly; a striking contrast to the flattered rumbling of his subvocals. Why the Commander’s opinion hit him so hard was something Garrus couldn’t answer.

“I heard about that, an empty ship found in Prescyla’s orbit. What was its name, again?”

“Enrile seven. On board, we just found a batarian mercenary known to us only for his association with Saren.” He partially downed the content of his cup, “Once brought here, he told us that he had done just what Arterius had paid him for.”

Shepard gently leaned forward, her interest evident. “The purpose of all that?”

“Spirits will be damned if we ever find out, Commander. I found the batarian’s decapitated body the day of the second questioning.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “And I bet the Council ignored his first statement no less, just the way they did with Powell’s testimony.”

He nodded. “But at least it got an official case file opened on Saren.”

“How long were you investigating him, Garrus?” She asked, a bit later.

“For over half a year, Commander.”

They sat in silence for a while, their mouths busy tasting their concoctions, and his eyes busy looking anything but her, and hers busy looking nothing but him.

Garrus did look at her at one point, however, when his eyes were pulled by a pale five-fingered hand moving a lock of hair behind her ear. Shepard was so calm that he could never predict what she was about to say.

“The Reapers are an alarming addition, and I doubt that capturing Saren will be a simple task; which makes my request even tougher.” She placed down her mug, then went on bluntly: “I’m asking you to consider working together again.”

Garrus blinked taken aback and unable to fully process the gravity of her words at once.

“Naturally, you’re free to accept or decline my offer,” Shepard concluded coolly.

Having accomplished what she came for, the Commander got up and put her beret back on. “Departure is scheduled in forty-six hours. Until then, you can find me at the embassies.” She gave a curt nod. “Thanks for the coffee.”

But she didn’t have the time to move an inch further as Garrus shot to his feet, nearly knocking over the drinks. “I want to bring down Saren as much as you do, Commander!” He blurted out and barely took a breath before going any further. “I’d be honored to join you,” he declared, trying to regain the grace and poise that suited a Turian.

Shepard paused, her gaze fixed on him, assessing what, only she knew. Garrus felt a rush of anxiety as the silence stretched painfully. He fought the urge to fill it with words, but every surge of his was put to rest when she extended her hand. “Then welcome aboard, Garrus. Report to dock four-twenty-two in forty-four hours. Understood?”

He clasped her hand in a firm shake, perfectly disguising – he really hoped so – the tremor rattling him both inside and out. “Yes, Commander. You can count on me.”

A fleeting smile was the last thing Commander displayed before she made her way out; and when the door softly hissed behind her Garrus slumped back in his chair.

He stared at the ceiling tiles, breathing in and out, incredulous at what had just happened, at the fortune that had come his way. All his problems, worries, and fears seemed so small and insignificant and distant compared to the present and the future that now lay before him. It almost felt like he could reach out and touch the lights above him if only he wanted to.

His mandibles flapped happily, and for the first time in a long while, Garrus felt truly alive.

The Tantalus drive core was dormant, all electronic and electrical components off except for vital and basic systems, and every deck was empty.

Surrounded by the silence and gentle gloom of her completely deserted ship – she was the only one on board, and the Normandy was set to officially enter service under her command in seventeen hours – Shepard unbuttoned the collar of her dress uniform, looked again at the contents of the blue and gold leather box, and poured the amber liquid into the glass she kept for special occasions.

Even in the dim lights of the silent frigate, the metal insignia of her new rank shone so brightly that she couldn’t help but keep staring at it. No ceremony, just a handshake with an Alliance High Command representative. That had been fine with her.

She swirled the glass around thrice before Staff Commander Shepard raised it and downed her whiskey.

Chapter Text

Day 01 / 0428 hours, 7th of January 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 - Dock 422, Alliance Citadel dock

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Shepard opened the locker to retrieve her pressed and folded uniform. A chill ran down her spine, and not ‘cause she was just in her underwear.

Reapers... Why does Saren want to bring them back?

Spending the entire night in the Citadel's archives hadn't provided any answers, nor had it alleviated her concerns.

How could so little be known about such an advanced race capable of nearly turning Eden Prime to ashes with just a single ship?

She pulled on her cargo pants, tucking them into her boots, and then grabbed her shirt, absently fastening each button. The questions and that prothean vision nagged at her as she stared into the small mirror glued to the inside of the locker door. She fixed the collar and adjusted the armored corset, tightening the snap buckles at the sides.

As everything fell in order, the Commander forced her emotions into a corner of her mind. Nothing would have compromised the mission, least of all irrationality.

The Captain gave up everything so I could have this chance. We can't fail.

Day 01 / 0602 hours, 7th of January 2183 Terra Standard Time

Dock 422, Alliance Citadel dock

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

That’s it.

The elongated and sleek design was a far cry from the rigid and austere nature of turian constructs, yet the Normandy managed to make him feel like a kid again.

He had been seventeen when he had been entrusted to the artificial embrace of the Indomitable, and although eight years had passed since then, Garrus experienced the same emotions all over again. Pride, anticipation… and, as the only turian on board a human ship, a slight bit of fear: fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, or accidentally touching something that levo to leaving him dead from anaphylactic shock.

Unconsciously, he tightened the grip on his meager luggage.

“Garrus. You’re early.”

He turned and saw Commander Shepard standing between the two soldiers guarding the elevator. Hidden behind a large cargo trolley, it was only when she came closer that he noticed the yellow human alphanumeric stripes “3417 061 DO 3” and “STAFF CMDR. J. SHEPARD” on her chest.

A split second later, the palaveni version of the two lines flashed on his visor.

So, she’s been promoted.

“Hi, Commander,” he said, bowing his head. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

She shook her head. “Tali and Wrex did the same. You might just have to dodge a bit of early traffic.”

Wrex and Tali are here too?

Wrex, early?!

Shepard got back pushing the trolley as she waved toward the ship’s only docking port. “Would you mind joining me, Garrus?”

“Not at all.”

He followed her down the docking corridor, staying behind her as dictated by D.I., coming alongside her only once the first hatch closed behind them.

“Standby shore party. Decontamination in progress,” a synthetic voice announced, likely the ship’s VI.

As a beam of ultraviolets took over the two-meter by two-meter airlock, Shepard spoke. “I know you served on the Indomitable for four years,” she started, pausing as the gravity increase kicked in. “The Normandy isn’t a dreadnought, nor does it have its firepower, but I’ll find a way to put your expertise to good use when you’re not on the field.”

“Anything to be useful, Commander.”

Her lips managed to suppress a smile. “Glad to hear it. Any help is welcome.”

“Logged: the commanding officer is aboard. XO Pressley stands relieved,” the same voice as before reported over the ship’s internal channel as the last set of doors parted. The typical smell of air processed with titanium dioxide filled Garrus’ ridges, and he already felt like he was light-years away from the Citadel—from home.

He waited for Shepard to move forward, but she stood still.

“Yes, Pressley?” she asked an unseen counterpart. “I’m on my way. I’ll leave some boxes near hatch A1, tell Tanaka to take them to the crew quarters.”

Their eyes met briefly as he entered the deck, and Shepard waited for the hatch to close.

Left alone, Garrus hesitated a few steps, fascinated and intrigued by the blinking lights on the arched ceiling, and soothed by the soft vibrations of the engine beneath his boots.

“What are you doing, tall guy, no hello?” a voice called out from his left.

Two stations were turned in Garrus’ direction. Two men, one of whom was Kaidan.

“Tall guy? Are you talking to me?” Garrus asked, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t on the Indomitable, or the Varriken, or any other turian ship. He was on an alien vessel, where his over two meters in height would certainly not go unnoticed.

Kaidan got up from his seat and approached him. “Not the best way to break the ice. But it was a compliment,” he replied in the same calm and gentle manner Garrus had come to appreciate a few days earlier.

His mandibles twitched faintly, unaware of what that phrase could mean. Break the ice… something to look into later.

“Lieutenant Alenko, it’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Garrus. And just Kaidan is fine.”

The stranger slowly joined them. Garrus noted a limp in his walking.

“Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau. Just call me Joker.”

“I’m Garrus Vakarian, looking forward to working with you.” He eagerly accepted the hand the Normandy pilot offered him. Their handshake was rather feeble.

They only had time for a brief chat about the cockpit’s technical details before the main hatch opened to admit the Commander once again. She was accompanied by an Alliance officer. “R. ADM. B. MIKAHILOVICH” was printed on the dark plaque on his chest.

“Ten-hut!” Kaidan barked saluting, the pilot followed suit while Garrus simply bowed.

“At ease,” the man instructed. His gaze swept an imaginary line from left to right, settling first on Kaidan, then on Jeff, and then on the Klixen in the room. It anchored on Garrus, without any attempt to hide the hostility in his expression.

It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that a human reacted to him with such harshness. And, as always, he mentally shrugged it off, though he found it ironic to be experiencing such a scenario on a ship hailed as the pinnacle of human-turian cooperation.

“With all due respect, Admiral, departure is scheduled in less than two hours, and I’m sure you don’t want to waste either my time or yours by staring at my crew,” Shepard interjected.

“Show some respect, Commander. Even though you’re a Spectre for the aliens, you’re still an Alliance officer to me. Do you still know what color your blood is, Shepard?”

“Your question is answered by the fact that I’m allowing you to inspect a ship over which you have no authority, Admiral,” Shepard replied, positioning herself in front of the trio; Garrus thought she had deliberately placed herself in front of him. “And unless you want to see your name in a formal report according to article five-five-seven, paragraph twenty-seven of the Alliance Army regulation for obstructing a Council agent from adhering to their schedule, I suggest you follow me, sir.”

There was no hint of threat or arrogance in the Commander’s voice; she was simply stating a fact.

The Admiral got so close to Shepard that their noses were just centimeters apart. His anger-filled eyes seemed to dare her to say more.

“Commander, I suggest you watch your mouth. It’s going to get you into trouble.”

Shepard lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “You can include that in the report to the chain of command, sir. The Normandy’s office is just down the deck; I can escort you there so we can send our respective reports, sir.”

“You’ve got a sharp tongue, Commander.” The irritation in his voice was evident even to the walls of the Normandy.

He stared her down, not moving an inch. But just as he didn’t move, neither did she.

A few seconds passed where only the hum of the ship’s machinery and the distant chatter of the crew disturbed the silence.

“After you, Commander…” the Admiral hissed, stepping back a few paces. With a gesture, he indicated for her to go ahead.

He didn’t miss the chance to throw one last contemptuous look at Garrus.

“I think I just fell in love,” Jeff admitted almost breathless, once the two officers were far enough away. “That was the most formal way to tell someone to fuck off I've ever seen.”

Garrus silently agreed, keeping his gratitude to himself.

“Well, the Commander is known for being pretty straightforward,” Kaidan explained, and Garrus noticed how his eyes searched for Shepard, now immersed in the chaos of the aft of the deck.

“Who’s that man?” Garrus asked.

“One of the biggest assholes in the entire army,” Joker replied.

Kaidan crossed his arms. “Joker…”

“What? He asked!”

Kaidan shook his head, giving in, though his half-smile betrayed some amusement. “He’s Rear Admiral Boris Mikahilovich. The Normandy would have ended up under his unit if everything had gone according to plan on Eden Prime.”

“Looks like we owe Saren a thank you for that!” Jeff commented.

Day 01 / 1437 hours, 7th of January 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – intrasystem space

Antaeus System, Hades Gamma

En route to planet Trebin

“Mr. Vakarian?”

Garrus tore his eyes away from the monitor that he and Monica — the gunner operator he was assigned to assist per Shepard’s orders — had been studying and discussing for over two hours.

“You have to report to the Captain’s quarters,” Pressly informed him.

“Go ahead, I’ll still be here when you get back,” Monica told him. “Not like I can go anywhere!” she whispered and let out an awkward laugh before refocusing on the firing algorithm strings.

She was only twenty-two, yet, between one quip and another — those terrible engineer jokes that only another engineer would find funny—she had shown a rare intelligence. She reminded him a bit of Solana, and Garrus felt a lump in his throat.

As soon as he reached her quarters, Shepard called out from the other side of the door. “Come on in.”

He complied and saw her pacing absentmindedly behind a desk, reading a datapad. She gestured to the chair in front of her.

Once seated in what felt like the most uncomfortable chair in the galaxy, Garrus took in the room. Basic; spacious compared to the general size of the ship; particularly orderly; it almost seemed unused if not for the open box of a building model of a spaceship at the foot of the bed, and a photograph placed on the table next to the mattress. He had seen it before at John’s place. Their whole family, a trip to Terra Nova in sixty-nine if Garrus recalled right.

John had grown to take after none of their parents, while the Commander alarmingly resembled their mother, although Hannah had had long hair, and Shepard had that paleness that still hadn’t ceased to catch Garrus’s eye.

He felt somewhat guilty for knowing so much about her, almost like the people Garrus had looked into in his days as a detective. You learned their routines, their tastes, their hobbies, read their messages, their emails; listened to their calls, met the people close to them, and in a matter of days, you knew them like an old friend, even though the only time you had met that person was on a morgue tray.

With Shepard the circumstances were much less dramatic, Garrus was just a close friend of her brother… But still.

He looked again at that box. ‘Alliance cruiser: SSV Budapest’. What an unusual hobby, he thought.

“So, thoughts about the Normandy so far?” Shepard sat down facing him, snapping him out of his professional habit.

“It’s like coming home after a long time. Its structure is similar to a Turian ship, but just around the corner, you see something… Human. A bit disorienting but impressive nonetheless.” He passed a hand over his fringe; her eyes seemed to follow the gesture. “Thanks for bringing me on board, Commander. I’m glad I left C-Sec.”

She turned off the device before giving him her full attention. “From what I could gather, you quit because you didn’t like the way they do things.”

“There’s more to it than that.” He adjusted himself on the chair, struggling not to hit his back against the backrest or get his spurs stuck between the legs of that infernal piece of furniture. “It didn’t start out bad, but as I rose in ranks, I got saddled with more and more red tape and rules.”

“For the most part, the rules are there for a reason, though” Shepard talked back.

“Maybe, but C-Sec’s handling of Saren was typical. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

Shepard leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I hope you made the right choice. I’d hate for you to regret it later.”

“Well, that’s why I teamed up with you, Commander. It’s a chance for me to get off the Citadel and see how things are done outside C-Sec. And working alongside a Spectre and without C-Sec looking over my shoulder, maybe I can get the job done my way for once,” he admitted, soon realizing from the Commander’s raised eyebrow that he had said something she had an issue with.

“If getting the job done means endangering innocent people, then no. We get the job done right, not fast. Got it?”

“I wasn’t trying to… I understand, Commander,” he replied, ashamed of already having made a bad impression on his boss. What a great start. Nice job.

“Vakarian…” Shepard sighed, and Garrus braced himself for the scolding that would follow but never came. In the seriousness of her voice and expression, there was a warning that felt more like dispassionate advice from someone with a lot of experience. “I looked into your history. The Hierarchy Army, C-Sec, your Spectre candidacy… You’re only twenty-five but have a remarkable service record, your skills are praised by everyone you’ve worked for. Don’t let whatever drives you make you take the easy path.”

“This is exactly when you try harder.”

Why did his father always pop up at the worst possible time?

“Got it. Thank you, Commander,” he replied, defeated.

“Now the boring part,” she said a few seconds later. At least one of them was having fun. “You must pay a visit to the medical bay, Dr. Chakwas will run some levo-allergy tests. Here.” She handed him a datapad, and Garrus read all the info about the upcoming check-up. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

He figured their talk had ended when she got up and gestured for him to follow. Once the door opened, she leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms. “One last thing, Garrus. If you have any kind of problem, I ask that you let me know.”

“I will.”

Garrus took a step toward the exit but stopped. He might not see eye to eye with the Commander, but he owed her this much.

“Commander, I…”

“Mh?” Shepard mumbled and used her hand to keep open the already closing door.

“I’m grateful for this morning… with Mikahilovich.”

“You don’t have to,” Shepard said as she shrugged. “I won’t tolerate any kind of abuse against my team, and as long as Saren is on the loose, you are as much a part of it as any human aboard. A thirty-year-old war won’t put that in doubt.” She moved her hand away from the door to give him a few pats on his arm. “Now get back to work,” she added as if she had just said no big deal and not something that Garrus would proudly cherish for years to come.

“Right away, Commander.”

“Garrus, that one is for you,” Tali told him, pointing to the corner of the crew quarters where Wrex was already comfortably sprawled out on a bunk.

He went over and, not far from the krogan, found what Tali was talking about.

It was one of the large crates Shepard had been carrying that morning. Hierarchy Army branded, he opened it to find a foldable cot, pillows, and a thick blanket—all designed for a turian’s comfort. At the bottom were also dextro-amino hygiene products.

He smiled as he watched the quarian happily unpacking her box. She looked like Ridgiefield’s daughter on her eighth birthday.

The Commander had thought of everything.

Chapter Text

Day 19 / 0316 hours, 25th of January 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – intrasystem space

Knossos System, Artemis Tau

En route to planet Therum

After the bouts of nausea, Garrus had to deal with the annoying tingling in his limbs too. At least the fog that had been clouding his sleepy mind had completely cleared.

“We’ve finally located Liara T’Soni. As mentioned a few days ago, her cooperation is critical to the mission,” Commander Shepard stated, once the stimulants had kicked in for everyone. “Pressley, go ahead.”

The lights in the debriefing room dimmed automatically as the holographic projection of a brownish planet appeared in the center, complete with data, graphs and grids. “Dr. T’Soni is currently at one of the archaeological sites on the surface of Therum. The exact coordinates are on screen, ma’am. It’s a planet with high volcanic activity, but the oxygen levels are sufficient, so no breather is needed. The pressure is zero point sixty-eight atmospheres, and the gravity acceleration is one point twelve gees. Surface temperature at the site is sixty-one degrees Celsius.”

Shepard studied the slowly rotating globe in the projection. “Hostile presence?”

“Scans show a significant geth presence on the surface, along with dropships in low orbit, ma’am,” Pressley reported. The data were refreshed, showing small red dots and triangles clustered near the coordinates.

“Joker, ETA?” Shepard queried.

“Tee minus one hundred and thirty minutes, ma’am,” came the response from the cockpit.

“I volunteer for the ground team, ma’am,” Ashley said firmly. Her loose, messy hair and nightwear were now the only reminders of her early wake-up call.

“Negative. The Alliance suits we currently have can’t handle those temperatures. I’ll already be the liability to the team,” the Commander replied, before opening another commlink. “Adams, this is Shepard. You’ve got ninety minutes to insulate my suit so I don’t end up boiling out there. I’m sending the specs now.”

A chill raced down Garrus’ spine, compelling him to sit up straighter as he caught Shepard’s gaze right on him.

“Garrus, Wrex, you’re coming with me. Be at the hangar bay in one hundred minutes. Ashley, equip our weaponry with anti-jamming mods. Kaidan, I want you to upgrade Garrus’ overload program. Tali, I’ll need your recon drone. Any questions?”

“Hah! Been more than sixty years since I hit a hot spring!” Wrex quipped, slapping Garrus on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble slightly.

His first mission. Garrus had been waiting for this moment for three human weeks.

Time to dust off the Equalizer.

Day 19 / 0808 hours, 25th of January 2183 Terra Standard Time

Knossos System, Artemis Tau

Planet Therum

All three of them turned off their flashlights.

“I’ll take care of this, you two stay here,” Shepard whispered before stepping into the darkness of the tunnel.

Although she hadn’t turned around, she had the strong feeling that Garrus was tracking her with his scope. She could almost feel the muzzle of his rifle trained on her back.

At three meters from the target, Shepard drew the tactical knife. Two steady breaths, and then she lunged, driving the blade into the geth's photoreceptor. The metal resisted, but she twisted the edge with low effort, grabbing the machine before it hit the ground. She stayed still until the last flicker of light faded from its lens.

Shepard slid her knife back into its sheath and reopened the squad’s comms. “I’m picking up only seven signals thirty-five meters below us. Confirm?”

Garrus and Wrex both confirmed.

“Alright, move in.”

Sand and gravel crunched beneath her teammates’ boots as they made their way down.

“Tali says we’ve got about ten minutes before the others notice their friend’s gone,” she explained, dragging the metal corpse into a corner where a collapsed section of the ceiling had formed a partial barrier between them and the rest of the path down. She tossed a light stick to the ground then, and a timid yellow glow filled the tunnel. “Three-minute break.”

Wrex plopped down with a grunt, already holding a protein bar. Nearby, Garrus crouched and began dismantling the scope from his rifle. Shepard watched him as he retrieved another optic from his belt that she didn’t recognize, but from the erector and sensors, she guessed it was a night vision model with lower magnification.

Sniper ego aside, Garrus was performing better than she had anticipated. The impulsiveness she’d seen in him had given way here to a skilled marksman. He knew whence to shoot, when to shoot, who to shoot — and he did it all damn well. Shepard had counted just one missed shot.

She was genuinely impressed.

His record had made it clear, but after few, but enough, encounters with officers whose credits or ranks owed more to family ties than actual competence, Shepard had learned to reserve some judgment. Glad to be proven wrong by the Turian Hierarchy, at least under the ‘sharpshooter’ department.

She nudged the light stick closer to him.

Then, she pulled off her gauntlets, unzipped her collar as far as it would go, and took her helmet off. The armor registered forty-one degrees, but to her, it felt like a cool spring morning on Elysium.

The faint breeze flowing through the tunnel sent a pleasant shiver down her back. A sigh of relief escaped her mouth.

“All good, Commander?” Garrus broke the silence, vaguely gesturing to his face and hands.

She looked down and squinted her eyes to find small red patches on the backs of her hands and wrists. Seeing them made her itch, but she resisted scratching, knowing it would only make things worse. She nodded and crouched in front of them. “Just prickly heat. Lucky it’s cooler here,” she said, running her fingers through her sweat-drenched hair.

“Feels like Palaven down here, actually,” Garrus remarked as he screwed the scope onto the rail of his rifle.

She had visited Thessia, Sur’Kesh, and even Kahje. Carter had always skipped the turian homeworld for their leisure trips because of its climate. But after spending three hours in a sixty-degree sauna wearing the wrong gear, Palaven suddenly sounded a lot more appealing than any other destination.

“Must be a real paradise, then,” she said, her tone somewhere between a joke and a genuine observation.

“You have a pretty twisted idea of paradise, Shepard,” Wrex retorted, his mouth full of food.

Shepard stifled a smile as she rummaged through her thigh pouch. She had two electrolyte solutions left. Not bad, but not great either.

As if he could read her mind, Garrus pulled out a water bag and offered it to her. “Don’t forget to drink something.”

“Keep it,” Shepard said. “The mission isn’t over yet… You might need it later.”

Garrus extended his arm a bit further, and Shepard noticed his mandibles tighten for a moment. “I’ve got four more. I insist, Commander.”

“Alright.” She carefully accepted the offering from his hand. “But we’re splitting it.”

A third of a liter disappeared in an instant, and Shepard licked her lips to ensure no drop was wasted from the bottle’s rim. Her survival instinct tempted her to drink more than she had one-sidedly agreed, but she resisted the urge. She would hold out, and thanks to that stubborn turian, she’d hold out a little longer.

She capped the bottle and handed it back to him. “Thanks, Garrus.”

Garrus glanced at her, then at the bottle, doing it twice over. If not for his blue irises, Shepard would have struggled to see his pupils move. His fangs twitched again before he unscrewed the cap and finished the rest.

“Anytime, Commander.”

Day 19 / 1842 hours, 25th of January 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – intersystem space

Artemis Tau

En route to Athens System

Garrus took a seat at the corner of the table next to Tali, sitting across from Alenko and Moreau.

He gave a quick nod before diving into his meal. Driven by the hunger that six hours of mission had awakened, and that even lunch hadn't quite managed to curb, he took one forkful, then another, and another still, only slowing down when the risk of choking became too real.

He downed half a bottle of juice and, for the first time since sitting down, lifted his gaze from the plate, focusing on nothing in particular, just absorbed by the pleasant sensation of a full stomach. Garrus sank into his chair as the beeping of microwaves, the clattering of stoves, and the crew’s murmurs faded into a distant hum he didn’t mind at all. His eyes lingered absentmindedly at the word ‘Normandy’ printed in white on a bulkhead in the galley, and he grasped for a brief moment why the Commander had insisted so much on sharing meals.

He wondered where she was. She was always on time – or as Joker liked to say, “She runs like a Swiss watch”.

He barely registered Ashley’s arrival, if it weren’t for the dramatic way she flopped down near Kaidan.

“She was smart, charming, and beautiful, just like you, Commander!” Ashley chanted, batting her lashes way too much.

Garrus blinked. Did I hear that wrong, or…

Kaidan nearly choked on his bite.

He coughed in his fist as he glared at her. “That was a private conversation between me and the Commander, and I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way. How did you even hear that?!”

Joker shot to his feet, eyes wide with shock. “Wait a sec… are you hitting on Shepard?!” When Kaidan didn’t comply, his grin only grew wider. “You’re hitting on Shepard! You, naughty!”

Kaidan sighed heavily, dragging Jeff back into his seat. “Could you keep your voice down?” He muttered, taking a spoonful of soup like nothing happened.

...No. I heard it right.

“I could… but only if you tell me everything about you two.”

Suddenly, everything clicked: the looks, the smiles, the tension, all the little things Kaidan made around Shepard and only Shepard. They all took on a new meaning Garrus had previously dismissed as mere friendliness.

And to think he had believed that finding a salarian prostitute and a krogan in the same bed at an illegal brothel in the Bachjret ward was the most improbable thing this year.

In the meritocratic system of the Hierarchy, fraternization between peers was more than tolerated – Garrus himself had enjoyed its perks during his years in the military. But every turian knew, almost instinctively, that a relationship with a superior was a line you simply didn’t cross. And if you were insane enough to do it, you could have ended up facing aiding and abetting charges, demotion, or job loss.

But for the Alliance?

“Isn’t it against Alliance regulations? What’ll happen if things go south?” Garrus asked, delving into something that wasn’t his business, but curiosity – and maybe the Commander’s involvement – made him ask anyway. From Kaidan’s expression, at least, the question didn’t seem unwelcome.

“It is,” Kaidan confirmed, speaking just loud enough for Garrus to hear but quiet enough that no one outside their group could catch it. “You could face forced transfers, court martial appearances, or in the worst case, suspension from duty for two years,” he explained with a candor that made it clear he had come to terms with those possibilities and was willing to take the risk – something Garrus couldn’t help but respect.

The man then smiled, and his spoon circled slowly through the soup. “But that’s just speculation. If my words had any effect, Shepard’s been good at not letting me know.”

Where did she stand on all that? Was she interested too? Would she break protocol? Garrus doubted Shepard was the type, but Kaidan had nailed one thing for sure: Commander Shepard was excellent at keeping her thoughts hidden. So who could say?

Ashley crossed her arms with a smirk. “You’re playing with fire, Kaidan. Maybe take a page out of Joker’s book and stick to staring at her butt.”

Joker’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Me?! What? In what universe?!”

“This one, Joker. This one,” Garrus deadpanned.

Tali and Kaidan chuckled, and Ashley gave him a small smile, momentarily dropping the usual attitude of hostile indifference toward him. Before he realized it, Garrus was smiling back. “I don’t know how the Commander hasn’t caught you yet.”

Joker adjusted his hat and laced his fingers behind his head. “What can I say? Some of us are born with innate talent.”

“Talent in what?” Asked a low, confident voice that Garrus found insanely otherworldly.

It was Shepard.

The group tensed instantly as if the deck’s gravity had just been cranked up to three gees and they weren’t prepared. The Commander’s eyes swept over them, taking her sweet time before sitting at the head of the table between Garrus and Joker. The calm way she did it only made things worse.

“Food,” Kaidan replied surprisingly smooth. “We were just talking about Alliance cuisine, Commander.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow, scanning their faces again.

Joker looked like a rookie facing their first live grenade. Tali shrank deeper into her seat. Ashley hid her smirk behind her hand. Garrus stayed composed, as did Kaidan.

“Is it that bad tonight?” She finally asked. She lifted the lid from her bowl and sniffed the contents. “Come on, it doesn’t look that terrible.”

Garrus couldn’t shake the feeling that the Commander was playing dumb. A glance at Joker confirmed they shared the same suspicion.

“You’re kidding, right, Commander? It’s all delicious… if you don’t have taste buds,” Joker chimed in, less sarcastic than usual, looking at everyone with a silent plea to play along. “Alliance cooks are on par with the salarians.”

Shepard sighed, her expression turning thoughtful. “Now that you mention it...”

She set a hand on Joker’s forearm to push herself up from the chair, and unless the ship’s gravity had really increased, Shepard put a bit too much weight on the pilot. Joker visibly leaned to the unexpected force, while his other hand tightened on the table’s edge to keep his balance. A fleeting grimace crossed his face.

Then, just as calmly as she’d arrived, Shepard left the table.

Joker rubbed the spot where her fingers had dug in. He didn't speak until she vanished behind the door to her quarters. Garrus could hear the fear and resignation in his voice.

“She heard everything, didn’t she?”

Garrus, Tali, Ashley, and Kaidan nodded together.

Day 19 / 2025 hours, 25th of January 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – intersystem space

Artemis Tau

En route to Athens System

As the hum of the elevator magnets grew louder, Garrus didn’t have to turn away from the M35 terminal to know it was the Commander, right on schedule for her round in the hangar bay.

In the early days – and honestly, even now – he hadn’t been quite sure how to handle her visits, so he had stuck to routine exchanges – “How are you, Commander?”, “Any issues today?”, “Need anything, Commander?” – and to point out irregular readings from his work with Monica.

After all, there wasn’t much to talk about with your boss, who was also a navy officer, no less.

Yet, she showed up every day, always after visiting Ashley and before heading to the engine room to meet Tali.

The turning point probably occurred when the Mako had returned with its rear end wrecked after deployment on Chohe. Waaberi had been in the bathroom, Crosby two decks up grabbing a drink, and Garrus under the vehicle's chassis, trying to figure out why the nitrogen accumulator for the suspension wouldn’t pressurize. Shepard had crouched down right in front of his feet.

“I didn’t know you were a mechanic too, Garrus.”

From that moment on, from those brief conversations that barely lasted two minutes, Garrus began to open up enough to discuss anything with her that wasn’t shielded by their military secrets. The Commander turned out to be a keen listener, and Garrus was happy to indulge her curiosity within the limits appropriate between a superior and a subordinate.

“How’s the big guy doing?” Shepard asked, crossing the central platform of the bay to reach him.

“The mass accelerator didn’t get a scratch, Commander,” Garrus reported, typing in the final corrections on the terminal. He saw her out of the corner of his eye walking around the vehicle. “The cannon took the worst of it. Waaberi and Crosby will work on it tonight.”

She stepped beside him to read the data on the screen. Garrus was surprised to feel relieved when he noticed that the irritation she had developed on Therum had subsided, leaving only a few pinky spots on her forearms and the back of her neck.

“How bad?”

“An eleven percent deviation in the firing trajectory.”

Shepard let out a low whistle. “Good thing we were inside when the armature hit us,” she remarked before leaning back against the Mako’s hood. “Great job on Therum, by the way.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“How come a sniper as good as you ended up being in C-Sec? If you don’t mind me asking,” she said. “I’m sure the Blackwatch unit of yours could use your skills.”

Solana is more than enough as Blackwatch in the family, he told himself, trying to divert his attention from her flattery. He didn’t do a great job of it.

He dragged a crate over near her, careful not to get too close. “To be honest, I do miss my days in the Hierarchy sometimes,” he admitted as he sat down, “but what I was looking for was a more hands-on, direct approach. I wanted to fight injustice, wanted to help people.” He adjusted the straps on his thigh guards before continuing. “I guess my father had something to do with it, too. I grew up hearing about his big accomplishments in C-Sec.”

Shepard tilted her head, encouraging him to go on if he wanted to as if she knew that he still had more on his mind.

“He’s taking my resignation pretty hard,” Garrus added eventually, more openly and bitterly than he expected.

“That’s tough, but you’d think he’d be impressed you’re going after Saren.”

Garrus shook his head, and for a brief moment, Shepard’s expression softened. “He thinks I’m being too rash. Too impatient. My resignation only reinforced his beliefs. He’s worried I’ll become just like Saren.”

From the conversations they’d had so far, Garrus was certain that the Commander shared his father’s sentiments; however, she didn’t say or do anything to confirm it. Her face remained the usual impassive mask that cracked only when she decided to let it.

She fell silent, staring off into space, lost in thought. Then her eyes met his again.

“I guess he had something to do with the decision to withdraw your Spectre candidacy.”

Garrus nodded. “He despises the Spectres. He hates the idea of someone having unlimited power with no accountability. He wouldn’t like you, Commander. No offense.”

Shepard crossed her arms and shrugged. “When you’re given that kind of power, it’s easy for the line between doing what you must and doing what you can to blur until it disappears. I suppose I can understand his concern,” she replied, unbothered by the idea that someone might disapprove of her being a Spectre.

“You can, Commander?” Garrus blurted out. “But Saren isn’t going to play by our rules, by C-Sec rules. If you want to nail Saren, you need to send someone who isn’t restricted by rules and procedures.”

The Commander’s expression spoke well before she opened her mouth.

“Just because you can break the rules doesn’t mean you should,” she countered. “I don’t need to stoop to Saren’s level to stop him. And neither do you, Garrus.”

He sighed, weighing her response. “I see what you mean, Commander, but…”

Thanks for the vote of confidence, but…

The conversation trailed off, and neither Garrus nor Shepard made any effort to pick it up again. Both were firm in their beliefs – she, without the mania to impose hers; and he, caught between his instincts and her words, which seemed to seep into the grooves of his brain, soaking into every fold, tracing every curve, with the absolute certainty of something that knows their effect will become apparent sooner or later – like water, which knows it will inevitably smooth down the stone beneath itself.

… I’ll think about it.

Garrus felt himself clear his throat as Shepard seemed to move away from the vehicle.

“What about you, Commander?” He asked with a hint of nervousness. “Did you always want to be a soldier, or did you follow in your family’s footsteps?”

In the five years they had known each other, John had always been careful not to share much about his life before the Alliance. Garrus knew about the tragic events at Mindoir, but little else.

Shepard scratched the scar on her face and let out a soft laugh. That brief chuckle loosened the knot in his chest as if it were nothing. A step back, then a step forward.

“My parents? They were farmers, Garrus. If they could see me now, they’d probably wonder what they did wrong,” she said, smiling faintly. “No… I’ve wanted to join the military for as long as I remember. Besides, I was quite good with a gun, so enlisting seemed like the natural choice.”

Though he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, there was something in what the Commander had said that made Garrus tense up, with the familiar feeling he got when someone let slip a half-truth while hiding a much bigger one.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension that he would have followed in his line of work, but here he let it die out. This wasn’t an interrogation, and Shepard wasn’t his suspect; Garrus didn’t need to dig into what she didn’t want to reveal.

“If it wasn’t for your looks, I’d swear you were a turian, Commander. You’re a military to the bone.”

Shepard held his gaze, and for a moment, Garrus worried he might have said something that came off as culturally offensive. But then, a gentle smile spread across her lips.

“Coming from a turian… that’s quite the compliment.” She dipped her head slightly. “Thank you.”

The Commander pushed away from the hood of the Mako for real this time, and he did nothing to stop her, his mind dulled with too much blood and thoughts too hazy and uncertain to name.

She clasped her hands behind her back, casting one last glance at him, the terminal, and the M35. “You should get some rest. The stimulants will be wearing off soon. See you tomorrow, Garrus.” With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the engine room.

“See you tomorrow, Commander,” Garrus mumbled, just before his gaze drifted to the Commander’s backside.

Oh.

Oh… Wait, no!

In his defense, from where he was sitting, it was right in his line of sight.

By the Spirits, Joker is a terrible influence.

Chapter Text

The coroner was beside him.

Asleep, naked, and as stunning as only the women of Triginta Petra could be. Her skin still radiating warmth from their intercourse. He was absentmindedly stroking the curve of her hip spur when his omnitool buzzed.

Garrus reluctantly slipped away from her and made his way to the kitchen.

A message from his sister.

‘Clelia Vakarian’, the subject line. The diagnosis and prognosis of their mother, the body.

He read it once. Then read it again. Then again… and again… and again…… until the pain swelled into a howl so agonizing that it stole his breath and crushed all his senses.

He didn’t even notice Doctor Taelanius nuzzling his cowl six hours later.

Day 38 / 2131 hours, 13th of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

Rift Station

Planet Noveria, Pax System, Horse Head Nebula

 
“I only slowed you dow–” Liara pressed her lips into a tight, pale line as Doctor Cohen began to dab the green acid from her calf. “… I jeopardized the mission!”“

"I assure you you didn’t, Liara,” she frankly objected.

As they were stranded there, so was Benezia, and Shepard fully intended to use the quarantine to their advantage now. She wouldn’t go any further without T’Soni, even if it meant carrying her to the secure labs herself.

“You just wanted to see your mother,” Vakarian – crouched beside her bed – countered backing her up. “And you will."

His words, his tone, how his three fingers had moved toward her arm – a blink and you’d miss it – only to pull back… Something was happening right under her nose, though Shepard couldn’t put her finger on what. She pushed it aside; it wasn’t the time or the place.

She knelt down next to the turian and placed a hand on Liara’s. “Garrus is right.” She gave the asari’s fingers a gentle squeeze, which Liara returned. “For now, I want you to just focus on the doctor’s orders, okay?”

Liara managed a nod before sinking back onto the pillow.

Shepard tapped Garrus’s leg and tilted her head toward a quieter corner of the medbay.

She removed her helmet, sensing the cold air (one of the many inevitable effects of the station lockdown) her subordinate from Palaven kept grumbling about. Much to his dismay, it was hardly a big deal for her – understandably so, for a girl born and raised in the coldest region of Mindoir.

Such a shame Noveria was a den of dubious corporations. Shepard loved the snow.

“Ventralis is one of Benezia’s lapdogs, but I doubt he’s that idiot to attack us outright… especially after Alestia’s ambush. Let’s not give him a reason to,” she said once he was close enough. “Stay here with Liara. Just in case.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Garrus replied, on point. He sounded tired – possibly even more so than she was, judging by the deeper tone of his voice. Yet, he was scanning every corner of the medbay to note down any potential strengths and weaknesses in the room, with that sharp vigilance Shepard was coming to both appreciate and capitalize on. Ahh… the Turian discipline. Her people certainly couldn’t have run into a more tremendous enemy for their first contact. “What about you?” He asked her.

She glanced over his shoulder. Cohen was already bandaging Liara’s leg.

First the Geth, then the Reapers, and now the Rachni – assuming that poor volus doctor hadn’t completely lost his grip on reality. The closer they got to Saren, the more it seemed like the light at the end of the tunnel kept retreating farther and farther away.

… What kind of mess are we getting into?

Shepard sighed. “I’ll try to find a place to stay the night. Keep the comms open.”

Day 39 / 0001 hours, 14th of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

R ift Station

Planet Noveria, Pax System, Horse Head Nebula

The bubbly jingle of the drinks machine reverberated through the hollow belly of the room. Shepard and Vakarian, its only audience.

A small blessing in a way – handling a potential firefight with civilians in the crossfire wasn’t exactly tonight’s highest aspiration – and a stark reminder at once of just how unwelcome the Normandy team was on Rift Station… or Noveria, for that matter, with a few rare exceptions like Lilihierax or Parasini.

And, of course, the friendly Lorik Qui’in.

Garrus had had to mask his surprise to see a turian of that age, whereby you’d expect scars from the Relay three-one-four Incident to run deep, subvocalizing – a phoneme humans couldn’t perceive much less return – his interest in Shepard. Admittedly, a soldier armed to the teeth exuding leadership from every pore hit several sweet spots of any turian worth thei–

“Please, collect your drinks,” the machine prompted, and the jingle played again. Garrus retrieved his purchase and headed back to the Commander.

He found her crouched between their cots, busy hiding the drone that would watch over them and the medbay where Liara was recovering. A small holographic sphere, designed to do no more than alert them of unregistered presences. The real magic would be up to the two of them. Garrus hoped it wouldn’t come to that. After fifteen grueling hours in the cold, the only trick he had planned for the evening was crashing for five straight hours of warm, uninterrupted sleep.

He sat across from her and handed her the drink. Parting with that hot bulb made him shiver.

“Turians don’t like the cold; did I ever mention that?” He said, blowing on his cup.

She arched an eyebrow and scrutinized him.

“Seven times… if memory serves,” the Commander noted. “I swear I’ll get you a Spectre mod if you don’t hit eight.”

“That’s bribery, ma’am.” The accusation, almost a scandalized breath. “I didn’t expect such tactics from you.”

They both smiled, in ways that were light-years apart.

“That said…” It was plain and simple trash talk. And so it was the instinctive thrill of the challenge. “… I’m in.”

Shepard shook her head, hiding a smile behind a long sip.

Even with the steam and the rim of the cups veiling their faces, it was impossible to miss the composure that defined the Commander off the battlefield. Garrus still wasn’t sure whether such a display of emotions, or lack thereof, was professional deformation; or if she was one of those people moved by so little; or perhaps a combination of the two. Either way, seeing his commanding officer so stoic, despite everything they’d been through, brought him a level of peace and comfort that far exceeded the calming effect of the infusion he held in his hands.

Once they finished drinking, they didn’t bother with formalities: a quick good night, and then straight under their blankets. She, with a knife under her pillow and the HMWSG close to her legs. He, with the Razer in his hand and the omnitool already set to the sabotage program.

Garrus tucked his forearm beneath his cheek, closed his eyes, and waited for the warmth of the decoction, the softness of the blanket, and the exhaustion in his bones to take their natural course.

With the gentle hum of the environmental systems playing in the background, the cot became more welcoming.

His eyes heavier.

His breathing slower.

The kick of the gun far from his reach.

For all that, the oblivion bliss he had been so eagerly waiting for refused to come.

His brain kept dwelling on data and processing results, and minutes – or perhaps hours – drifted by in a limbo of slow yet fast agony. He turned to the other side, hoping that changing position might resolve the situation.

But the inquietude he had kept locked away in a corner of his mind all day, now demanded vehemently to be released.

He lay still for what this time, he knew for sure, was a handful of minutes, before turning over again. Frustrated, Garrus opened his eyes. He stared at a random spot on the ceiling for a time he didn’t even bother to determine, this once.

A noise to his left, thank the Spirits, saved him from that bitter nothingness.

The Commander had turned, her face now angled toward him. Distant enough to ensure their closeness wasn’t ambiguous, or their two beds didn’t become one. But close enough that he could touch her if he fully stretched his arm, he realized.

She seemed lost in the sleep of her life. Unlike him.

Only when he blinked did he notice he had been staring at her lips. Full, plump, and slightly parted as they were, they reminded him of the flowers her mother tended in their meadow and used to prepare Solana’s favored pastry.

I should contact them.

The memory hit him with such blunt force that, for a moment, it broke his control over his thoughts. He didn’t resist, letting his mind make the strange, irrational connection between Clelia and Solana, and Benezia and Liara. Selfishness had waited for nothing but that tiny moment of passivity to take over.

“Commander?” Garrus hailed, with at least enough shame to do it softly. “Are you awake?”

It was enough to pull her out of unconsciousness. Shepard groaned, turning slowly onto her back.

“Vakarian…” She murmured. “… don’t tell me you’re giving up already.”

His mandibles flicked despite his guilt. Not a chance, he thought. Then, as if suddenly realizing the idiocy of what he had done, he hurriedly said: “I apologize for waking you, Commander… I should’ve known it wasn’t the right time to tal–”

She cut him off with a hand.

Her tone was, surprisingly, amenable. Probably a self-imposed effort to not tell him to fuck off right then and there.

“I hope,” she said, “that whatever this is, it’s worth as much as your surrender would be, Garrus.”

“I wanted to ask you something, ma’am.”

Shepard rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair before opening her eyes and finally addressing him. “Shoot.”

Garrus sat up, pulling the blanket tightly around himself. A tremor ran through, one that not even the warmth of his homeworld could have tended. “How do you think things will play out with Benezia?”

The Commander’s expression slowly shifted into a knowing frown.

She sat in front of him. A lengthy sigh followed. “I doubt we’ll find a way to handle this peacefully.”

His gaze dropped.

He had expected it. Of course, he had. Garrus Vakarian always expected the worst. That didn’t stop her answer from still landing like a heavy stone in his gizzard.

“I’m pretty sure Liara knows, too,” he stated, more to himself, as if saying it out loud might make it easier to accept.

“Which makes her will to stand with us all the more remarkable,” Shepard declared. “You and I have been trained to face death. Whether it’s ours, someone else’s, or even that of someone we care about, if it comes to that.” She paused. “It's part of the uniform.”

“But Liara is a civilian,” he added, completing her line of thought. Garrus caught her nodding placidly from the corner of his eye.

“I can’t imagine what it must feel like to watch your mother die in front of you,” he blurted out shortly after, much to his own surprise.

Was it true? Was it a lie? Big question.

Garrus only knew he’d been trapped in this uncertainty for three years now. Swinging between being sure he was finally ready and at peace with the pain his future self would go through, and watching that confidence crumble with a simple trip to Cipritine or a call home.

Just for the cycle to repeat itself, stronger each time, and only catalyzed by his refusal to accept that, because of a handful of twisted nucleotides, in a few years, Clelia Vakarian would no longer work for the Havincaw; she would no longer care for her beloved garden; she would no longer stand alongside the man she had fallen in love with thirty-five years earlier.

Garrus would no longer have the mother he loved so, so dearly–

“It must have happened something… Benez-my mother, would never do something like that.”

Now, Liara was one step away from living the same pain – maybe even worse. All because of a bastard who, by a cruel cosmic joke, shared the same blood as his people. A traitor who kept evading justice.

For the very first time, and in its rawest and fiercest form, Garrus found himself longing to be the one to fire the bullet that would condemn Arterius to death, if the time came… When it would come.

His mandibles tightened, his teeth grinding together. Rage, grief, and the taste of metal blended into venom on his tongue.

“Saren must pay for this, too,” he told himself–or thought he did.

A strong five-fingered hand softly closed over his shoulder.

The dim light returned; the cold returned; the silence, broken only by the hum of the air recycles, returned. Garrus was once again on a makeshift bed, on a cursed planet thirty meters below the ice, under the orders of a human soldier.

She, squatted before him, searching for the gaze he had kept lowered all along.

He looked up, and when they found each other anew, Garrus could do nothing but drown in her eyes. So different from his. Dark and dangerous like the night sea. And despite the ancestral aversion that made every muscle tense to its limit, he felt no fear of those waters muddied by his own sorrow. Undeterred, Garrus kept darting toward the surface, toward the light, toward her, until a red-and-white striped arm caught hold of him and refused to let him go.

“He will,” Commander Shepard pledged. “Just make sure you’re ready when we go collect, Garrus.”

They exchanged a nod in greeting.

Garrus went back to his call, while Shepard resumed whatever had brought her to the galley in the middle of the night.

The Vakarians chatted for a bit longer before Solana’s call was joined by the still radiant presence of their mother.
“Mom! I didn’t exp–I’m so glad to see you. What are you doing at Solana’s?” The desire to hug her was so strong it hurt. He wanted to tell her something more, but restrained himself; overloading the already seven-second lag would do no good. His eyes flicked toward the Commander, waiting for the delay to catch up.

She was heading back to her quarters with a steaming mug in hand. She looked his way and moved her lips as though she were speaking, but no sound came out.

Garrus understood, nonetheless; he recognized the pattern from Noveria. “Goodnight,” she had ‘said’.

“Goodnight,” he mouthed back.

Shepard smiled at him and vanished around the corner to her room.

He returned to the video call, finding his sister’s face taking up the entire frame of the camera. “Who’s got you humming so happily?” She asked, curious.

“Mom… like I said,” Garrus replied.

It wasn’t really a lie, after all.

Chapter Text

It had only taken a single flawed intelligence estimate to turn what was unofficially an act of retribution for the entire Alliance into a suicide mission.

Retreat was definitely out of the equation since the tunnel they’d come through had been taken down by their gracious hosts. Calling for reinforcements was even less feasible, considering that the enemy jammer – which Zhang shrewdly guessed was buried in the lowest level of the base – had cut off all communication with the outside.

Their only viable option was to keep pushing deeper into that rattrap, where the rats were large, armed to the teeth humans, and complete (or attempt to) their mission against three times the number of enemies predicted by sub-orbital reconnaissance. The lone grace slightly tipping the odds in their favor was that their omnitools’ guerrilla software was still running.

There were twenty-eight of them at the tunnel intersection, himself included. Two doors ahead, both rigged so that forcing one open, whether manually or through hacking, would cause the other to open almost simultaneously.

So, here they were. Him on one side, twenty-seven on the other. Twenty-nine targets waiting beyond his door; seventy-nine beyond his unit’s. And who knew how many more in the lower levels.

That allocation hadn’t been well received, some protested more loudly than others. The quiet ones saw Earth as nothing more than the distant cradle-rock of humankind – just like him. On the other hand, the most vocal complaints had come from those actually born on that white-brown-blue rock, along with a few spacers. Not that it mattered much, anyway. As second-in-command of the operation, he had full authority here, regardless of their gravity well of origin or what rank they held.

And if ensuring that even one more member of his unit made it out alive meant sacrificing himself, that was an order he was more than willing to give.

Besides, there were worse ways to die than settling old scores.

Old scores.

He wasn’t the type to dwell on the past, never had been, in fact, yet, at the moment, doing so helped him to linger not too much over everything he was about to leave behind.

A cough escaped him. Then another. By the fifth, John forced himself to take a sip from his water bag. Much as the incendiary explosions would spread like a charm down here, air on Torfan remained irritatingly dry nonetheless.

Gravel and sand crunched behind him, but he didn’t bother to turn. As of 2178, auto-turrets couldn’t set themselves up yet – in his defense.

“Shepard…” The voice was tense, but unmistakably that of First Lieutenant Lee Riley. “Are you sure this is the only opt–”

“I do not intend to discuss my order, Lieutenant,” he cut her off. He felt like shit, but he had neither the will nor the energy to go through that same pointless back-and-forth yet again. Not with her.

She gave up immediately this time around. She knew as well as he did that they didn’t have the luxury of retrying.

“Understood,” she nodded grimly. “Apologies, sir.”

He got back to work.

He was about to dismiss her when she crouched beside him. She shoved one of her grenades under his nose, adding on a few other gadgets John recognized as belonging to the team’s engineers and commandos.

“Give ’em hell, sir.”

He stuffed as much as he physically could into his belt and pouches, and handed back the rest. Then he turned, glancing over his shoulder at his team preparing for the assault – twenty-six brave, relentless women and men ready to fight. Pride tightened in his chest, sharp enough to sting his nose.

“I will,” he assured, back to her.

He would, as long as there was oxygen in his lungs and blood enough in his trigger finger. High Command knew it, which was why he had been stationed here, after all. For the Alliance wanted to send a statement, and they knew they would find their most dedicated messenger in him. Just like it had been with his sister on Elysium.

He gestured for Riley to hold out her hand, then pulled the chain from his neck and dropped his dog tags into her palm.

A simple, bitter matter of probability.

“Give these to Jane. Tell her… tell her I’m sorry for everything.”

They had accepted the risks when they enlisted. That was the deal. But right now, no matter how hard he tried, John could not but feel guilty for leaving Jane alone, for betraying everything she had done to get him out alive eight years before. He swallowed, in an attempt to clear the feeling of sand in his pharynx, but the discomfort kept lingering all the same.

He took a deep breath.

“And Lee,” he added, closing her fingers over the tags, “that beer you mentioned… I’d like that.”

Riley nodded again. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled.

“I think it’s a date then,” she forced out. She hesitated for three long breaths, then stood up. “See you on the other side, sir.”

On his own again, John donned his helmet and tapped into the team comm. He scanned his setup one last time, then looked at his soldiers.

“All set here. Zhang?”

“Same here. On your mark, sir,” Second Lieutenant Yury Zhang responded from thirty meters away.

“Go ahead,” John ordered, booting up the sabotage of the door’s locking system. He secured the decoy projection disc above the doorframe. “Deploy smoke five seconds before the breach.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Staff Lieutenant John Shepard gripped his Crusader and took position beside the door. His eyes flicked to his bayonet – Jennie’s last gift. Somehow, the specks in his throat faded away.

At the five-second mark, he threw a smoke grenade at his feet as well.

There would be no more Hannah Shepard, no more Michael Shepard, no more Olivia Shepard, and no more John and Jane Shepard.

There would be no other Mindoir, nor other Elysium.

It would all end today.

“We can do this the hard way… Or we can end this peacefully,” Charn said, wary.

The Commander scoffed. “I didn’t think you batarians knew the meaning of the word.” The staining contempt on ‘batarians’ punched through whatever translation bound could be out there.

And yet, she holstered her auto rifle without hesitation, and that was more than enough to ease the tension that was choking the room and its bystanders.

“Look,” Charn started once Shepard approached him, “I’m just doing my job here. Hijacking this place wasn’t my idea.” She gestured for him to hand over the key to the asteroid’s main facility. A distinct human gesture, but one that the batarian understood and complied with at once. “I signed on just to make a little profit. A quick slave grab. Nothing more.”

Shepard nodded knowingly, tapping the pass on the palm of her hand for a few moments. Before long, she said: “The thing is, that’s reason enough for me.”

Before Garrus, Kaidan, Tali, or Charn himself could process what she meant by that, the Commander raised her pistol and shot him between his four eyes.

Day 48 / 1353 hours, 23rd of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – Dock 422, Alliance Citadel dock

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Misery loves company, Alenko had remarked one of those nights. Garrus hadn’t needed him to elaborate further, for a change.

As the Normandy drifted through the vast emptiness of space on its way back to the Citadel, the events of Noveria had both the expected and unexpected effect of driving the diverse group under Shepard’s command… more cohesive.

During the day, life on board continued as usual: routine duties, repairs, weapons maintenance, extravehicular operations (they had even thwarted a terrorist attack on a human colony!). But it was the quiet, the evening lull, when the unspoken thoughts were free to roam, that had drawn them all together, as if by gravity.

It all started with Liara, Shepard, and Ashley. To everyone’s surprise, a few nights later, Ashley had invited Garrus and Kaidan to join them. In a ripple effect, the two of them had then done the same with Wrex and Tali.

So every night, instead of heading to their bunks, they would gather around the large table in the galley, leaving behind Saren, the mission, their duties, until nothing stood but simple comrades offering their support, whether in Wrex’s peculiar parallels between resilience and shotguns or through the human fashion to easing burdens by sharing their own.

But now, that warmth, that secluded understanding that once colored the Normandy’s second deck in the late hours, was gone, despite the deck being three times as crowded.

Maybe because the subject of the thick chattering wasn’t there.

It was a mystery how word had spread out so easily, as if it were something so small and elusive able to slip through the dense layers of metal, carbon, and Kevlar partitions of the ship. Not to mention that Shepard was still out there, and neither Garrus nor Kaidan – both ordered back to the ship – had spoken a word since.

"Keelah…" Tali muttered. "I can’t believe what she’s been through."

Garrus heard the scrape of a chair across the floor, then shortly after the elevator shutter clanking open and closed.

Wrex got up too. "You pyjacks gossip like asari wenches while Shepard rubs her quad on your faces," he growled. Half-hidden behind the cupboard door, Garrus could see him unceremoniously slamming his still-closed rations into his pockets. "Damned idiots. Can’t even eat in peace."

As Wrex stormed off, Garrus wasn’t sure what shocked the crew more – that a grumpy old krogan had chewed them out on a human military ship, or that he had, in his own way, just admitted he gave a damn about a human.

Garrus would have probably sided with the last group, if he hadn’t witnessed firsthand that shift in the air, when the Commander and Wrex – just the two of them – got back from the Argos Rho cluster, for reasons off limits to the rest of the ship.

Whatever the case, however, Doctor Chakwas stepped into the gap Wrex had left behind. “Show some of the respect the Alliance demands from its members.” Her voice was steel. “If I hear one more word about this, I will make sure the Commanding Officer deals with you personally.”

She turned on her heel and left.

Her warning did the trick. The mess hall fell quiet, and those who still talked had the decency to keep their voices low. It worked on him too.

He finally grabbed the bars he had come for, shut the pantry, and stepped into the elevator.

“For God’s sake, what took you so long?” Amina grumbled, pushing back the stray wisps that escaped her golden braid. With all the grease on her fingers, they just stuck there.

“Apologies. It was a bit crowded up there,” Garrus replied absently.

She wiped her hands on her jumpsuit and reached for a bar.

“That one’s dextro,” he pointed out, “but if it doesn’t make you run to the bathroom or worse, you can keep it.” He wasn’t even sure why he had grabbed one; his appetite was stranded somewhere in the docking bay.

“You know, I already have a soft spot for you,” she noted, her mouth already full. “No need to win me over with food, too.”

Garrus didn’t react. He normally would, in a way that, he was quoting here, made her giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. Now, though? He simply looked at her and didn’t.

Amina didn’t seem to notice, absentmindedly fiddling with the piercings in her ears, as she always did when her hands weren’t busy. She swallowed the last bite before saying: “There’s nothing we can do about the differential. Silas says we’re better off scrapping…”

Garrus tried to focus on her words, he really did, but he just couldn’t. His synapses kept racing with observations, thoughts, memories. All circling back to that spot.

Slavers. Nothing new; Garrus had known about them since childhood. The news his mother would put on while cleaning her weapons. The exo-sociology lessons at school. The case reports his father would share with Clelia, thinking Garrus and Solana were still playing outside… all little paragraphs in a pamphlet his young eyes had never been able to read; too distant to grasp its true gravity.

Compulsory service had not so gently slammed that pamphlet in his face.

It wasn’t unusual for the Indomitable to transport slaver cells to Maitrum, that Spirits forsaken rock Hierarchy used for prisons and interrogations. Indeed, requests for that kind of escort had come four times during his time aboard.

And each time, as the dreadnought had approached the planet, Garrus had found himself grappling with a deep sense of shame, that loosened its grip solely when the Indomitable was once again light-years away from the Talava system. When the vacuum of space once more placed itself between him and those voices – undeniable, disgraceful truths.

Voices that spoke of officers who beat prisoners to the brink of death during interrogations, of higher-ups who turned a blind eye. Men and women with their own emotions, ambitions, and dreams, yet, as turians, took the highest oath to suppress that individuality in service to the Empire. And still, even they had broken. Even they had failed their rigid discipline, even they had broken their vows, for the atrocities witnessed through the mouths of their questionees.

That was when Garrus saw the rot for what it was.

He thought about Talitha, John, Shepard… and too many others. His throat tightened.

“Why the hell are we out here if we can’t even keep one little girl safe?” Lieutenant Girard had asked.

Garrus wondered the same thing.

“To make people who do these things pay. It’s not the severity of punishment that deters crime, it’s the certainty,” had been the Commander’s response.

Garrus wasn’t sure he could stay as measured and detached if anything like that happened to him. Maybe, in another life, he would have been one of those guards on Maitrum.

That shame, again.

“… doing this.” Amina gave his leg a few taps. “Fuck, Garrus… don’t tell me I’ve been talking to myself this whole goddamn time.”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“I’ve never seen you like this.” Her brows furrowed in concern. “Are you high or something? I don’t want to be a pain in your ass, but we’ve got a drug test in four hours.”

Garrus blinked. The accusation so preposterous it jolted him from his thoughts.

“W-what?!” He stared at her, the utter disbelief shaping Amina now clearer than ever. “By the Spirits of the Homeworld, no! Absolutely not!”

He glanced around.

The hangar was mercifully half empty. Ashley, who was looking at him, quickly lost interest.

“Look… I’m sorry. I really am,” he said, forcing himself to focus. “You’ll have both my ears now. Wait… is that what humans call it?”

"Listen first, then tell me what’s on your mind, and maybe I’ll tell you," she said, nudging him with a grin that promised him she would. "Anyway… I was saying…"

Day 48 / 1508 hours, 23rd of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

Dock 422, Alliance Citadel dock

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Despite his flawless english, the Lieutenant’s brogue could not but remind her of the mornings spent with John delivering aunt Olivia’s cow milk around Lisieux E-1’s french quarter.

She could almost hear the creaking of their wonky handcart again (just as doomed as they had been to that terrible chore), the clinking of the bottles every time they hit a pothole or hump… and John’s quiet cursing whenever it happened. Not to mention the rich, enveloping – thrillingly alien, because they were human, yes, but not terran – and forbidden taste of the flask of milk she and her brother would sneak from time to time.

That memory felt so distant, and not just in time, that the sound of his omnitool was all it took to pull her back to the present.

Shepard glanced at him. The complacent look on Girard’s face told her his report was done.

"You will receive a copy of the report within twelve hours, ma’am.”

"Good to know,” she said. “As for my extranet addre–”

"Talitha asked for it before she fell asleep,” he cut in, his words tumbling out so quickly they nearly blurred together. The moment he realized, his eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat, then. “My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

She waved a hand in the air, cracking a smile. As much as she was one of those who tried to stick to protocol as much as possible, she also belonged to the group of those who didn’t expect the same in return. Ergo, she certainly wouldn’t be the one to burst his bubble – if anyone wanted to, let it be some fusspot officer obsessed with formalities.

“That’s okay. You were saying…?”

"I’ll personally make sure to give it to her once we reach the rehab, ma’am,” he rectified.

“Good.”

Shepard looked around. The docking bay was once again pristine and sterile, just as the station intended and the keepers demanded – no crates to hide behind, no victims, no snipers lying in wait to pull the trigger if things went south. The only token telling a different story was the dermo-jet injector still in her hand. The one she had pressed against Talitha’s neck while cradling her close.

“You’ll dream of a warm place. And when you wake up, you’ll be in it.”

She slipped it into her pocket. “I guess we’re done here.”

Picking up the cue, the Lieutenant straightened, placed his feet together, and sharply raised his right hand in a flawless salute – even for an obsessed fusspot. “It’s been an honor to meet you, Commander Shepard.”

“Wish it had been under better circumstances.” She nodded curtly. “Lieutenant Girard.”

She watched him until the elevator doors swallowed him. Only then did Shepard realize how exhausted she felt – the kind that called for a drink more than a warm bed. Maybe Girard felt the same and that was why he’d invited her for one tonight.

… She would think about it.

She leaned on the cold railing of the bay. She should have been heading to the docking port, as nothing was keeping her from returning to her duties now. She knew it. And yet, she stayed where she was.

Just a moment, she told herself.

She could feel it deep in her throat, in her gut – the physical need for silence. She was fortunate, in some way. Among all the docking and departure notices, the constant announcements in the exotic languages of the galaxy, and the roar of ship engines that were crowding her ears, she found exactly what she was looking for: silence of people.

Shepard was alone in docking bay 422.

Her thoughts were the only organic things, for lack of a better word, that she could hear talking. Not that most of them could really be defined as such; they died before reaching any semblance of logical sense. Too painful to allow them the chance to cling to deaths that were better left undisturbed where they were.

The only one that passed the subject-verb-object skill check and kept repeating itself as her eyes traced the red paint cutting across the Normandy’s hull, was the sheer hope that the Alliance could help Talitha just as it had helped her and John.

That was all.

“Commander! I’ve been looking for you!”

The voice startled Shepard. Automatically, her brain repopulated itself with Saren, the Rachni now roaming free, the Reapers and the Conduit, and all the responsibilities that filled a military ship captain’s agenda.

She pushed herself off the railing and turned toward the unmistakable mixture of custard, waste oil, and degreaser soap.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’d like to show you, ma’am… if that’s alright.”

“Sure, lead the way,” Shepard promptly replied before Waaberi’s quizzical expression could morph into words.

The hangar was, like the rest of the ship’s compartments, already projected towards the shore leave that would start in a few hours. Its crew was halved, and those still there were working at a deliberately relaxed pace. In the air, there was a multitude of conversations that wouldn’t have been heard at full capacity. From the elevator, Shepard overheard Ashley chatting amiably on a call with who seemed to be a woman. They were discussing something about Kaidan.

“The transmission’s shot,” Waaberi said as they reached the Mako, which sat lifted by an eezo jack. Garrus was removing its tires.

“Commander.” He nodded, ever the professional, and resumed his task.

Shepard returned the gesture and looked back at Waaberi. “You told me that two days ago, Amina.”

“I did,” she agreed with a smile that Shepard couldn’t help but mirror. “But now that we’re in a well-equipped station, I thought we could replace it with something better suited to the kinds of missions you’re running. Something tougher…” She pulled a datapad from one of her work suit pockets and handed it to her. “Krogan stuff, ma’am.”

Shepard studied the blueprints on the screen, then again. But even on a second look, neither her emergency repair training from the Villa nor her passion for skybikes came to the rescue.

“Care to elaborate a bit further?” she did, in fact, ask.

Waaberi gestured to follow her under the vehicle. Unlike her, Shepard had to duck her head and bend her knees to fit.

For the next forty minutes, the mechanic went through everything in the attempt – successful at that – to clear up every doubt of hers in a language that could make sense. Explaining the assembly and feature of a krogan drive? Done. Outlining the intra-mission gains for the shore team and the post-mission ones for the mechanical team? Done. Discussing the logistics of such a major replacement? Done. Reminding her that such an idea came about just because Commander Jane Shepard had apparently mistaken the Mako for a bowling ball and had knocked down way too many geth on Noveria? Of course, done.

The only question Shepard didn’t get an answer to was the reason for Vakarian’s unusual silence. Between his modicum of vanity and his genuine enthusiasm, she was sure he would have shown up behind them to join that meeting in the chassis light to offer his input.

He had stayed quiet, instead; just unscrewing bolts.

“I guess I can see its benefits,” Shepard finally said, sneaking out and stretching her sore neck. “But two hundred and thirty thousand credits is still a lot. The Alliance parts would cost me half.”

“It’s the best I could negotiate, Commander. Morlan’s a fucking asshole.” Amina paused, her eyes darting between Shepard and the floor. “I mean… uh… he’s a really stubborn salarian, ma’am.”

She heard Garrus snickering from across the vehicle. Mmh, so he’s alive.

“I can be very persuasive when I want to… I’ll take you to see this Morlan. Is two hours good for you?”

The Chief mechanic beamed. “Hell, yes! You sure know how to make a woman happy, ma’am!” she exclaimed. “You’ll find me here, ma’am!” she added, enthusiastic, and crawled back under the Mako.

With one less task on her list and the chance to cross off two more at once, Shepard made her way around the vehicle. Garrus was rolling a tire toward the starboard bulkhead.

She cleared her throat. “Didn’t I promise you a mod?”

He picked up another wheel, his mandibles shifting in what she recognized as a turian smile. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

She crossed her arms. “Do you think I’m that heartless, Vakarian?” she asked, keeping her eyes on him.

He paused and met her gaze.

“I’ve seen you in action, Commander,” he remarked before rolling the tire again. Stacking the last one, he clarified: “I’m glad to be on the right end of your rifle… that’s all I’m saying.”

She felt quite flattered but didn’t let it show.

“Watch it, keep acting so precious, and I’ll go with the Commander myself!” Amina shouted.

Shepard and Garrus chuckled. The laughter faded into a smile when their eyes met once again.

“You heard the lady,” she teased. “So, how about going now?”

“After you, ma’am.”

Day 48 / 1639 hours, 23rd of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Office

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

“Shepard, Jane. Human. Spectre status recognized.”

They stepped in, and Garrus looked around in awe as they moved deeper into the office. He looked like a kid in a candy store.

She showed him the requisition terminal, reassuring him once again that yes, he could really purchase a mod, and yes, he could really pick whichever one he wanted.

Shepard took her place on the communications interface, and immediately accessed a secure channel.

“John, it’s Jane,” she began her holo-message. “I’ve found Kahoku’s marines. All killed by a thresher maw, except for Filip Nowak, Helena Silva, and Jorge Soto who are currently MIA. A First Fleet patrol took the bodies at Arcturus, but their families won’t be informed until we know more. You’ll find the details in the attached file.

“I tried looking into Banes… his work, his connections… but GHQ completely shut me out, even with clearance from the Fifth Fleet and SPECOPS brass. And the little I managed to dig up… doesn’t look good.

“John…” A sigh as she traced the scar on her eyebrow. “… John, I don’t think this is just some extra-jurisdictional Corsair bullshit. We might be dealing with potential dissidents here.

"Until this is over, keep in touch on this safe channel."

Her finger hovered over the send button for five full seconds.

“Be careful,” she said, the taste of a plea on her tongue. An unnecessary warning for a career soldier – one of the best – like John; a hollow comfort for a worried sister on the other end. She pressed the button.

Now came the hardest part: staying put and waiting for his news.

“Found anything good?” she asked, her focus fixed on where her holographic keyboard flickered.

“Huh, oh… High explosive rounds,” Garrus replied as if caught off guard. “What do you think, Commander?”

Shepard turned toward him, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk. “Suits you.” She nodded toward the single side room of the office. “We can use the firing range over there to test it out. I’d rather not see your Equalizer blow up in your face mid-op.”

“Well, scars have their charm,” he mused, following her inside. “Wouldn’t you agree, ma’am?”

“Only if you live long enough to show them off.”

He snorted as he set his rifle on the workbench. He pulled off his gauntlets. “I wouldn’t miss a lecture from Doctor Chakwas for anything in the galaxy.”

“Mmh…” She leaned against the wall beside him. “So even turians can’t escape her.” She idly watched his unclad hands work on the grip’s shell before speaking again. “I take it she’s put everyone in line on board."

Garrus nodded. “Something like that,” he doubled down with a discretion that could almost be mistaken for fear if it weren’t that his gaze didn’t waver from her. He tilted his head, and maybe Shepard was projecting pretty hard, but she thought she understood what that small alien flick meant.

She shifted her weight, hugging her elbows. “Chakwas was part of the team that rescued me on Mindoir.” The grip on her biceps grew a little stronger. “If it hadn’t been for her, I would have lost my brother that day too.”

He mulled over her words for a while. His mandibles twitched afterward, and Shepard felt a huge weight lift from her chest when she found no pity in his beady eyes.

“You mean when John lost his leg?” he asked.

“How do you kno–never mind… I forget you two are friends.” She made a mental note to ask him sooner or later how they had met. Guns were involved, probably.

“At first, he told me he lost it fighting some Earth animal with his bare hands,” Garrus went on. “Imagine my surprise when I looked up ‘great white shark’ on the extranet.”

Shepard stared at him, stunned. “He did not,” she drawled. A laugh threatened to escape. “He did not!”

“Oh, he absolutely did, Commander,” Garrus confirmed, grinning wide enough to bare his sharp teeth.

“My God…” she huffed, shaking her head. “I’d have a hard time believing you if I didn’t know better from him… And did you buy it?”

“I laughed right in his face, ma’am,” he pointed out, “that’s what I did.” His mandibles then clamped parallel to his jaw. Something in her gut induced her to follow suit. “He told me the truth, then. Mind you, he was so vague I just assumed it happened after he enlisted.”

Shepard looked up. There were no joints; the metallic, polished ceiling stretched above her in a single solid panel. It reminded her of the hospital rooms – John’s old hospital room – on Arcturus.

“I’m surprised he told you. He never talks about it,” she remarked, focusing back on him.

“Can’t say I blame him. We all have stories we don’t like to talk about.” His voice was mirthless, as intimate as it had been that night on Noveria.

And if back then, she had sensed a raw, almost youthful anger in him, now, the dreariness in his features  made him look older than he actually was. Shepard suspected that, as opposite as they were, those feelings were echoes of each other.

She dropped her gaze, letting her hair fall between them. “Yeah…”

That brought the conversation to a halt. They didn’t step off the ride though; it wasn’t truly over. Just stayed there in a comradely quiet.

Garrus eventually spoke again, minutes later.

“If I may ask, ma’am… How…” He hesitated, then opened his mouth again, only to stop once more. At last, the usual Officer Vakarian full of questions, came out: “… how did you keep anger from consuming you?  How did you accept it?”

Shepard considered the question, looking past him for a moment. Some deaths could be disturbed, she supposed.

“My parents gave their lives trying to save me and John… they died without even knowing if their sacrifice would give their children a future.” Just like Talitha’s. And so many others from Lisieux E-1. “As far as I know, the last thing they saw was me digging through the rubble to pull John out.”

Although the pain in her throat made her voice sag with inevitable sorrow, she managed to keep it steady. The girl Jane had been would never have believed her ears if she had heard herself speak of it at all. The woman Shepard was, was mildly surprised by how naturally it came.

She soldiered on. “I would have betrayed their sacrifice if I had stayed trapped in a past I could never have changed, no matter how hard I tried.”

It felt strange to say it again after so long, to hear those words as something distant but still recognize their familiar taste. Realizing that even after more than ten years, they still held the same might. Just as when she had repeated them every time her eyes fell on John, on his sheets lifted by a single limb where two should have been there. When she had prayed them as the dirt was shoveled onto her parents’ caskets. When she clung to them one last time for strength as the invaders breached Elysium’s first line of defense.

Garrus scratched with a talon the cheekbone under his visor. His voice was calibrated, firm, warm. “I know humans and turians have different expectations, but I don’t think your parents would be wondering what they did wrong if they could see you today, Shepard.”

Oh.

That struck a nerve.

“Damn it… never thought I’d be comforted by a turian,” she quipped, trying to defuse the solemnity. “Do I look that sad?” she asked with a half smile that didn’t quite match the warmth spreading in her chest.

Garrus chuckled, pulling away his hands from his rifle. "Turians only say what they truly believe, ma’am."

Second strike.

Sixteen years old Jane would have cried, by now – and maybe she was, somewhere deep down inside her. The twenty-eight years old one let the curve on her lips blossom into a full, honest smile. “Well… thank you, Garrus. That means a lot.”

He looked away – just a little too fast, if you asked her.

Day 48 / 1751 hours, 23rd of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – Dock 422, Alliance Citadel dock

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

The elevator shutter slid up onto the crew deck.

Garrus curtly dipped his head and stepped out of the shaft.

“Garrus, wait!” The Commander’s voice stopped him. He turned. Her hand was pressed against the doorframe, holding the gate open.

“Something wrong, ma’am?” he asked, moving back to her. Was it about Monica’s algorithm? Or the Mako? His brand new mod? Maybe his work shift–

“I’m going out for a drink with Girard and his boys tonight,” she said, her tone effortlessly casual – something he found himself envying more with every word she added. Behind his back, his fingers started to fidget in irrational anticipation. A twisted mirror to her composed body language. It shouldn’t have been surprising anymore, yet, somehow, it still was. “Would you like to join us?”

“Yes,” he said, the answer slipping out before he had time to think.

“Yes,” Garrus repeated, now fully aware. “I’d like that, Commander.”

Chapter Text

“If that’s all, I’ll be going,” Shepard said.

Doran, the volus owner of the Flux, had other plans though. He caught her arm and guided her onto the dance floor.

The music pulsed. He moved with it, carefree.

She didn’t join in.

It took eight attempts by the volus to get her moving.

And when Shepard finally did, Kaidan understood why she had been so reluctant.

Commander Jane Shepard: one of the Alliance’s finest, a marine of unmatched precision and grace on the battlefield… was a train wreck on the dance floor.

Stiff. Offbeat. All thumbs and hesitation and adorable embarrassment.

Outside the club, she shot him a sharp look. “Your NDA covers this, too.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Kaidan confirmed. “Though I have no idea what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

He caught a sweet glimpse of a smile just before she turned away.

Day 49 / 21:52 hours, 24th of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

Entertainment district – Shalta Ward

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

How strange it was, the way Garrus found himself missing the Citadel.

Despite it being the center of his revolution for the past five years, Garrus had never truly felt connected to it, never had he felt that attachment, much less that sense of belonging you’d expect from the place that was the backdrop for some of the most important moments of your life.

From the very first day, for reasons unknown to the conscious part of himself, his stay on the station had always felt oddly temporary. Like something he could leave behind without much fuss if ever fate demanded it – no matter the days there stretched into weeks, then months, and eventually years.

Hence the reason, expecting to harbor more nostalgia than he actually was feeling, was odd just as much.

Two months in the cold, black vacuum of space, shut inside a box – a beautiful, billion-credit box at that – should have changed things. Given him perspective. Made him see things differently.

But it hadn’t.

Garrus had walked back to his apartment in the Kithoi Ward after the night out with Shepard and Girard and company. He strolled once again beneath the artificial dusky sky of the Presidium ring; bought his usual three skewers of glazed tupo berries from the same food truck in the lower wards; crossed the same streets he’d patrolled hundreds of times. Yet, even with all the booze dulling his senses, the most he could muster had been a poor, forgettable pang.

Looking back though, maybe the weirdest thing of all was the foolish, almost teenage urge to go drinking again. As if the splitting headache that had glued him to his bed this morning – head buried under a pillow, pleading for silence and darkness – hadn’t already made its point.

Garrus climbed the short staircase to the nightclub entrance, bathed in the pulsing red and blue glow of the massive neon sign overhead. The muffled sounds he’d heard before stepping inside exploded into an all-out sensory assault – throbbing music, alien whispered seductions, sweltering heat, and strobe lights that painted everything in flashes.

The Dark Hole was a human place through and through. Run by them, designed for them. So spotting Wrex’s massive, broad silhouette was easy enough.

By the time Garrus reached the spacious booth that had been more or less claimed by the Normandy crewmen, the same deep, dark, high-tempo music that had captured the scantily dressed white-clad dancers had synced itself to his blood pulse.

He slid next to Amina, who, judging by the toothy grin she welcomed him with and the cocktail umbrellas tucked behind her bejeweled ears, was already a few drinks ahead.

And she wasn’t the only one.

Joker’s ballcap was backward and sitting at a ridiculous angle; Kaidan and Wrex were deep in an animated debate about whatever topic had managed to bond them tonight; Ashley was swaying her loose hair to the beat – here, thankfully, at a volume that didn’t split his plates.

“I was already missing you, you know?” the mechanic said, casually slinging an arm around his shoulders.

A tiny little voice whispered that, in hindsight, it hadn’t been such a foolish, adolescent idea after all.

Garrus was on the fifth brandy, and on his seventh loss at that damned game the crew just dismissed as Skyllian Five, when the Commander showed up. She was in her dress blues.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

Joker tapped his wrist in mock annoyance. “Jeez, Commander… Sparatus didn’t go easy on you, uh?”

“No. Comment,” she replied dryly, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Did I miss anything fun?”

Joker pointed his thumb to the couches behind. “Besides Grenado and Chase eating each other’s faces? Pretty standard.”

“Cut them some slack. This leave is the closest thing they have to a honeymoon, all in all.”

Garrus drew closer to Waaberi. “Might need some background here.”

“Addison and Carrie got hitched two days before they shipped out to the Normandy,” Amina whispered back.

Oh. Both Caroline and Addison were nothing but professional to a fault, so much so that Garrus had never seen them interact for anything outside work matters – and the Normandy was quite a small ship. Tonight he thought they had just hit the bottle too much.

Garrus nodded along while Joker replied teasingly: “Oh, don’t worry, Commander. You surely won’t see me complaining.”

“Figured,” Shepard chuckled, unfastening her jacket.

Even out of the standard Alliance blue uniform, it would’ve been hard to mistake Shepard for a civilian. Maybe it was the posture of her back and shoulders that gave her away; or how the muscle of her biceps bulged past the short sleeves of her black t-shirt. Maybe it was the way she wore her wristwatch, face turned in.

Afraid of looking creepy, Garrus looked away. She caught him.

“Vakarian…” Her smile changed. It went gloating, a little cocky. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up after last night.”

Garrus swirled his glass. “Last night was barely a taste, Commander,” he said. So much for turian integrity. He shrugged and took a sip. “And besides… I’ve got to make the most of this shore leave.”

The Commander smirked. “My, my… you’re talking just like a good old marine.” Then she turned back to the group, fingers dancing across the table’s ordering terminal. “What about Tali? And Liara? They here?”

“Burning up the dance floor,” Amina chimed in.

Shepard looked up to Joker. Brow raised. “Didn’t you just say something about things being pretty standard?”

“Well, I don’t see Liara and Tali making out, Commander, so…”

As Shepard exclaimed a shocked ‘Joker!’ Ashley leaned forward. “Speaking of which, Commander…” she said slyly. “Feeling like dancing with me later?”

Shepard froze on the spot. Soon after, just barely, her eyes flicked toward Alenko, who gave her a not so hidden smile behind his bottle of beer.

Garrus couldn’t believe it, but the Commander looked almost… embarrassed. Shepard. Embarrassed.

“Why me?”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s a bold thing to ask your commanding officer, especially when she’s not even on her first drink.”

Ashley leaned in further. “And how many would it take for my CO to start considering it?”

Shepard grinned, any trace of awkwardness long gone. “You lost before you even started, Williams. Hate to break it to you, but I’m not a cheap drunk.”

Ashley scoffed, slumping back in her chair.

“Tell you what,” the Commander clasped her hands on the table, nodding toward the cards and holographic chips scattered across it, “beat me at poker and the dance is yours. Best two out of three. How does that sound?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa – things are getting hotter than the show behind us,” Joker cut in. “Ash, don’t you even think about backing down.”

Ashley smacked the table. The projection of the chips – mostly and proudly hers – flickered. “A Williams never backs down. You got a deal, Commander!”

Shepard scratched her scarred brow. “Just go easy on me… my Skyllian’s a little rusty,” she said. “Now, who’s dealing?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Ashley threw her cards down. “Rusty my ass!”

Ashley’s last ten chips joined the growing pile in front of Shepard. The Commander’s smug grin faded just long enough for her to take a drag of her cigar.

“Too bad it wasn’t strip poker,” Amina observed lazily.

Joker jumped in. “Are you nuts?! She would’ve stripped us down to the bone!”

Wabeeri shrugged as she shuffled the cards back together. “Can’t deny I would’ve loved to see you walk outta here with nothing but that cute little hat of yours.”

A collective ooooh echoed around the table.

Shepard took another drag. “Who says I’d let him keep his hat?”

Laughter exploded around. Hell, Wrex rumbled a chuckle too.

Kaidan downed his last sip and stood up. “I’m no Commander, but how about dancing with a poor guy like me, Ash? Will you?”

Ashley smirked. “I’m too wasted and bummed out to be offended by your pity. Lead the way, gentleman.” She latched onto him, and together they stumbled off into the chaos of the dance floor.

“Sorry, but I have to clip this,” Joker murmured, slipping away after them.

Although the group was now thinned out, Wrex, Amina, Garrus, and Shepard kept the rhythm they had long gotten into. Drinks were poured, cards were dealt… Wrex kept roasting Garrus every time he lost a hand.

Amina was shuffling the card deck once again when someone took a seat beside the Commander. Not Kaidan. Not a crewmate. Nor staff from the Dark Hole.

Idiot. Leech. Arrogant punk. Harkin’s little brother. Jack. They all fitted, whatever you chose to pick.

Garrus recalled his arrest a few months prior for heroin dealing. Great to see C-Sec had, once again, done its – bad – job.

Jack rested an arm on her chair, leaning in a bit closer. Garrus felt growing the urge to grab him by the collar. “Security didn’t warn me there was such a bombshell here… Can I get you a drink?”

Shepard turned away briefly, blowing smoke into the ashtray’s vent. “Thanks, but as you can see, I’ve already had enough for tonight.”

Jack didn’t back off.

His voice dropped lower, just enough that others nearby could still hear his suggestive approach. Knowing him… that was clearly a display.

“My table’s up there, I’ll get you anything you want, and then we can dance… or keep drinking… or whatever else you like to do.”

“My answer still stands, sorry” she replied, mannerly. “Would you mind taking your arm off my chair?”

He tilted his head and moved even closer. “Come on… don’t be like that.”

That was it.

Garrus stood up – he meant to, but Wrex, with one arm draped behind Amina, held him back. Garrus shot him a look, surprised, and more than a bit annoyed.

But Wrex didn’t reciprocate. His dangerous eyes were locked onto someone else. “Are all humans like this, or are you just too stupid to know when to jerk off somewhere else?”

Jack’s eyes studied Wrex and Garrus both. He laughed and shook his head. “I see now…” he snarled to Shepard, “you’re one of those freaks that screw with the aliens.”

Her cigar lingered midair for a second longer. Then she cut the deck Amina unabashedly nudged toward her. “Get your arm off my chair and get lost. I won’t say that again.”

“Or what? You sic on me your krogan? Or the turian?”

“Let her do,” Wrex whispered to Garrus, his grip still firm on his tunic. Garrus noticed only now how Amina was smuggling a few empty glasses toward herself. He wondered why he didn’t get it earlier.

“So? Cat got your tongue? You’ll what?” Jack poked again.

Shepard stubbed out her cigar. Knocked out her vodka. Then slammed Jack down onto the table.

Garrus, a bit too tipsy to fully track the motion, basically just saw the end result: the Commander on her feet; one hand of hers pressing his face against the glass surface, the other pinning his arms behind his back.

“What I want, I guess,” she retorted. “Jane Shepard, special tactics and recon, Citadel Council.”

Some patrons glanced over, some crewmen too.

The bartenders who craned their necks, when they saw the bouncers not moving an inch, returned to their cocktails. Probably for the same reason the security at the entrance hadn’t seized the pistol she held tucked at her back. Nobody in their right mind (especially on the Citadel) liked to cross roads with a Spectre.

Nobody smart enough, anyway.

Wrex clapped his hands. “Hah! Break his damn spine!”

“Bullshit – fucking bullshit–” he groaned, thrashing uselessly. “–not buying it!”

“I don’t give a damn if you do,” Shepard scoffed. “Now, do your first smart thing tonight and give me your ID.”

He spat on the tabletop. “Screw you, bitch.”

She pressed harder, grinding his face into his own saliva, wrenching his arms a little more. Garrus felt something warm spreading over his chest at the glorious sight. “I’m done being patient. Give me the ID, or I’ll take my friend’s advice.”

The tendons in her hand stood out like cords under the pale skin. His head kept sinking lower.

Now it was just a practical matter of who would break first.

Jack.

Or the table.

His muffled groans quickly escalated into moans of pain. Yet, the Commander showed no sign of budging; just like she hadn’t bothered using the standard ID scan that every C-Sec and Council operative had access to.

“What?” Amina retorted smugly. “Cat got your tongue, now?”

Garrus emptied his glass and Spirits… that brandy had never tasted better.

“Ok ok–stop!” he whined, trying once more to break free from her grip. “Stop, for fuck’s sake–please!”

Shepard lingered some more, but eventually loosened her hold on his head. Jack slumped, mumbling a command. He was exhausted, flushed and drenched in sweat.

“Jack Harkin, twenty-three, residence in Bachjret Ward… Mmh, you’ve got an impressive record, don’t you… public nuisance, sexual harassment, drug dealing. How is it you’re still walk–” The Commander paused, eyeing something on her omnitool. “Hold on. Are you by any chance related to Declan Harkin?”

She knows Harkin?

His face was twisted in pain, but somehow it lit up. “Yes, yes–he’s my brother!” Jack nodded frantically, smearing a trickle of blood from his temple across the table. “One call and we can fix–”

“So being a creepy bastard runs in the family,” she snapped.

Garrus savored the brief – far too brief – shift from his arrogant bravado to the cold realization that that woman wasn’t going to give him a free pass.

Shepard yanked the belt from her pants. “Come on, you and I got to have a little chat at the station.”

“What?! No–wait–wait–”

She tied him up, gave them all an apologetic look afterward, and with no more fuss, made for the exit, Jack in tow.

Garrus didn’t have to think twice.

He pushed away from the table, nearly tripping over it.

“Don’t forget her jacket!” Amina shouted before he went too far. Garrus backed down, took the Commander’s double-breasted garment and made for good his way through the crowd.

The pounding chaos felt like it was closing around him at every step, pushing him back and forward at every bass drop of the music, but somehow Garrus managed to reach her – surpass her, even.

Shepard looked at him, puzzled. “Garrus?” she shouted. “What are you doing?”

He swallowed. “Need a hand, Commander?”

She shook her head.

He tried another approach. “I know his advocate, I could–”

She shook her head again, but this time yelling: “I can’t hear you! What did you say?!”

Ah.

Right. She hadn’t turian hearing.

Garrus stepped closer. Overdid it, actually, because a strand of her hair got caught in his mandible. It smelled of warm spice and soft sweetness – of unfamiliarity.

Shepard redeemed the indicted lock behind her ear, subtly pushing him out of the vital space of that intimate aroma.

“Let me come with you, Commander. I can go with you to the closest station, and it’s not the first time I’ve dealt with the Harkins.”

“Can’t ask you that. You know better than me this won’t be quick, go back to the others!” she shouted back, already walking away.

But Garrus closed the gap once again and brought back his mouth plates close to her ear.

“You don’t have to. I’m volunteering.”

A pause.

Jack tugged at her, yet Shepard kept her gaze on the only turian of the nightclub.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as a drunk ex C-Sec officer can be, ma’am.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow at him. Her smile flickered: half there, half swallowed by the strobing and pulsing light. But Garrus could swear it was there.

“Well… I’ve had far worse offers tonight.”

Day 50 / 0138 hours, 25th of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

C-Sec precinct 3 – Shalta Ward

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

“You should come back, you know. The Alliance discount applies to you too,” the Commander, back from the offices, said, dropping into a chair not far from where Garrus had been waiting.

“And miss the chance to see Jack behind bars for good?” he said earnestly, casting aside the soft implication of what she had just said for later breakdowns. “I’ll stay. If that’s all right with you, of course, ma’am.”

Shepard shook her head with a little shrug. “It’s just a shame your night didn’t go as planned.”

Garrus stood, stretching slightly before making his way to the kitchenette.

“Maybe not,” he said, with a swagger he never thought he’d risk in front of Shepard – this Shepard, at least. “No more Skyllian Five, sure… but we’ve still got music…” He trailed off, letting the streamlined, upbeat tune playing from the precinct lobby fill the break room.

She laughed.

He rummaged through the pantry with the kind of ease that came from habit, and grabbed a couple of cheap turian beers and levo ales that looked even worse. “We’ve got drinks…”

The Commander caught the can of Sirona Ale he tossed at her and concluded: “And the company’s not all that bad.”

Garrus sat back down. This time, he was the one to laugh. I guess not.

About an hour passed before either of them did something different than just drinking or eating vending machine junk food.

“Do you miss it, Garrus? Working for C-Sec?”

Garrus sluggishly tore his eye away from the freshly cracked beer.

The Commander was staring out the long window, toward the brightly lit main corridor of the station. Her eyes were distant. Nostalgic.

He followed her gaze, losing himself in what once had been his. If he stretched his neck just a bit, he could see the door to his old office.

He didn’t.

Garrus looked back at her, indulging for a moment (whether this moment was a few seconds or a few seconds too many, ask the damn beer, or brandy, or whatever) on the way the corridor blue lights reflected on her eyes, tempered of their usual fire. Or how the softer lights of the room they were in, fell on her veined hands and the long scare on her face, that Garrus realized as if the first time, it continued its path down the base of her neck, toward hidden lands – forbidden to the eyes of someone like him, a man who held no claim to any kind of intimacy with her.

By the Spirits of the Homeworld…

Had it really only taken a sniff, one badass arrest and a well aimed question to send him spiraling into these unprofessional-disrespectful-unpractic-absurd thoughts that the alcohol was cramming into his head about his human superior officer? Since when had he become such a cheap drunk?

On impulse, Garrus pushed away the can of beer before him.

And without investigating further – ‘cause there’s absolutely nothing to investigate on – he suppressed that anomaly. Shoving it back down into the pit of things that shouldn’t exist, had no right to exist, and, as far as he was concerned, didn’t exist at all.

“It must’ve been hard, leaving it all behind,” she ventured, unaware of something he himself no longer bore in mind.

“I sure don’t miss its bureaucracy, ma’am.” That elicited an amused roll of her eyes. “Working with a Spectre across the galaxy is a good way not to think about what I left behind,” he said, growing serious. “And besides, the heart goes where duty calls.”

Shepard nodded, attuned. It was truly astounding how certain things in this galaxy seemed to ignore the boundaries of space, time, or even biology. It made you feel both infinitesimal and infinite all at once.

“Five years of service, if I’m not mistaken. Right?”

“Correct.”

“Bet you’ve got some stories worth telling.”

“Well… not as much as you, ma’am… and definitely not as thrilling as stopping a rogue Spectre from bringing back an alien race who knows how many thousands of years old, but as you humans say: I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You’re learning,” Shepard remarked playfully, resting an arm on her backrest. She propped her cheek on her fist. “I’m all ears.”

Skyllian had been a disaster, but here, Garrus didn’t have to think hard about which card to play.

“There was a salarian geneticist I was sent to investigate. That case was a bit… disturbing.”

“How so?”

“I was tasked with tracking black market trade in response to an odd increase in organ trafficking,” he said. “We weren’t sure if there was a new black market lab or if some freak was harvesting organs from citizens.”

“Now that you mention it… that reminds me of an elcor hacking people up around the Citadel, back in the first few months after John moved here.”

“Yeah, Dennoaango, the diplomat. It was my first year at C-Sec,” he said, as a memory surged into his mind.

Shepard had no way of knowing, but it wasn’t the first time Garrus heard her bring up that subject.

It had been the sixth murder with the same modus operandi – the third human victim. Garrus had just come back from the Armax Arena kiosk with their dinner when he found John in the middle of a call with his twin sister.

He remembered John trying to joke about it, trying to keep things light. Jane playing along, but never really hiding the concern in her voice.

Hard to believe that sister – the faceless voice on the other end of the line – was now the captain of the very human warship Garrus was serving on.

Two completely separate microcosms, so distant they felt like they belonged to different planes of existence. And yet, the Milky Way was apparently small enough for their orbits to crash into each other.

It was an alienating, disorienting realization, that made his head feel even lighter than it already was. Garrus wondered how much longer his intoxication would last… and what kind of liver the Commander was blessed with to be sitting there with nothing but a red tinge on the cheeks and an easier smile.

“Hell of a way to start a new career,” she observed.

“You can say that again, Commander.” Garrus let out a chuckle. “But after a year of double and triple shifts, everything else felt like a walk in the Presidium.”

“And this geneticist was anything similar?”

“Worse,” he replied. “In some ways.”

“How did you catch them?”

“I got notified about the seizure of a large shipment of organs. The shipment itself was technically in order, but there was no record in the customs database to authorize that much cargo. So I had all the unaccounted organs traced back. One of them led us to a turian who was still alive and was very convinced he’d never lost his liver.”

As he spoke, Garrus noticed the Commander had that look – the one she always had when he slipped about his time on the Citadel. A subtle fragile softness in her gaze, in her brows faintly drawn together, that was not quite mirth, not quite melancholy… but unreadable to him all the same.

Tonight, in particular, it made him pause for a moment.

“… It… it didn’t take long before I discovered this turian worked for Saleon, the geneticist. So I went to his lab, but there was nothing. No salarian hearts, no turian livers, not one krogan testicle.”

“Krogan testicles…” Shepard repeated, skeptical. “You are kidding, right?”

“Ten thousand credits each. Forty thousand for the full set. Bit of a niche market… but a very profitable one,” Garrus said, deadpan. “That much is certain.”

“So, what did you do next?”

“Saleon and his clinic were clean – some overtime off the books here and there, but nothing truly suspicious. So I started digging into his employees,” he replied. “Long story short? One of them started bleeding out during my interview. Once we got him to the hospital, the medics found incisions all over his body.”

Garrus let out a deep sigh. The tightness in his chest that had been there ever since he mentioned that sick bastard was now stronger than ever.

“Shepard… these people weren’t just Saleon’s employees. They were test tubes. Walking, living, test tubes.”

She leaned in, appalled. “He was growing parts inside these people?!”

“Then harvested them and sold them off,” Garrus finished. “Sometimes an organ wouldn’t grow properly though, so he’d just leave it in them. Most of the victims couldn’t afford treatment afterward… They were a total mess.”

A heavy silence fell between them.

“That son of a bitch... I hope he got what he deserved.”

“That’s the worst part, Commander.” He scoffed bitterly. “We never caught him.”

“What?! Why not? What the hell happened?”

“He took some of his workers, stole a ship, and threatened to kill them if we tried to stop him.”

“But you went after him anyway, right?”

“I gave the order to shoot him down, but C-Sec command overruled me. They were worried about the hostages and possible civilian casualties if the ship went down near the station. I told them those hostages were already as good as dead – he was just going to use them to grow more organs. But they ignored me.”

“A tough spot,” she mused. “No way to board or disable the ship?”

“They sent the military after him. But he still got away. All they had to do was stop him, one way or another. Maybe the hostages die, maybe they don’t,” Garrus spat. He knew the anger was cracking his voice, blinding him, just like when he’d stormed into Palin’s office, ready to resign, “but at least we stop the bastard responsible for it all.”

Shepard’s voice cut through his fury. Calm yet sharp. Grounding.

“If you take it so lightly the fate of those hostages, then you’re no better than he is, though,” she said with no half measures, “you’re just a terrorist with a badge.”

Garrus chewed on that for a while. As much as he’d come to value her opinion – look for it even, it packed a punch nonetheless.

“Maybe you’re right…” he mused after. “… It doesn’t make it any easier, but I see your point.”

Garrus then looked away, as if the six civilians kidnapped by Saleon were staring at him through her. “It’s… I just wish I could have stopped him, Shepard…” he admitted. Then, words that barely rose above a whisper: “That’s all.”

Silence.

Garrus felt the air grew colder. Or maybe it was the fire inside him that was dying out.

“Do you have any idea what happened to Saleon?” the Commander asked meekly, eventually.

“I kept looking into him while off duty,” he replied, matching her tone. “I thought I even found him a while back. Told the military, but they weren’t convinced it was him.”

“How long ago?”

“About seven, eight months ago, by now.”

“You still have his whereabouts?”

“Still on my omnitool to this day, Commander.”

A reminder in a small note file of his failure – of what he could had done differently if only... He checked it from time to time.

“Give them to me,” Shepard said. “I’ve got to find a way to work it into our schedule, but I’ll check the coordinates when I get a chance.”

Unexpected.

Brutally straight.

Real.

Like a punch in the gut. A good one, but still a punch in the gut.

"I…" Garrus stammered. His brain was working overtime, trying to process the new variables, struggling to absorb what had just changed. He opened his mouth again. "Commander, I…"

Any good intention to cough something up was cut off by a voice shouting from the holding cells. "You fucking idiot!” Declan screamed. “How many fucking times have I told you not to screw around with Spectres?!"

“Guess it's our call." Shepard got up. "Coming?"

Garrus nodded. Thought he did.

Locked in the observation box that was looking into the actual interrogation room, the Commander reached for the intercom and gave the order to Officer Lang to bring in Jack.

Garrus knew the drill. They had a few minutes left before she’d go to the other side.

Surely she had figured out how much it was personal for him. What if she counted that as a liability– come on. She’s already done more than I could ever imagine. I sure can live with a no.

He took a deep breath and moved beside Shepard.

That scent, again.

"Commander. I…" Her eyes flicked up to meet his. Infinite and infinitesimal. "I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your help. Just… take me with you when you go. If it really is Saleon, I want to be there when you find him."

The Commander tilted her head, the way adults did when kids said something silly. "It’d be foolish not to. After all, you were the officer in charge."

Chapter Text

“I can understand where your concerns are coming from, Williams, but you’re going to have to work with aliens, like it or not.”

“It won’t be a problem, ma’am,” she assured, shoulders squared, hands linked behind her back. “You say ‘jump’, I say ‘how high’. You tell me to kiss a turian, I’ll ask which cheek.”

“I don’t think kissing turians will be necessary,” Shepard assured in return.

Ashley shrugged. “You never know, Commander.”

Day 53 / 1409 hours, 28th of February 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Kowloon class modular conveyor MSV Fedele – intrasystem space

Herschel System, Kepler Verge

Both had their sights set on Saleon.

“We’ll take him in,” Shepard said, eyes never leaving the target, “and hand him over to the Citadel.”

“But… We have him,” Garrus growled, the hand on his pistol itching, demanding the score be settled here and now. “We can’t let him get away. Not again.”

“We won’t, Vakarian,” she simply claimed.

He called upon what little shred of restraint he had left and exhaled slowly.

“I would have killed you and harvested your organs…” he hissed at the one who should’ve died the moment they’d walked in, and yet by her grace was still breathing. “You’re just lucky she’s here.”

“Oh,” Saleon scoffed, hand inching toward his hip. “Yeah… very very lucky–”

Garrus shot her a glance. She nodded once.

The salarian bolted for cover, hand fumbling with his shoddy weapon as if he still had one last chance to get away from him.

Garrus pulled the trigger, and the shot struck him square in the head. No fulfillment, no closure, that Saleon bastard dropped to the ground without even knowing who’d truly ended him.

His blood quickly spread across the floor, but Shepard approached the salarian right out. Unfazed by his seething stare, too.

“And so he dies anyway,” Garrus growled as he followed her, not even trying to hide the anger seeping through his voice. “What was the point of that?”

She crouched and scanned her omnitool over the body. “You can’t predict how people will act,” she replied, then looked up at him, unmoving even as the blood crept to her boot. “But you can control how you respond.”

“So what?” he snapped. He stepped closer, lowering his head to stare directly into her eyes. The green blood was under his boot now, too. “He deserved to die the second we got here – you think so too, Shepard,” he seethed. He jabbed a finger behind them, toward those experiments. “You saw with your own eyes what he did.”

“I’m just a soldier. What I do think is irrelevant,” she retorted firmly. If only she knew how relevant it actually was to him – and how much it was driving him mad right now. “I didn’t come here to play judge and jury. And neither did you, Garrus.”

That was the breaking point. Without a word, Garrus turned and stormed off back to the Normandy.

Shepard didn’t stop him.

Day 63 / 0741 hours, 10th of March 2183 Terra Standard Time

Zhu’s Hope colony

Planet Feros, Theseus System, Attican Beta

Garrus hadn’t believed it possible, but after more than two days on this planet, Zhu’s Hope was finally beginning to resemble what one might imagine a distant colony to be: calm, uneventful, and blissfully free of creepy surprises.

Technically, they were under the colony, but still.

There was a pleasant silence down there. With Tali topside helping Shiala, the only sounds left were the occasional droplets leaking from some ancient prothean conduit, the gravel under his boots, and Shepard’s voice occasionally cutting in over comms to report she was moving on to sweep the next area.

The cool air was also kind of nice.

As far as he was concerned, this millenia old underground was postcard material, but the Commander wanted to make sure they’d cleared everything out, and… orders were orders.

Garrus peered down at the pit where the Thorian had fallen. He couldn’t see the bottom or any sign of movement, and that alone brought a sigh of relief. Sometimes the deadliest weapon was the simplest thing. A bit of distance here, a bit of gravitational acceleration there, and there you had it: the easy kill of a monstrosity that would’ve otherwise called for far more than their four overheated rifles.

Still, just to be safe – or as his levo crewmates might say, out of superstition – he nudged a rock over the edge. No sound came back.

Behind him, Ashley’s weary voice snapped him out of his musing.

“And now what the hell is this thing?”

He spun around. His hand went for his sidearm – a gesture so automatic he didn’t think about how useless it was now, fried beyond repair by a geth just hours earlier. Ashley was crouched in front of something that at best resembled a kind of oozing sac, and at worst rotting flesh. It pulsed dark red in a sluggish almost lethargic rhythm.

That however, wasn’t what locked his attention. For a moment, just around the corner ahead of them, Garrus could’ve sworn he saw something move.

By the time he recognized what it was, he was already sprinting toward her.

He shoved her hard out of the way the very instant the Thorian creeper spewed where she’d been standing. The blast hit him dead on.

Everything went blinding white around him. Then hard as concrete.

Garrus heard a long muffled sound, like a distant alarm going off. Only after a few seconds did he realize it was himself screaming.

He tried to open his eyes. They didn’t respond. He tried to do something – anything – but the worst pain he had ever felt made his body just an uncooperative sack of flesh.

He tried to–wanted to reach a hand behind him, toward his back, toward his assault rifle–

A loud bang exploded just inches above his head. Then another. Then a third.

“Garrus!” someone, somewhere, shouted, panicked. “No no no – Garrus! Oh my God–”

An eternity might’ve passed or maybe a single second before whoever it was reached him.

He cried out once again as they rolled him over.

“Ashley – Ash, look at me,” another voice barked. Sharper, more authoritative. “You’ve got to hold him still, you hear me?”

Something was forced into his mouth. The hesitant hands on his shoulders gripped harder.

The firmer voice now echoed in his direction: “Garrus, if you can hear me, I’ll go on three.”

Trapped in a body no longer under his control, he remained motionless, blind, at the mercy of pain, unable to breathe, doing the only thing he could: waiting to be taken to the gallows.

“One… two…”

His teeth sank into the thick cloth filling his mouth just as the voice said three. A sharp jab stabbed into his thigh, and Garrus felt his throat tear open in the most agonizing scream he had ever heard. A scalding wave of plasma erupted inside him, boiling through his veins and furiously devouring every plaque, every muscle, every nerve.

His consciousness ripped away from the agony of his flesh, and in one last glimpse of awareness, he thought that his time had come.

The blinding white faded slowly into the darkness of the eyelids. His eardrums trudged behind, but sound also was making its bashful return. He took a small breath and he caught himself by actually pulling that off.

Garrus dared to open his eyes, and they complied – another surprise. A shadow was floating at the edge of his vision, he squinted and the shapeless black mass gradually sharpened into the profile of his Commander.

She was working on him, eyes fixed on the core of his pain. The face was hidden behind the curtain of her hair, but he managed to glimpse her talking. To whom or about what he couldn’t tell.

She squeezed his hand at some point.

“Garrus, can you hear me?”

He nodded, barely.

“Ash…” he murmured, the air whistling painfully in his throat.

“Ashley’s okay. She’s scrounging up a stretcher,” Shepard replied, still working. “You’re on opioids. Low dose, but it should be enough to hold you until we’re back on the Normandy.” She didn’t look worried – and that alone did good things to his battered soul – just in the same deep focus she sported when she ran from cover to cover or aimed through her scope. “The beta blockers will kick in soon enough, too. You’ll feel like sleeping, but I need you to fight that. Stay awake, and let me know if anything changes, alright?”

Garrus wanted to ask her about his condition, but he nodded again, opting to just focus on keeping his eyes open.

Bit by bit, all the environmental cues that pain had shut out made their shy and tentative return. The world around him no longer felt like a liminal space – shadows reappeared, details sharpened, depth returned. The air blew cool again. Water was dripping somewhere once more.

At last, he also registered the full extent of his injury – which muscles were torn, which ones protested his prone position. And how badly it smelled.

He tried to push himself up. He sank his hands into the dirty, dusty floor and pushed.

Halfway through, his wrists gave out and he crumpled back down, but the wave of relief that washed over him was worth a second try.

And a third.

“Here,” the Commander interjected, stopping him before the fourth, “let me help you.”

She braced one hand on the spur of his good hip, slid the other under his neck, and eased him up slowly. She then moved to his side so his shoulder could lean against hers, and with an arm around his waist, Shepard pulled him close, holding him steady.

“Better?”

“Better,” Garrus rasped.

Pressed so close to each other like that, it was easy to forget the tension that had settled between them since Saleon. The clarity brought on by drugs corrected the aim: the tension he himself had created.

I’m recalibrating the Mako’s systems. Another time, Commander.

Was just about to take a break, ma’am. Maybe later.

Maybe in those two months she’d somehow learned to read his subvocals – whatever the reason, by the third night, Shepard had stopped bothering him. They still crossed paths when duty called for it, of course, but she no longer offered the kind of attention that made her a most unusual commanding officer to someone who clearly didn’t want it.

He was pissed at her.

Yeah, she’d helped him, and for what? Just to shut him out right at the finish line – betraying him when it mattered most.

That was what he’d kept telling himself, deaf to any other voice daring to differ.

The truth was…

… The truth was, she’d been right. And she hadn’t needed to argue or overtly explain either. She just held up a mirror for him to see a side of himself he preferred not to face.

He didn’t know what stung more: realizing it so late, having acted so contemptuously with her… or the right side of his body.

Garrus rallied some courage and hazarded to look down. The pain, though dulled, had long since grown into an annoying itch he couldn’t scratch.

He discovered that his side, from the waist all the way down to the spur, was bare. Where his armor and undersuit were corroded or cut away, there were loops of gauze already botched with blue. He stared at the way the bandages on the thigh seemed to wrap more around a bone chewed up by a varren than the usual silhouette of his limb, and his head grew even heavier than it had already been for the past few minutes.

He shut his eyes. Spirits, what he wouldn’t give to fall asleep. To shut his brain off. Forget the pain, the itch, the Thorian… the words stuck in his throat.

He slumped against her shoulder. Shepard jolted just barely, and her armor scraped against his cheekbone, but eventually she seemed to accommodate the new arrangement.

“Leave it,” he murmured as soon as she reached up to brush her hair off him. “It’s fine. Doesn’t bother me.”

In all fairness, it tickled a little (it felt like solid threads of sand, if that made any sense?) but even though it now carried a more organic scent, it still held the pleasant notes he’d disclosed on their leave. A welcome change, considering the acrid stench of acid, burnt flesh – his flesh – and scorched ceramic.

He snuggled up closer. Just a moment… I’ll rest just for a moment.

“Come on, Garrus – stay with me,” the Commander urged, as if she were reading his mind. “How are you feeling?”

Garrus forced his eyes open.

The fog at the edges of his vision had quite cleared. The orange and brown hues of the surroundings had taken back some of their grim warmth. Not too far from them, he also spotted the creeper’s corpse, its head nearly blown off. Ashley’s work, that, he was sure.

He swallowed saliva he had not. The awful taste somewhere between blood and bile yet lingered on his tongue.

“Like crap, Commander. Hard to elaborate any further,” he muttered. “None of this was covered in my training.”

By the short puff of air that blew on his fringe, he had to guess she smiled.

“And here I thought the Turian Hierarchy had no match.”

Laughing made him cough. “Even they couldn’t prepare me for the kind of havoc that follows you around.”

Shepard chuckled under her breath. “Naturally.”

He tried to lift a finger to his temple but the effort was too much, and so he gave up halfway. “What about you, Shepard?” he rasped drowsily. “How’s it going with the cipher?”

“Got a hell of a headache, but the suit’s meds are finally starting to kick in,” she replied, careful as usual not to mention the visions that were haunting her since Eden Prime. Garrus would have to wait for Liara’s terrified expression at their next mind meld, or the Commander’s sleepless nights in the following days, to try reaching some kind of conclusion. “Can’t say the pressure on this planet helps much, though.”

“Tell me about it.”

She had time enough to smirk before he eagerly opened his mouth. “Commander…?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve thought a lot about what you told me… and about Saleon…” he admitted, forcing the words out before his resolve could falter. “I realized I wanted him dead not just for what he did to those people… but mostly because he got away from me.”

“Garrus…”

Garrus wasn’t sure whether it was the fatigue, his twisted tongue, or the weight of the truth he was about to admit that made the words so hard to say. Maybe it was all of it. Still, he soldiered on: “He escaped under my watch, and I didn’t like that. I let it become personal.”

He felt incredibly lighter after that.

She, instead, exhaled slowly.

“Letting your personal feelings interfere with duty it’s one hell of a double edged sword. It can give you a lot but often takes just as much in return – sometimes even more,” she explained, her voice falling into that quiet, sincere tone she carried when she spoke dispassionately – like an old person who didn’t mean to teach you a lesson, but somehow always did. “But, I’m pretty sure that anyone in our lines of work has gone through something like this at least once,” she added. “I certainly have.”

His mandibles clicked.

“Remember when you asked me how I managed not to get overwhelmed by it all, Garrus?”

“How could I not?” he whispered.

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he instantly winced at how personal he made them sound. Fortunately, if he’d crossed a line – and probably had – the Commander was kind enough to let it slide.

“That was the truth. I believed it then, and I still firmly do it now.”

“But…?”

“But…” She hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to tell him or not. “… the first batarian I ran into during the assault on Elysium turned out to be the very one who killed my mother,” she said, with her voice holding neither sadness nor grief, but rather a trace of, Garrus dared to go as far as… self reproach? “I’ve killed him with three shots to the back of his head. One would have done it since his shields were down, but I wanted to deal with him the same way he had dealt with my mother.”

She then scoffed. “I should’ve stopped there… shouldn’t have let my emotions cloud my judgment, let alone stand between me and the people I swore to protect, yet I kept pulling the trigger on him until my gun overheated. That bullshit almost cost me five civilians.”

Her small digits closed around his waist just a little more. Perhaps it was because she was opening up to him of all people, or perhaps it was that her confession felt as exposed and vulnerable as the anger he had thrown at her aboard the Fedele, but Garrus held his breath at that touch.

“The point is… that day, my mother didn’t get justice. And I didn’t get back a single thing taken away from me,” she said. “But on the other hand, every year for the past seven years, I get five postcards from the Nagy family. I’m sure you know what I’m getting at, Garrus.”

He took a moment, mulling over everything she had told and shown him since they joined forces. And the reply came so so naturally – as if it had always been there.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Commander,” he mumbled – and screw it if it sounded too personal.

Shepard drew in a breath like she was about to answer, but then the squad comm burst in with a crackle, and the little world they were secluded in popped like a bubble.

“Pressley here. Do you read me, Commander?”

She took a moment longer than expected to reply.

“Affirmative, Pressley,” she said, her tone sharpened. “What is it?”

“We’ve got an incoming high priority transmission for you. Whoever’s sending it is bypassing all our attempts at identification or localization. Orders, ma’am?”

“Patch it through, and get Vakarian and Alenko on the line.”

“Right away, ma’am. Pressley, signing off.”

One of his mandibles flared out lazily, the other one stayed pinned between his cheek and her shoulder.

“It must be John,” she explained.

“Jane!” John, in fact, exclaimed as soon as the static cleared. “Jane, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Johnny.” Hearing her both through the earpiece and in person created a strange echo that was blurring the line between the here and the oneiric there.

“Kahoku found out who put the fake distress signal,” John said, skipping pleasantries. “The deserters are working for a group called Cerberus. Up until twenty years ago they were the Alliance’s black ops division. If I recall, you were pretty interested in them.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Despite the whole mess having come out right with John, his sister had quickly developed an almost obsessive interest in those deserters. Because if there was one thing the Normandy’s captain hated more than slavers, Garrus had come to learn it was traitors.

“How’d he get the intel?” Shepard asked.

“He got it from the Shadow Broker in exchange for whatever he finds there.”

“POI?”

“Binthu, Yangtze system, Voyager cluster. The base is split into three separate facilities spread across forty square kilometers.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

John let out a dry laugh. “You’re going to like it even less now,” he said. “Kahoku stole a fighter and went to Binthu on his own.”

“He did what?!” The last word echoed through her armor. Garrus snapped out of the daze he’d been slipping into.

“I got orders to recover him and the marines you flagged as MIA.”

“Why does it reek of a cover-up?”

“Because it is. My priority here is to secure anything I can get my hands on and hand it over straight to the Admiralty. I know how badly you want those infos, but once I’m done here and submit my report, HGQ’s going to sweep the whole thing under the rug and I won’t be able to stop it,” John explained, the unspoken certainty of the capital punishment hanging in the air if he considered going AWOL.

Garrus wouldn’t want to be in either Shepard’s place right now. Family or duty. Duty or family.

The thought alone tightened his throat – and damn it, all he wanted right now was to sleep.

“That said,” John continued – by his swagger, Garrus could picture his hand running cockily over his stubble, “things change if you get here before I’m done… Paragraph twenty-seven of the Alliance Army reg is clear about my dos and don’ts with a Council Spectre.”

“How much time do I have?”

“I’ve already shut down one outpost,” John replied, “But the Berlin is right in orbit above me sniffing my ass. I can’t mask my thermal signature, or that a facility is gone for much longer. I’d say twenty-four hours, thirty tops.”

In the meantime, Ashley got back, Private Fredricks in tow.

As the four of them made their way to the surface – Ashley holding the stretcher’s front handles and Fredricks the rear – Shepard opened a comm link to the Normandy: “Joker, ETA to planet Binthu from our current position?”

“Assuming we discharge the cores first… seven hours, Commander.”

Shepard and Garrus exchanged a glance. He reached for the hand she held on the edge of the stretcher and gave it a feeble squeeze.

Please.

“Nine hours…” Shepard told John after a beat. “I can be there in nine.”

“Works for me,” John agreed. “Oh, and Jennie… bring heavy armor. You’ll think I’ve lost my mind, but something here triggered my xeno-database to think there were Rachni.”

“Wish you really had lost your mind,” she sighed. “Just be careful for now, okay?”

“Always. John out.”

Garrus felt a knot twist in his gizzard when she averted her gaze from him.

“Pressley, Shepard here. Have Alenko and Tali ready in the debriefing room when we get back.”

No, no, no, no–

“Shepard…” Garrus murmured. “Commander… there’s no need to… I’m fine.”

“You need medical assistance,” she replied flatly, still not looking at him.

“Ma’am…” he began. He squeezed her hand tighter, as if that could convey everything he couldn’t say out loud – trying to reestablish the connection they’d shared earlier. Maybe it even worked, but he had the distinct feeling that all the energy he had left was being drained by that small act. This mission is mine just as much as Kaidan’s. John is my friend, and I just need a bit of rest – you can’t do this to me.

“I’ve always been assigned to this op… and John… I can do it…” he mumbled instead.

“Negative.”

“With all due respect, ma’am–”

Shepard zeroed on him, then. And for a second, the galaxy stopped spinning.

“Was my order not clear enough, Vakarian?”

He wanted to reply, but her cold stare stole the last few seconds he had before losing consciousness.

Day 64 / 0207 hours, 11th of March 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – geostationary orbit

Planet Binthu, Yangtze System, Voyager Cluster

A slow, steady beep woke him up.

Garrus tried to ignore it, and sink back into the warmth of the best sleep he’d had in a long time, but that ship had apparently sailed.

He opened his eyes, and a flicker of frustration stirred in him as the gray, sterile ceiling of the Normandy’s medbay greeted him from above. She really did leave me here.

He took a deep breath and sat up. It took some effort, but doing it all by himself felt like an earned victory.

Save for the machines beside him, only the soft rustle of sheets and pillows disturbed the quiet around. He paused, tuning into the low hum of the air recyclers, and ended up just wondering what time it was for the ship to be running at low regimen.

His hands probed the edges of the medbed, looking for a pager, or anything really that could get him someone who could answer his load of questions.

“You’re finally awake. Welcome back, Garrus,” Chakwas said, suddenly at his side. She read his fumbling as an attempt to raise the backrest, and while that wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to, Garrus had to admit the new position was quite comfortable.

“How long…” Though it still burned, his throat didn’t whistle quite as badly now. “… how long was I out?”

“Seventeen hours, more or less.”

It’s the middle of the night cycle, then.

“How bad is it, doctor?”

“Too bad for my liking. And to think you’ve never given me much trouble before… you’re picking up the wrong habits from us humans, Vakarian,” she said in that haughty tone that only a military medic could afford aboard a warship. “That said… the first aid kept the damage under control, and the tissue reconstruction was smooth sailing. Give it about ten days and you’ll be as good as new.”

“Good to know,” he hissed while adjusting himself onto his good side.

Chakwas gave him a knowing smile. “I’ll have to take some samples in about an hour.”

“Spirits… hope I’m back asleep by then,” he groaned. “The Commander… is she on board by any chance?”

“As a matter of fact–oh! Speak of the devil…” The door opened and closed behind Shepard. “Commander.”

“Doctor. You got good news, hopefully?” she said, coming closer.

Garrus knew her decision had been the most logical course of action, and yet he couldn’t stop a flicker of annoyance from sharpening his gaze. Her stare didn’t waver.

“All signs are within parameters. He’s a little bit dazed from the meds right now, but with some proper rest, you’ll have Vakarian back in fighting shape in no time, ma’am.”

“Glad to hear it.” Shepard nodded toward the door, her eyes never leaving his. “Could I have a moment with him?”

“Of course, but I remind you he’s currently my patient, Commander.”

A smile, more like a straight line, crossed her face. “I’ll go easy on him, promise.”

Shepard waited to be alone before she took seat on the corner of his bed – not touching him, but close enough that he still could sense her weight.

“Where’s John, Commander?”

She sighed.

Exhaustion? Anger? Irritation? The amenable tone of her voice didn’t help Garrus figure out where to place his bet. Well, neither did the way they had left things on Feros. Or before Feros, too, for that matter.

“He’s sleeping. I’m pretty sure the first thing he’ll do in the morning is barge in here. He already tried, actually, but Chakwas reminded him who runs this boat,” she said, gesturing around the medbay with a twirl of her finger.

“Did… did everything go well? I mean… on Binthu…”

She nodded. “There’ll be a briefing in the morning. You’re included.”

“I don’t know, ma’am… I doubt Chakwas will be much thrilled about that.”

“Not if I hold the briefing right here,” she remarked, a hint of cockiness at being the one running the bigger boat. “But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Now tell me how are you doing, Garrus.”

“This bed is definitely better than the crew bunks,” he joked (not that much), and a faint smirk crossed her face. “Too bad it took the Thorian to finally get some decent sleep.”

“Military life sucks sometimes, huh?”

“Only if you end up with the crappy bed in the med bay, too, ma’am.”

She let out a quiet laugh.

The silence that followed was thick. Garrus figured Shepard would break it by leaving any second now, but she didn’t. She just kept looking at him without saying a word.

“… Is something wrong, ma’am?”

She tilted her head, curious. “You’ve been on my ship for two months, and this is the first time I'm seeing you without your visor.”

He touched his face. For something that was practically an extension of his body, he hadn’t even noticed. He glanced around, spotting it soon after on a desk just out of reach.

“Could you…?”

“Sure.”

She didn’t hand it to him right away, though. She turned it over in her hands first, careful and attentive, studying it from every angle. In her hands, it looked massive.

“Here you go.”

With his hand tremors – for the meds, assumingly – putting it on was proving itself to be quite a feat.

“Wait.” She leaned in to help. “This way?”

“I can’t find the–no, lower – there, got it–”

It was only then that Garrus noticed her hand over his. It was ice cold, and soft as not even asaris could be. He didn’t miss how that was the first time no armor was standing between them either.

They looked at each other, as if trying to decide who should pull away first. And silently realizing neither of them wanted to.

“That’s the Garrus Vakarian I know,” she said at last, and her hand slipped away.

He swallowed hard.

“You know… I thought about you while on Binthu,” she began with her usual blunt coolness, leaning in a little like she was about to share a secret. There was an odd warmth sweetening her voice. “I’ve gotten so used to having you at my back, it felt… off, to not find you whenever I looked over my shoulder.”

“Well…” He gulped another lump down – this was definitely painful. “We’re not in our regular formation… but…” he managed to let out, his mind running straight to Feros, to that closeness. “We’re together… now.”

She leaned in even closer, and Garrus couldn’t help but wonder what kind of shocking secret she needed such privacy to share.

“And I’d like it to stay that way from now on,” she said softly before pressing her lips to his mouth plates.

His breath died halfway in his chest.

He blinked and the sparks he saw before him ignited in his brain and across every inch of his body.

But she’s my superior.

And she’s human…

… and I’m not.

She pulled back to catch her breath, but to his own utmost surprise, Garrus discovered he didn’t want to allow her that comfort. That touch might have been alien, but its intimate implication was a universally unmistakable invitation – and he wanted more.

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her in. He bumped his forehead against hers, nuzzling slightly in what, for turians, was the closest thing to what she had just done, before letting their mouths return to each other.

The rational part of his mind still functioning screamed that the situation they were in was nothing short of absurd, reckless, wrong on any imaginable level. And yet, all he could think was that this moment felt like the natural evolution of things. The endpoint of every mission they’d survived together… of every stolen glance… of all the sweet or bitter emotions she’d stirred up… of every word and every silence shared.

He buried his hand in her hair, pulling her even closer, diving into her scent, her softness and her edges – everything that screamed both alien and Shepard at once. Still, no matter what he did, it never felt enough. Nothing seemed enough to satisfy the need for that woman he had forced himself to keep at a distance for so long.

When they eventually parted, it almost hurt.

“I’m your commanding officer… we shouldn’t,” she half whispered. Her hot breath against his skin telling a completely different story.

“Yeah…” he gasped, “… we really shouldn’t.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, just as he’d seen her do countless times. And by the Valluvian priests… he never imagined he had such a thing for human hair. “But you should’ve figured out by now I’m not exactly the kind of turian who sticks to protocol.”

Shepard planted a small peck on the thumb stroking her cheek. The sensation shot straight to his groin as he caught the not so innocent look in her eyes.

A soft hum escaped her. “Guess I picked the right turian for the ride, then.”

Swinging her leg over, she climbed onto his lap, slipped off her N7 hoodie, and dove back into a kiss that had nothing in common with the tenderness of before.

It was hungry, instinctive… and filthy.

Completely clueless about what to do, Garrus initially opted to just sit, let her guide, and learn. But as soon as he got a general hang of how things worked (and turned on as hell by the thought that that was the same mouth that usually barked orders at him), he ventured to respond, moving his tongue against hers, and letting out an undignified groan straight into her mouth when her hand caressed under his fringe and the other started unfastening his paper thin tunic.

They broke apart with a wet smack, his garment joining her hoodie on the floor, and in the quiet that followed, they took a moment to really look at each other.

While she examined plates and hardened skin, Garrus couldn’t see past the red rash on her lips and the skin just around. A wave of sadness and guilt immediately twisted his insides, knowing painfully well he was the cause. That no matter how much he desired her, eons of evolution before them had already decided they simply weren’t meant to work.

And yet, as she spoke, her hands resting on either side of his keel, she reminded him it was Shepard he was talking about – not the kind of woman that would back down easily, and everything else seemed to fall behind.

“We have to be quick. Chakwas might come back if she sees I haven’t left yet.” She tossed a quick glance toward the door, and when she turned back to him, she wore a carefree gleeful grin he didn’t remember ever seeing on her. And Spirits helped him, the sole idea he might’ve been part of that bliss made his heart pound all the more hard.

“Surely you’ve noticed I’m pretty good with quick shots.”

“Really,” she said flatly, though an amused smirk was curling up her mouth. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Come on…” he laughed softly. “I’m high on meds. Cut me some slack here, Shepard…”

Her laugh was a delightful melody to his ears, and the gentle rustling of her joggers against his flimsy med pants only made it sweeter… and made it throb against her heat.

Eager to make a step further, and hopeful that the turian courting and her kin one kept matching as they were roughly doing by far, Garrus eyed the black shirt standing between him and whatever wonders she was hiding beneath it and growled: “I think you’re a bit overdressed compared to me.”

“I was thinking the same,” she murmured back, and the purr in his throat blossomed into a full rumble at this point. One hand of hers moved up and cupped his jaw, the other slowly guided his hand to the hem of her shirt. “Why don’t you help me even things out, Garrus?”

His hips moved against hers, instinctively reacting to the sultriness she dared to hail his name with. He leaned in, closing the gap to her neck, clicking his tongue softly, coaxing another delicious sinful sound from her. Shepard gasped sharply as his talons slipped under her shirt and gripped her generous hips.

“Garrus…” she panted.

He followed the path of a pulsing vein, trailing it up then along her jaw and toward her ear. She shivered under the slow and wet drag of his touch. And his pants were becoming uncomfortably tight.

“Garrus…” she repeated, this time to get his attention.

Half heartedly, he complied.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this…” she said, feigning innocence. She was ministering him the loveliest of her smiles, but his hand reflexively reached for her face as soon as he noticed her mien gradually saddening. He stopped midtrack when she resumed: “… but don’t you think it’s time to wake up?”

“What…” he blinked, confused. “–what are you talking about?”

Her reply came like a slap of freezing air.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Garrus.”

Before he could ask for an explanation, Shepard shoved him backward. Garrus gasped violently, the air fire in his lungs, his vision and hearing blurred together in a foggy nonsense that was spinning nonstop.

At long last, he managed eventually to make out the orange glow of an omnitool sweeping above him, then the arm it was projected on, and then its owner. Another figure moved into view… Ashley – Ashley?!

“What… the hell… is happening…?” he rasped.

When did Chakwas get back? What about Ashley? And where was Shepard? Why wasn’t she on his lap anym–

“I recorded a spike in your REM phase while you were asleep…” Chakwas explained. “But there’s nothing to worry about, you’re under my care. Have been for sixteen hours, in case you’re wondering.”

Garrus hid his face behind his arms, not sure if he did for the lights… or the shame.

Damn it… so that was a dream.

He turned it over in his mind. “Feels like I’m still sleeping…” he muttered, swallowing down the fictitious taste of her that was still clinging to his tongue. His heart pulled at that. “… and my side itches.”

“You’ll have to live with the itch, Vakarian… as for the rest, give it some time and you’ll be nice and sprightly.”

He shifted the arms just enough to peek past them. On the IV bag beside him, a label in human script caught his eye. He stared at it… and the letters stayed human. No translation overlay popped up.

“My visor…” he mumbled as he sat up and Chakwas adjusted his backrest. “… where is it?”

Ashley passed it to him, and when she saw him fumbling with it, she asked: “Want some help?”

Her hand over his–

His reply came out sharp, tense and raw: “No! No–”

His eyes dropped instinctively to his crotch. Sheathed, at least, at least! – he really had to start to pay his respect to the Spirits once they’d dealt with Saren.

Only afterward did he notice his comrade’s face fall, her expression clouding with shy chagrin.

“–there’s no need, really, but… but thank you,” so he stammered.

Ashley nudged her stool closer, then cleared her throat, and as though it were a coded signal, Chakwas took the hint and made her exit, leaving them alone.

“Tali told me these are your favorites…” Ashley said, a bit hesitantly. She reached into the pocket of her baggy gray Alliance hoodie and pulled out a blue and silver wrapper, placing it on his bed. “Hope I got it right.”

Even with the doctor’s okay, Garrus couldn’t imagine taking a single bite right now. His stomach was a knot of nerves.

“They are,” he said anyway, picking up the snack bar. “I really appreciate it, thank you, Ashley.”

She waved it off.

“For so little…” The faint smile on her face faded as she lowered her gaze. Her loose raven hair further hid her. “I should be the one thanking here, Garrus… You saved my ass down there.”

His mandibles clicked softly. “There’s no need to. That’s what a team does.”

“Yeah, I know, but… you scared the hell out of me.” Her hands weakly started fidgeting. “If Shepard hadn’t been there… I, I don’t know – I think I would’ve lost it.”

Shepard. Not exactly the name Garrus was eager to hear at the moment. He didn’t let that slip.

“Was I really that bad?” he humored.

She looked up now, meeting his eyes. “Worse than usual,” she quipped.

That got a small chuckle out of him.

She smiled.

“I owe you an apology, too, Garrus,” she added after a pregnant pause.

“What for?”

She huffed. “While I appreciate you playing dumb, you know what I’m talking about,” she said, dead serious, holding his gaze. “I didn’t trust you… and I’m sure I made that pretty clear. I let my personal issues get in the way between us… and I’m sorry. I’ve been a total jerk.”

Garrus blinked.

By the time he remembered that it wasn’t well mannered to keep his teeth bare, he shut his mandibles and thought back to the poor remarks he had made to Wrex or Tali about their people up until two months earlier. Yeah… he really couldn’t afford to act all high and mighty.

“I don’t think I’m in much of a better position to talk, honestly,” he admitted. And as much as he didn’t want to dwell on her, he fleetingly imagined that Shepard would be proud of them both. “But for what it’s worth, Ash – apology accepted.”

Ashley smiled warmly, the blush on her cheeks deepening.

“Alright… I’d better get some sleep before things get too emotional in here.” She pushed herself up, briefly averting her gaze. “Mind if I drop by later? Maybe we could have breakfast together.”

“I’ll try to keep my schedule clear,” he sighed, dramatically smoothing a few wrinkles on his sheets. “No promises, though.”

She laughed.

“Just… would you bring me more snacks?”

“Sure thing,” she nodded. “Good night, Garrus.”

The door closed behind her, and Garrus exhaled a deep breath through his teeth. He slowly turned the bar over in his hands.

He had a lot to think about.

Day 64 / 0300 hours, 11th of March 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – geostationary orbit

Planet Binthu, Yangtze System, Voyager Cluster

“So,” John drawled as the elevator’s gate slid shut, “how’s it going with Garrus? Is he giving you a hard time?” he glanced at her. “Or is it you giving him none?”

“What do you think?”

“Both?”

“Are you speaking from personal experience, or just because you know us?” Shepard poked.

“Both?” he repeated jestingly.

She exhaled through her nose, almost a sneer.

“Where do I even start…” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “He’s stubborn… impulsive… doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut,” she said. “But he’s a good soldier. A very capable one, in fact.”

John raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s it?” he snorted. “I wasn’t asking for a full performance report, you know.”

She gave him a little shove. “It wasn’t a performance report…” she echoed mockingly. “Okay… maybe a little.”

“So?”

She thought it over, and a smirk slipped out.

She liked Vakarian, really. She wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual, though.

Not that it would surprise her – Shepard knew she’d been a pain in his ass ever since he set foot on the Normandy. And even if she knew for sure, that dynamic wouldn’t change much (luckily for them, they didn’t have to share a bed). She saw in him a tremendous potential – more than he actually realized – and if pushing him meant playing the hardass officer until they parted ways, then so be it.

Her sentiments did not need to be reciprocated to do a good job – first Sergeant Ellison, then Captain Anderson later on, had always told her that.

Still, as she imagined his dual toned voice making his characteristic dry remarks – often right in the heat of the battle, no less – she felt her cheeks warming up and her smirk flourish into a full smile.

“He cracks pretty good jokes,” she finally answered. “Sometimes I forget he’s a turian.”

Just as they reached for the door to the medbay, Shepard paused. “For the love of God, don’t say a word to him about any of this. He’s already cocky enough as he is.”

“I know I don’t say it often, but I do love you, Jennie,” John stated, mock offended. “Why on earth would I torture you like that?”

Day 64 / 0333, 11th of March 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – geostationary orbit

Planet Binthu, Yangtze System, Voyager Cluster

Relaxed, eyes on the ceiling, hands resting on his lap, Garrus could almost visualize the conceptual map he’d pieced together projected across the gray panels above him – a structured breakdown he used to logically explain why he had dreamed what he had dreamed. And no, it didn’t involve infatuations, repressed feelings, or anything of the sort.

It was the whole situation, to keep it simple. Just a coping mechanism, a basic way for his mind to break him free – even if only make believe – from the physical confines of the Normandy and the constant reminder, breathing down his neck every time he let his guard down, that they didn’t have much time left before Saren’s plan came to fruition.

In the absence of good and old supervised fights – and occasionally, something more intense too – his mind had adjusted to the different customs of the ship he was serving on. That was it.

… And as for the co-protagonist of the dream… Shepard was a woman of undeniable charisma; there was no point pretending otherwise. Not unlike her brother, she had a way of commanding attention, whatever room she walked into, whatever its bystanders’ species – and Garrus, too, had been no less of a dazzled onlooker.

And, liked it or not, she was the person he interacted with the most on board.

And liked it or not, Shepard had been the one who first tended his wounds back on Feros, and the last resort his eyes rested on before passing out. Basically, the embodiment of all the tropes of those old human spy-thrillers Ridgiefield and Lamont forced him to watch after their extra shifts.

Cultural enrichment, they’d said… their fault if I’m in this situation, Garrus said now.

It didn’t seem entirely unreasonable – not completely – that his subconscious had picked her, of all people. Even if he wasn’t into aliens at all, and didn’t feel anything for her other than a profound respect (not like that Garrus) – yeah, ok… he also took a liking to her.

If he kept brooding over it, gnawing at it like children picking at their fringe as it grew in, Garrus concluded it had to be just the shock of seeing someone in a role so far removed from reality.

In his head, the logic stood like a fortress: solid, impenetrable and without so much as a crack. But the moment the door opened and she stepped in, it felt less like a stronghold and more like an abusive sandcastle made of sand way too wet.

“Your friend here was this close to insubordination just for you, you know?” Shepard told John, flashing a grin at the sole damned turian in the room.

“Commander…” Garrus chuckled, stalling for time, trying to collect himself. He just hoped the tremor he felt inside didn’t reach his voice. “You shouldn’t have told him. He’s never going to let me live it down, now.”

John approached him, beaming, and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Guess you’re lucky turians outlive humans, then, huh?”

“I’m not sure fifty years are enough to catch up,” he said flatly. “Still… it’s good to finally see you, John.”

The Commander stepped away, retreating to Chakwas’s desk. John settled onto the stool claimed earlier by Ashley.

They both looked exhausted. Garrus could tell by the way they dragged their armored bodies. Or by John’s eyes ringed with shadows, his cheeks more gaunt, by his thicker stubble. And by Shepard’s hair messily tied up, and her dark makeup smudged around her reddened eyes.

And yet, like Ashley, they had shown up.

Garrus felt a choking tightness in his chest, and all he managed to do was return the wide smile of his dearest friend.

“Good to see you too, buddy,” John said. He nodded at his bandaged leg. “Now tell me – what the hell happened?”

“I tripped,” he explained. Shepard looked up from the screen she was studying and smiled, but chose not to interfere. Garrus felt his neck flush. “… right after a creature threw up its corrosive vomit on me, mind you.”

“A creature threw up… corrosive vomit… on you,” he repeated, skeptical. “Wait, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?” But when John saw Garrus not batting an eye, he turned to her sister. “Jennie – is he actually serious?”

She let out a lengthy sigh. “I wish that were one of his jokes.”

John returned to him with a half-smile. “Well, look at it this way…” he told him encouragingly, “it’ll make a hell of a pick up story next time we hit the bar.”

“Yeah,” Garrus said, a soft laugh escaping him. “Let’s look at it that way.”

They talked about everything after that. From Binthu and Feros to the latest mods hitting the market, from what it was like to be back in a military environment to all those things they hadn’t managed to say via extranet. Having John nearby felt like a soothing balm, like a quiet sanctuary in the middle of everything – even though John was her brother, and Shepard was there, silent but always listening, ready to look up whenever something in their conversation piqued her curiosity.

It was only in those moments that Garrus would find himself holding his breath.

When their eyes met, and on impulse – like an echo of something that had once been real – he imagined seeing them shine up close again, while she was pressed against him, and her alien body, through some strange dream logic, fit his, the strands of her hair slipping through his bare fingers, and her supple lips brushing his mouth.

It was in those moments that Garrus would stumble over his words like some kid with their first crush, and force himself to look away. Turning away from something that felt so real and so rightfully his, that the fact it wasn’t in reality made him feel irrationally and achingly robbed.

“How did you two meet?” Shepard asked out of nowhere, moving closer to her brother. Her voice held that same easy cordiality it sported when asking Adams about his sister, or Lieutenant Tucks about his two daughters.

Because that’s how it was. Shepard was his commanding officer, and Garrus was just another crew member. Her interest in him was only what any officer might have in a subordinate. And for him… for him was the same.

“Pinnacle – Pinnacle station, ma’am.”

“Remember that apartment I got from Ahern a few years back?” John asked her.

“The one from the First Contact sim that could have killed you?” Shepard shot back dryly. “Yes, John. I think I do remember.”

“Well, the turian right here helped me out.”

Incredulous, she looked back and forth between the two of them.

“I would’ve asked for half the apartment, Garrus,” she said finally, when her gaze settled on him.

Garrus gave a nonchalant shrug. “I only joined for the challenge… guess I then stayed for the whole friendship thing.”

The twins laughed.

“Alright…” Shepard cleared her throat from the final traces of laughter, and wrapped an arm around John’s shoulders. “I think I’ve snooped enough into your business,” she said, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. “I’ll leave you two to catch up in peace.”

Then she approached him.

She reached out and clasped his arm, her gauntleted hand resting on the last bit of his tunic sleeve.

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier… but you did a hell of a thing on Feros, Garrus. And, before I forget…” She reached into a pouch on her tactical belt and pulled out a compact datapad. “I know it’s not quite the same as getting your hands dirty out in the field… but that’s yours.”

Garrus paused on the small screen, catching his own reflection past the lines of the Binthu report.

He looked up.

“I want you to know that if there’s anything I can do to help – anything, just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it, Commander,” he blurted out. Like he needed to reassure her that what happened with Saleon, or on Feros, or even just in his own head, had changed nothing between them.

Her brows knitted together, puzzled.

“You’re acting strange tonight, Garrus,” she noted. “Should I call the doctor?”

“No, no– I’m just a little off from the meds, ma’am. That’s all.”

Come on… I’m high on meds. Cut me some slack here, Shepard…

She laughed–

Her hips undulating against his–

Spirits… he needed a freezing cold shower, indeed.

Shepard bought it. Of course she did. No matter how Shepard was a soldier of many talents, not even she could possibly imagine he was in such a miserable state ‘cause he’d dreamed of (almost) having sex with her.

Thinking about it, the almost had been a good thing. The only human naked bodies he ever saw were the ones by the morgue, and seeing a corpse-human-turian hybrid body below Shepard’s face would’ve been definitely a traumatizing experience–

She wished him goodnight and left.

Garrus watched her leave. Engrossed as he was, he didn’t notice that John was staring at him until the door shut behind her.

“What?”

“What what?” John asked back.

“That little smirk of yours… I don’t like it. You’re clearly up to something,” Garrus retorted, eyes narrowing.

“Got something you badly want to get off your chest?”

“About what?”

John bit his lip, shrugged casually. “I don’t know – you tell me, Garrus.”

“I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He tilted his head, but his grin didn’t budge. “If you say so…”

“This is pathetic,” Garrus retorted in low voice, glaring at the General, busy talking with the Commander. A turian, of that rank no less, in that misery. “What could a woman do to put you in this state?” asked his companion.

“I’m not sure, Garrus…” Kaidan leaned towards him. “But love always works in mysterious ways,” he whispered, looking at her.

Chapter Text

Day 77 / 0555 hours, 24th of March 2183 Terra Standard Time

Planet Virmire, Hoc System, Sentry Omega

“I can’t believe a human actually got a krogan to see reason,” before him, a salarian murmured under his breath.

The comrade at his side, with that pace distinctive of their people, quickly clapped back: “I can’t believe a krogan wanted to see reason at all.”

Garrus had been among those who’d right out gone for his sidearm the moment Wrex raised his gun against the Commander. Still, the casual contempt in the salarians’ voices as they mocked his krogan teammate made his jaws clamp with rage.

He cleared his throat with a sharp cough – and he must have been shooting them quite the ugly look, judging by the way, as soon as the two turned around, they slipped away to pick up their cheap conversation elsewhere. Somewhere wisely far from the only Normandy crewman in the tent.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Garrus leaned against one of the tent’s support poles, letting his gaze wander back to the cramped corner that served as the tactical hub, where Commander Shepard was conferring with Captain Kirrahe.

He’d been worried earlier. More than worried, if he was being honest.

Wrex’s shotgun trained on Shepard’s face. Hers locked squarely at his chest. For a moment, Garrus had truly feared for the worst. And the mere thought–

He’d wondered if he would’ve been fast enough before her brains exploded in front of everyone, but the Commander had worked a magic – hers – and one by one, blessed were the Spirits, their voices lowered and their weapons came down with it.

Now, Shepard was sliding the simulations of their fire teams across the holographic map of Saren’s sprawling complex; sometimes nodding, sometimes shaking her head at whatever Kirrahe was telling her. Her expression already fixed on their next problem to solve, obligatorily far removed from what had just happened moments ago.

Her dark eyes rose, soon finding his in the crowd of salarian soldiers. His fingers gripped his own arms a little tighter.

He dipped his head in silent acknowledgment.

She answered with a soft nod, then went back to the salarian officer.

That determination in her eyes, usually would have been enough to sweep away any concern, but this time, Garrus couldn’t shake a gnawing unease. Maybe it was the looming storm’s static prickling against his plates, or the lingering tension from earlier that was playing him some unfunny jokes. Maybe it was the fact that a member of the squad would have to part from Shepard’s command…

Or it just was that Saren was finally only a few clicks away.

But he couldn’t help but feel that Virmire would be their point of no return.

Day 77 / 1811 hours, 24th of March 2183 Terra Standard Time

Aboard Systems Alliance Normandy class vessel Normandy SR1 – intrasystem space

Hoc System, Sentry Omega

“You should have left me there, Commander. It would’ve been better for everyone.”

“Everyone who?” Shepard snapped. “The Williams name? What is this – some twisted attempt to redeem your grandfather?”

“I’m just a grunt,” Ashley said quietly, “… and Alenko wasn’t.”

“Alenko was the Normandy’s explosives specialist, that’s what he was,” Shepard countered. “And that’s why he didn’t question my order – because he understood what the mission was. And where our priority stood.” She shut her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, Ashley’s face was drawn with the same heavy grief she carried herself. “… we should thank him for that.”

Shepard stepped closer, angling her head to counter her evasive stare. As the debriefing doors hissed open, she added: “I don’t want to hear you bringing this up again. And I definitely don’t want to hear you doubting your place here. Am I clear, Williams?”

“Crystal,” she muttered.

Shepard did what she least wanted, right now – pulling rank. Her voice hardened.

“I didn’t hear you.”

Ashley turned her face aside, quickly brushing away the tears tracing down her cheeks, then met Shepard’s eyes again. “Yes, ma’am! Crystal clear, ma’am!”

Shepard cast a glance at the group frozen in the doorway and gestured for them to come in. The door stayed open for Tali, Garrus, and Wrex. Out of habit, she waited as though Alenko could join them any second, but it slid shut behind Liara.

She sheepishly turned to the comm terminal beeping.

But even with her back turned, she could feel it.

Their eyes burning holes in her undersuit –

Her own thoughts replaying Virmire over and over, clawing through every detail, desperate for some overlooked way the mission might have gone differently – for some path that would have left the seat at her side filled, the way it always had been –

Kaidan’s blood dripping hot from her hands, just as it must be trickling from those of Saren–

But this wasn’t the time. It couldn’t be.

She forced her shoulders back, lifted her chin into a trained yet so painful display of discipline, and pressed the comms link.

The Council’s image flickered into view. Councilor Tevos opened the pleasantries.

“Commander Shepard, I am pleased to see your mission on Virmire was a success.”

“Saren is formidable enough without an army of krogan under his command,” Sparatus agreed.

No mention of him.

“That’s true,” Shepard bestowed, “but the real threat is still Sovereign, and the Reapers with it,” she observed. “We know where Saren is going. With just a small detachment of the Citadel’s fleet, we could already–”

“Yes, we saw mention of this on your report,” councilor Valern cut her off sharply. She didn’t allow the surge of anger she felt to crack her facade. “Sovereign, a sentient machine, a true artificial intelligence. The news is quite alarming… if it turns out to be accurate.”

If…?

“Sovereign is real, councilors,” Shepard stressed firmly. “Reapers are real. Saren himself admitted as much.”

“He’s playing you, Shepard,” Sparatus shot back. “Saren still has contacts on the Citadel. He’s just exploiting what you wrote in your initial reports.”

“It’s very likely that Saren is trying to deceive you, Commander,” Valern said, siding with his fellow turian. “Our intelligence has found nothing to corroborate your claim.”

“Just like they found nothing about Saren at first?” Shepard scoffed. “And look how that turned out.”

Sparatus’s hologram leaned closer to her. His stuck up contempt spoke long before his mouth moved. “I believe you humans have a saying: even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

She matched his motion. They were nose to ridges – a scandalous insult, even if only through a projection.

“Here’s another human saying: go to hell,” Shepard snapped, well past giving a damn. “If you want to keep spitting venom at me just because I’m human, be my guest. But one of my men just gave his life to protect us all – including you, Sparatus. I won’t let you call my judgment into question, and even less that of my crew.”

His fangs tightened, and unlike when Vakarian did it, seeing it only made her clench the fists she held behind her back.

But Tevos, like the good diplomat she was, stepped between them. The asari’s hologram merged with her body until Shepard took a step back – not before the turian did the same.

“It was never our intention, Commander,” Tevos explained softly. “But clearly, a matter this delicate can not be settled remotely. Return to the Citadel, and we can discuss our next steps – even the potential deployment of our ships.” Her tone was gentle, yet the authority she imposed on it left no doubt that it was an order.

“Understood,” she replied, holding Sparatus’ venomous stare until the end. “Shepard, out.”

The emptiness that followed was so loud it swallowed up the ship’s usual hum.

How could they?

How could they so blatantly deny the truth after all the evidence she’d provided?

“They’ll probably help us with some ships… isn’t that good news, Commander?” Tali ventured tentatively.

Shepard ran her hands through her hair and turned around. She scoffed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Beside the quarian, Garrus was quietly nodding when the alert of a priority transmission suddenly ricocheted off the bulkheads. Shepard accepted the call right out, and Anderson’s distorted voice filled the room, replacing the bitonal alarm.

“Commander! Commander Shepard, do not–––”

“June-six,” she called to the ship’s VI, “clean out the signal.”

“Shepard––can you–––I repeat–––return to the Citadel–––”

Then the connection went dead.

Everyone turned to her like she was some sort of light bearer, but Shepard was just as in the dark as they were. She was about to try reaching Anderson again when Vakarian spoke up.

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

“Granted.”

“I think the Council just jammed our communications.”

Wha– “What?”

“I’m not sure, but if you give me the chance to check the ship’s system log, I might…”

“Yes, yes…” she nodded wearily, “go ahead.”

He moved to the terminal beside her.

She watched as he navigated through lines of code and algorithms, barely grasping the essentials. She didn’t even know exactly what he was looking for, but she opted to just let him do. The answers would come – hopefully, turning out to be just the speculations of a meticulous and pessimistic cop.

Her guts twisted nonetheless in the wait.

“The Council, under C-Sec supervision, operates a certain jamming frequency to fry, or at least disable, specific electronic systems in the event of serious threats,” Garrus explained. “It’s a subtle and rather sophisticated signal… You only spot it if you know it’s there.” Then, suddenly, his long index landed on a line of code. His voice betrayed a flash of disappointment. “There it is…”

“See this string, ma’am?” Garrus resumed, clearing his voice. “It shows up here, here and… here as well. At first glance, it might look like a system error caused by random corrupted data – but it’s the Citadel’s doing.”

She had learned to trust him – hell, if she did now, yet the more cautious side of Shepard spoke up with doubt. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Garrus linked his omnitool interface to the terminal and opened two files. “Three years ago, I handled two suspected corruption cases in the Citadel’s upper ranks – stuff the Council cared to stay buried… Look here, ma’am. Same string in the same places.”

She stared at the error code, her mind racing to connect it with the Council meeting and Anderson’s call.

“Those sons of a bitch…” she muttered under her breath, incredulous in spite of everything falling into the right place, “they want to ground us.”

Time seemed to slow down at that; every point in space and time stretching until it felt as though the flow itself had stopped. It slid, slithery, trying successfully to wedge itself between two versions of Shepard that, until that moment, had simply coexisted within the same body.

Now there was one – shocked, blind to the truth, frozen, slower – watching helplessly as the other Shepard fumbled some keys on her omnitool and barked, “Tucks, I want you in the debriefing room. Five minutes ago.”

Less than a minute later, her marine detail commander announced himself with a crisp salute, waiting for her permission to stand down.

“Orders, Commander?”

Her title was all it took for the two Shepard to become one again.

“Lieutenant – have your men hide supplies behind the second internal bulkheads,” Shepard ordered.

His resting posture stayed impeccable, though a single brow twitched up. “Ma’am?”

“Weapons, armors, food and medical supplies… anything that can slip past a casual inspection. I’ll explain later.”

Tucks nodded, apparently satisfied enough with that small bit of reassurance. “Right away, ma’am.”

He saluted and left.

“Joker,” she said, already on another omnitool round, “is there any planet between us and the Citadel where we can discharge our cores?”

“Checking… Yeah, planet Treyarmus, Hades Gamma. But… the cores are nowhere near the saturation, Commander. We could orbit Sol four times and still sleep like babies.”

“Set an intermediate course for Treyarmus anyway.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Last but not least, her XO. “Pressly, we need to go dark. Make it look like a system error if you must, but I want our whereabouts off the grid from the Attican Beta relay until the Exodus one.”

“Understood, ma’am. May I know the reason?”

“Postpone the meal break. I’ll hold an emergency briefing for the whole ship in thirty minutes.”

“Understood, ma’am. Pressly, out.”

Shepard let her gaze sweep across the room. To her surprise, everyone seemed to display a kind of calm far from the storm raging inside her – Ashley was quiet too, despite the reddened eyes and taut jaw. Wrex looked amused even.

Just Garrus’ mien appeared to be absorbed in deep thoughts.

“Good job, Garrus,” she said, then addressed the others: “See you in half an hour. You’re dismissed.”

Shepard didn’t wait for the room to clear. Her backside sank against the terminal and she let out a deep breath that made her feel nothing but heavier than before.

She had the briefing to prepare… what to say, how to approach it.

And she had to find an excuse good enough to outsmart their salarian guests, down in the hangar bay, from eavesdropping nothing of that briefing.

Then there was his locker to empty. His things to pack. The message of condolence to record for his family. His body recovery operations to help coordinate.

And she needed to see Ashley.

Yet all Shepard did now, was simply pinching the bridge of her nose and hiding behind the darkness of her eyelids. Casting aside everything but him.

She cared about Kaidan.

Not in the way he might have wished, but she held him in her heart with the same bright ardor she felt for every member of her crews, present or past that they were.

The thought that he was gone – that she would no longer see him working on the second deck, or share a few words with him on those nights when his migraine and her visions made them meet in the mess hall. That he would no longer continue to live the life outside the military he mentioned to her about…

He wasn’t the first man to die under her command, and she knew he wouldn’t be the last – after all, part of being N7 was carrying this somber knowledge – but still, it did nothing to soothe the hollow ache in her chest. Nothing and no one could ever fill the void Alenko had left.

A good officer loves their men with all their heart… but a great officer's got to be able to send those they love to die when duty demands it, Anderson had told a tipsy Shepard the night she turned Second Lieutenant – because of course he’d known what awaited her. They had never revisited that conversation in all the years that followed, until the night before she officially assumed command of the Normandy, where a tipsy David had reminded her word by word – because of course he knew that the echo of his own loss with Jenkins would have, sooner or later, become hers as well.

Shepard silently repeated the mantra, her mentor’s voice echoing around her. And perhaps it was the stakes of this mission that made her feel so numb, but the comfort she longed for did not come.

Could she have done anything differently?

She replayed every action she had taken, every target neutralized, every order issued. All the hypotheses discussed with Kirrahe, every counter from the salarian captain. Was there a single moment that could have changed everything, brought everyone home?

Would Kaidan’s sacrifice have meant anything? Would she make it count? Could they still catch Saren and stop the Reapers, at this point? No, no, no – failure was not an option. Even if it cost her life.

She dragged her eyes open and turned to Kaidan’s chair.

He wasn’t there. Yet, Shepard couldn’t say to be alone.

For the sake of the illusion of her privacy she did not want to know for how long, but across the room stood Vakarian. Hands clasped behind his back, shoulders slightly hunched, the plates of his forehead lowered as much as his biology allowed.

“Garrus,” she said, clearing her throat by the cords that were choking her voice. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Commander.” His mandibles flicked against his bared cheeks. “I… I wanted to… ” He faltered and looked away.

On other occasions, she would have given him his time, but Shepard wanted to be alone, and more importantly, left alone. Her mouth opened ready to dismiss him when all of a sudden he took a step toward her.

“You did what you had to,” he said.

Her breath caught, suspended somewhere between her chest and throat.

She stared impotently at him as he stepped closer. Her lips parted once again, but struck right at her Achilles’ heel, she found herself unable to keep him from invading her personal space.

“Kaidan was an exceptional comrade,” he continued, with his flanged voice vibrating with sincere, painful respect. “From the very first day, he made me feel like one of you. An equal among equals. He never made me feel like the alien outsider, and when I happened to be, he was always ready to help me. I’m proud to call him a friend.”

She didn’t say anything. Just drowning in the aching pride those words brought to her.

He raised his chin and drew closer. Though he was fit for duty for about a week, there was still a faint limp dragging his step. Shepard couldn’t explain why part of her was paying so much attention to that detail, now of all times.

“Sounds absurd, but he was an even greater soldier. He did his duty with pride, and he left knowing you would honor his sacrifice – that you would complete the mission,” he said, as if he could see every dark thought that had been haunting her since Virmire. As if she were just an open book.

He halted in his tracks, disciplined enough not to cross the line that defined their relationship. Defiant enough to let her clearly see the scratches and dents Virmire had left on his brand new armor. Enough to notice his fingers gingerly fidgeting behind his back.

“We all know you’ll get through this, Commander.”

He paused his argument. In a discreet descent, his avian eyes drifted to her neck, lingering for a lento heartbeat on the marks Saren had left strangling her. His mandibles clenched, and Shepard felt the heat curl around her face as though Arterius’s three fingers were still denying her breath.

“Saren will pay for this, too. And we’ll be right by your side when you go collect.”

Shepard recalled her own voice saying that, telling him exactly that, back to a time when she was still trying to get a read on him. Had she landed back on Noveria, the same effect he was achieving on her now? Had she really been that suasive?

Her eyes fell to her hands. She studied their palms, their backs, in the dim light of the room. The blood she found there was just her own, clotted, across the knuckles split from the punches she had landed on the plated cheeks of the former Spectre.

When she looked up, she realized he was watching them too.

In the quiet broken solely by the soft hum of the bulkheads, their eyes climbed inch by inch each other’s bodies. And for how much he was utterly alien, the boogeyman of her childhood tales, he swallowed as hard and sharply as she did when they finally met.

She wondered if they would stay with her even after what she feared would come the moment they docked at the Citadel. If Kaidan would have.

If Garrus Vakarian, now towering over her, would.

A corner of her mind, the most pessimistic – or the most pragmatic, already navigated the possibility of going on alone–

Shepard pushed herself away from the terminal.

“I should get going… there’s still work to do,” she said, moving to leave. “After all, we still have a Spectre to apprehend.”

His mandibles flexed outwards.

“But… Garrus…” She paused beside him, and rested a hand on his armored arm. She squeezed it gently, rational and careful not to cross that fine line. “Thank you.”

He bowed his head.

Her fingers slipped away, and Shepard left the debriefing room, never knowing that Garrus had been about to cover her hand with his own.

Chapter Text

Day 79 / 1205 hours, 26th of March 2183 Terra Standard Time

Bachjret Ward

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

On more peaceful occasions, Shepard’s place probably did feel big – more than his cramped duplex, for sure – but with over fifty guests crowding into its open plan kitchen, it resembled less an apartment in the affluent district of Bachjret Ward and more a commuter shuttle at rush hour.

Garrus could still count himself lucky, all things considered. At least a head taller than most of the crew meant the minimalist space didn’t feel quite so suffocating, and with the takeout finally here, he could even claim enough room to stretch out his injured leg when the itch called for it.

From the kitchen island, Tali waved to him that their share of food had come in as well.

They’d been there for over three hours now, and Garrus was indeed starting to sense the first pangs of appetite, but the thought of pushing and elbowing his way to her made the pit in his stomach a decidedly tolerable nuisance.

And in all fairness, he was content just as he was to keep looking around.

For all the complaining he’d done about his years in C-Sec, some habits just refused to die. Cataloguing any scrap of information that crossed his path… stockpiling it whenever the chance arose – it was as natural to Garrus as breathing.

And what better chance to sate this long starved reflex than by respectfully poking around the flat of Commander Shepard.

There were things he’d half expected to find here – pieces that perfectly fit the puzzle Garrus had been putting together since he’d met her. Like the scale model starships; or the not so humble weapons stash, with its workbench taken up by a brand new Torrent AR, neatly disassembled and waiting to be oiled.

But there’d been other tokens, too. Pieces that didn’t fit the picture at all.

Apparently, Shepard had a thing for skybikes. Amina and Crosby’s eyes had literally lit up as soon as they’d spotted the modded spares of – quoting Crosby – a R1-X999, scattered across a side table.

And her shelves held other secrets. Rows of old human optical discs, their covers badass, menacing and dark, stood beside real paper books, whose worn spines and covers told the tale of countless readings, currently keeping Liara glued to the bookshelf.

Garrus couldn’t really rationalize it, but trying to guess which album the Commander played the most, or imagining her racing along the expressway down in the lower wards, had induced him to smile more than once like – quoting Waaberi, here – her silly, cute, little baby.

Yeah... No comment.

At the moment, Shepard was propped against the counter, still conferring with David Anderson, the Normandy’s former captain and a bit of a legend among humans himself.

By the files landed on his desk earlier this year, Garrus recalled their association went back well before 2183. Not that he needed papers telling him their attachment ran deep. No matter how hard both carried the austerity of years of service, their body language was betraying a certain affection. Definitely not romantic, not exactly friendly – but more like the kind of warmth you’d expect among family.

Garrus took the last sip of water and elbowed his way to the fridge for another bottle.

“May I have your attention?” Shepard called out.

The crowd quickly packed together, and he had to push his way back all the more hard.

Munchings ended, the idle chatters flickered out, and those lucky enough to have snagged a seat stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, Garrus noticed Amina gracelessly wiping food crumbs off her glittery t-shirt.

The room ended up being dead silent. Fifty heads were turned toward the far end, where Shepard stood at ease. Beside her, Anderson mirroring the same posture.

“You all know why we’re here,” the Commander began.

“Drinks and free pizza?” Joker quipped.

A ripple of laughter spread through the room.

“Wish these were the only things in the package,” she conceded lightly. “Unfortunately, we’re here because the Normandy is grounded. And so are we.” Her expression grew stern, her voice humorless. “According to the Council, our job is done here.

“But we know this isn’t just a Geth skirmish, nor the reckless move of a Spectre on the edge of madness. We know we’re standing at the dawn of a war the Council refuses is coming.” At her side, Anderson nodded quietly. “But we here don’t rely on knowledge alone. We hold the power to stop it before it even begins. We can stop Saren and the Reapers.

“Right now, Saren is headed beyond the Attican Traverse, and there’s only one ship in the galaxy that can take us to the Terminus systems undetected.”

Anderson stepped forward. The golden bars on his shoulders gleamed fiercely. He radiated a steadfast determination that matched Shepard’s completely. Garrus found himself standing a little straighter, and a little prouder.

“According to the embassy’s latest instruction, Councilor Udina is now in charge of all Alliance docking clearances here on the Citadel,” he said. “I’ll make sure the Normandy’s block is lifted. One way or another.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

This is high treason, Garrus thought.

“But… that…” Pressly broke in, struggling to keep his usual composure. “… that would be treason! You’d be risking the death penalty, Captain.”

Anderson released a short, dry laugh. “Good Lord if I know that, Pressly,” he replied. “And even so, that would just be the first step.” He exchanged a glance with Shepard, then nodded.

“With the Captain’s help, the Normandy would be back online,” Shepard resumed, “but advanced as it is, without its crew it’s nothing more than a highly sophisticated empty shell.” She closed the distance with them all. Two short steps, and the knot in Garrus’s chest turned to a cold shiver that rattled his plates to the core. “The Normandy needs you. I need you.”

The emergency briefing after Virmire had touched on that hypothesis, but most of the crew ended up dismissing it as just that – a hypothesis, a scenario far too unlikely and far fetched to ever happen, one of those paranoid contingencies a special forces like Shepard was trained, and contractually obligated, to anticipate.

“I’d rather be a traitor than turn my back on what needs to be done”, had been the words Shepard confessed to him in the quiet of the hangar bay, with her voice somewhere between an ill omen and a jesting pessimism, two days earlier.

Two days later, Commander Jane Shepard was asking them to consciously commit mutiny.

“Holy fucking shit – she really asked us,” Amina muttered. Garrus couldn’t tell whether she was thrilled by it or deeply disappointed.

The question came instinctively: are you disappointed, Garrus?

“What I’m asking goes beyond the worst demand an officer could ever make, and for that I offer my deepest apologies,” Shepard continued. The truth of her words did not loosen the command on her bearing, but still carved the angles of her face.

“Yet I’m doing it because before me stand strong, courageous, capable women and men who vowed to do the hard things others can’t or won’t do. To do what is right even when everything is against them. To shield the innocent even at the cost of their own lives.” She fell silent. Her eyes softening fleetingly, in the same way they did in the Normandy’s debriefing. Her warm fingers were enveloping Garrus’ arm as they did then. “Just as Jenkins and Alenko did before us.

“I am fully aware of what I’m asking for, so I want you to understand I will hold no grudge or any bullshit of the sort against anyone who chooses to walk out that door now. All I ask is that you do not report my plans to either the Alliance or the Council for twelve hours,” she said. “For those who stay, I’ll make damn sure any imputation lands on me and me alone. You’ll be listed just as the victims of my mutiny.”

No one dared to fill the emptiness her voice left behind.

Shepard lowered her face and drew a visible deep breath. When she looked up again, her gaze roamed across the room. Touching no one, choosing no one.

Many returned her stare, others sought the care of the closer comrade or the dearest one’s. A few glanced at the apartment door.

Garrus, however, had eyes only for her.

There were plenty of words, scattered across the spectrum of his emotions, that might have described how he was feeling at the moment. But disappointed was not among them. How could he be, of a soldier like her – one willing to put their own head on the block if it meant stopping Saren and the Reapers for good. If it meant doing what had to be done. Even if the path they had to take wasn’t the cleanest or most just.

She hadn’t been given another choice.

Now, more than ever, he understood Nihlus’s words in his recommendation note for the Council. Why a turian Spectre wanted so badly a human in their ranks.

The memory of their first meeting at the Citadel Tower came back to him. Even now, the collar around his neck seemed to tighten at the memento of how nervous he’d been at the possibility that stranger marine wouldn’t help him hold off the Council long enough – Spirits, how utterly wrong he’d been about her.

Compared to the prospect of mutiny, that time felt far distant, easy, almost simple.

Simple, like the step forward he took.

For a while now, Garrus had been considering going back to C-Sec, and why not, maybe even retrying for the Spectres once his time aboard the Normandy came to conclusion.

And he damn well knew that subtle shift of his leg just now meant fucking beyond repair his career. Still, doing it felt as natural as cataloguing information.

“You can always count on me, Commander,” Garrus pledged aloud.

Many faces turned to him, but it was only hers that stiffened his flesh.

The hands behind his back tightened around the pliable bottle when she served nothing but a steady glance. For one long excruciating second, against everything he thought he knew about her, Garrus feared her silence meant delusion – that it had been an alien, a turian no less, to first come forth.

But then she tilted her head. An imperceptible nudge, offering him nothing more than one final chance to back out.

In lack of subvocals, or words, Garrus declined in the same way any akin of his would. Tipping down his jaws. Only then did a small curve ripple her lips.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better turian for this final stand.” Final stand. How strange those words ringed. “Thank you, Garrus.”

He dipped his chin, just before her attention was claimed elsewhere.

“Count me in too,” Joker broke in. “I’m your pilot, Shepard. Not the Council’s, not the Alliance’s anymore – yours. And you’ll be my captain as long as you want me.” He then gave a careless shrug. “Besides, the more people we piss off, the more fun it’ll be flying my baby.”

“Well, if we want to go technical about that, you’re still Alliance,” Shepard pointed out, despite her smile was giving her away.

“Aaaand the magic’s gone,” he said flatly. “Thanks, Commander.”

“Sorry, sorry – but… thanks, Jeff. I mean it.”

“Jeez, ma’am, are we on first names now? You’ll make me blush,” he said, ducking his head under his cap. A muffled burst of laughter spread through the room. Shepard suppressed her laugh, Captain Anderson chuckled.

Tucks squeezed into the crack Joker had opened. “My men busted their backs stuffing the bulkheads, and you know how much I hate wasting precious resources, ma’am…”

Shepard bowed her head. “That’s why I couldn’t wish anyone else to lead my marines. Thank you, Carlton.”

“If there’s still a spot for a gunnery chief, I’ll gladly take it, Commander,” Ashley piped up; then she nudged Garrus, whispering, “you didn’t think I’d let you hog all the glory, did you?”

“Not for a second,” Garrus chuckled.

Ashley’s smile beamed, clearing the shadows dooming her eyes since Virmire. Through that haze, Garrus could catch a glimpse of Kaidan – he’d want his share of glory too, he was sure.

The answers flew one after another, afterwards. And none walked out the door.

The Normandy’s crew wasn’t his family, but in those three months, it had come to feel like the closest thing to one out among the stars. It wasn’t a surprise, indeed, the wave of solace and placidity that washed over him as he watched everyone huddle together once again – taking shelter under the same roof, back to one another. As if mending things after a huge fight.

Just like when Solana rushed to mum, blurting out the sweet and shy apologies Garrus suggested her, in those years caught between her childhood and womanhood.

“Did you really think we’d leave you alone, Commander? We’re your crew,” Amina said at last, “besides the fact we all agree Saren is a fricking psychopath, of course.”

“Well…” Shepard said sheepishly, grazing her scarred cheek, “I saw someone eyeing the door with a certain… eagerness, and I thought…”

“Oh, they were just waiting for the pizza guy!” Amina shot back.

The big grin that spread across her face did not fade, even as she turned to the last man.

“Wrex, you haven’t said a word. What about you?”

“I want Saren dead, and you’ll make it happen. That’s enough for me,” Wrex rumbled. “I don’t give a pijack’s ass about your Alliance, and the Council can go rot – Hell, I’d like to see them try.” He barked a coarse, deep laugh that induced Anderson to tense up a little. Then he nodded toward Amina. “Also, the mechanic’s right. I’m starving.”

The composure the Commander had been, more or less, holding, fell away, and she burst into a laugh so long that she was still chuckling by the time she reached the krogan.

“That’s enough for me,” she said, catching her breath. She gave his arm a couple of solid pats. “I appreciate it, Wrex. Thank you.”

Things didn’t end there, though, since Shepard made a point of personally thanking everyone, one by one.

She darted from one spot of her place to the other, and wherever she went, she cared to lead away whatever it was that made those walls a bit darker, a bit more claustrophobic. Yet, for all those good deeds, Garrus found himself tapping his fingers against the bottle more and more as the list of names grew shorter, whilst his turn was stubbornly refusing to come.

For reasons known to her alone, Garrus came to be her last check.

Now standing before him, the Commander slowly closed the space between them. The cramming circumstances chose to halt her close enough that Garrus could make out, for the first time, the soft brown specks sparse on her nose.

“You weren’t joking back in your office when you said you wanted Saren just as I did,” she teased, her voice pitched low enough for just their ear.

“Told you turians only say what they truly believe, Commander,” Garrus replied, just as she said, “only what they truly believe.”

She smiled. He did too.

“And besides,” he added, as soon as his mandibles settled down, “you helped me stall the Council when I needed it most. I think it’s fair I return the favor.”

Shepard let out a soft huff.

Her smile weakened then, and her eyes drifted away from him, scanning some of the faces crowded around them. With her here, with him, those faces felt both close and impossibly distant at once.

“So much has happened since then,” she said thoughtfully. “Feels like a lifetime has passed.”

“Maybe it really has,” Garrus mused. Her gaze met his at those words. “Many things won’t be the same as we left them.”

And in many ways, they already weren’t.

There were gears in the galaxy that had been moving long before they could even realize, others that shifted right under their noses and with their blessing – but that in both cases had set in motion a change that, by law of nature, couldn’t be undone. Saren’s betrayal, the first Human Spectre, his resignation, the Geth, the Reapers…

… Shepard herself – the inscrutable soldier climbing the Tower’s stairs. The wheels had ground enough to make her his commanding officer, and now, perhaps, even... a friend.

Now that her eyes were back on him, those dark eyes whose true color he had yet to discern, Garrus saw all that.

“Either way, it’ll make a hell of a story once all this is over,” she noted.

“I don’t know, Commander… With all the black ink they’ll use to cover all this up, I think it’s gonna be a story just for us.”

She tilted her head, appraising. “Sounds like just another reason to see it through, don’t you think?”

“When you put it that way, ma’am…”

She chuckled.

“Well…” She held out her hand. “I just want you to know I won’t waste your help, Garrus. And for what it’s worth, I’ll never forget it.”

Garrus just nodded, unable to form a response without stumbling over his words, and met her in a firm shake.

Shepard stepped back, and the crowd swallowed them both. Garrus stayed put, watching her body drift away from him, now swallowed by the people around them, now reemerging in that same sea.

“Now that the biggest issue is taken care of… there’s just one last thing we have to deal with,” she said, returning to the back of the room, addressing everyone. “When they seized the Normandy, they took pretty much all our weaponry. Tucks packed what he could, but we’re out of Javelins, torpedoes, even Guardian generators.”

“Maybe I can help you with that,” Garrus offered.

Anderson leaned close to Shepard’s ear.

She nodded, murmuring something only the Captain could understand, but smiling faintly in Garrus’s direction. One of her blunt canines softly nipped her lower lip.

Something, more than something, reacted in his gut.

“I’m listening,” she finally said.

Garrus cleared his throat. “I got some friends at customs. They could help us slip a few crates through under the radar.”

“Really?” Anderson stepped forward.

“Really, Captain.”

“They’d be taking a huge risk if they ever helped us,” he pointed out.

At which point Shepard cut in, “Which tells me they want something in return. Or that you think they might,” she said. “So, what is it?”

Three months later, I know, but…

“Commander, Captain. Just a signed photo of you two.”

… I’m pretty sure Lamont and Ridgefield will forgive me.

“What?” the Commander and Captain exclaimed in unison.

“A signed photo of–”

“No, no – I got that,” she interrupted him. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“Not at all, ma’am.”

“If anyone ever had told me that all it would take to illegally get Normandy’s teeth back was a picture of us, David, I would have been very, very, skeptical…”

Anderson huffed, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Hopefully, my child, it won’t be anything too embarrassing,” he comforted her, then glanced at Garrus. “Right?”

Day 79 / 1731 hours, 26th of March 2183 Terra Standard Time

Dock 422, Alliance Citadel dock

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Tucks spoke up again the moment the elevator began its climb. “Ma’am, are you sure you don’t want us–”

“Best if only I get the hands dirty,” Shepard replied. “I appreciate the thought, though, Lieutenant.”

“I’d volunteer too, Shepard…” Joker chimed in, one arm around Liara’s shoulders. “But, yeah… I mean, I’m a lot deadlier with ship’s guns. Preferably while sitting down.”

The Commander smiled, still staring at the doors in front of her. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Then she reached out and squeezed Garrus’ shoulder. In so doing, a lock of hair escaped her short tail. The gentleness she tucked it behind her ear dazzled him – and something else he wasn’t able to define – at the thought that same hand would soon deliver cold violence. “Garrus. What’s Ridgfield saying?”

Crouched by the elevator controls, Garrus reopened the channel. “Edward?”

Static flared, then Ridgfield’s voice came through. “Two soldiers confirmed on either side of the elevator doors. Four more down by the docking corridor. The mechanic just entered the tube. All carrying standard issue. I’m turning off the cameras in three minutes.”

Garrus relayed the intel.

“Understood,” Shepard confirmed, drawing her pistol from beneath her belt.

It wasn’t a mass effect weapon. The rounds it fired hit with an electric shock first, then pumped in a dose of sedative. Earth tech. Nothing even remotely lethal, it’d just knock out long enough for them to make their escape aboard the Normandy. Yet, Garrus could see from her taut face how much she hated holding it, how vile she was feeling to have to turn it against her own people while wearing the uniform.

The elevator came to its halt, and the inertia pushed the knot in Garrus’s stomach up into his throat.

If even one single soldier managed to raise the alarm… if anything happened to Shepard… if he made a mistake now–

Shepard raised the pistol toward the still closed doors, and that was the silent signal for everyone but her to flatten themselves against the walls, just as planned. Garrus obeyed as well, awkward with his hands buried in the control panel still. The same thrill that excited a veteran like Pressly when she’d laid out this crazy plan now hit him full force. It was a good and recognizable feeling, this one, at least.

Liara raised a hand, and a violet shimmer expanded, wrapping the cabin in a biotic bubble.

“Garrus, now,” Shepard ordered.

Garrus had delayed the doors’ opening until then, but now he disengaged the dampeners and cut the last cable. The doors slammed open. The cabin shook violently, and before he could even glance away from the panel, the muzzle flash of her pistol lit up the space. The elevator guards hadn’t even fully crossed the threshold that Shepard swapped out a new magazine and fired again.

Ridgiefield broke in, “Shit, Garrus – the mechanic is already heading your way!”

“The mechanic is on the move, Shepard,” Garrus reported immediately.

The Commander, gun still raised, strode over the clenching bodies on the ground, and with no much of a glance back, went straight toward the docking tube.

The rest of them stayed inside. Silent and still.

A gunshot rang out. A second, then a third one, followed shortly after. Maybe it was just the echo, or maybe it was the adrenaline and the nerves pounding inside his chest, but those didn’t sound like a stun pistol. Her pistol.

Garrus heard nothing at all after that. Neither his own breathing nor that of the others behind him.

Tucks first, then Lowe, dared to draw their handguns. Slowly, as though not to break that fragile silence. But the sudden crackle of the comm channel froze them in place.

“All clear. Move out,” Shepard signaled.

Her voice never sounded so beautiful.

“God – you fucking scared me for a moment, there, Commander,” he thought he caught Joker panting, afterward.

Garrus let out the breath he knew he’d been holding, and as the others filed out of the elevator, he allowed himself to rest his forehead against the control panel, for a second – or perhaps twenty. Spirits.

He quickly restored the elevator wiring and jumped in to help the others drag the unconscious soldiers. Shepard caught up shortly after, with the mechanic slung over her shoulders – the triple shot bruises on his neck already swelling up.

She laid him down with the same extreme care and guilt Garrus recognized in Tucks and Lowe. It had to be their way of pleading with their fellow comrades for absolution.

Garrus wasn’t under the same flag, but he came to know all of them – their names, their voices, what made them share a brief laugh or a few words, and… what a shitty situation.

“Come on, let’s go,” Shepard said, casting one last glance at the bodies. “Lamont must’ve opened the hatch.”

Carlos Lamont was waiting at the open main hatch. A triumphant grin on his face, fingers casually spinning his hacking device, with that easy attitude that always shaved off a few years from the already few he could claim. Garrus felt lighter just at the familiar sight, and realized how terribly he missed his former colleague.

“The ship is all yours,” Carlos announced, shaking his hand as soon as Garrus came in reach. His grin widened, but lost some of its cockiness as he caught sight of Shepard. By the Spirits, he looked like a kid meeting their pop idol – if only Garrus could have clipped all that.

“Commander Shepard, ma’am – I want to–it’s been a true honor to assist you and–”

“Carl,” Garrus whispered, “you can tell her later.” And drew him close in a squeeze tight enough to make room for Liara, the Commander, and Joker in between.

As she passed by them, Shepard offered a curt smile, then spoke loud enough to be heard despite closing toward the cockpit. “Once this is all over, I’ll have to thank you properly, mister Lamont.”

Lamont’s eyes lit up and bounced between her and Garrus as if the best thing in the galaxy had just happened to him. Eventually, his gaze settled on her. Even Garrus found himself staring.

Shepard paused on her tracks, almost imperceptibly, and turned just enough to glance over her shoulder. Past Joker’s arm, past Lamont, past the deck penumbra. Straight at Garrus, as if she’d sensed his eyes on her.

And smiled. Fragilely, privily – but just for him.

… Garrus was not a better man than Lamont.