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The hardest part of his job, Garrus thought, was visiting the wounded. Unlike Shepard, he'd never had the knack for building people up, but hopefully just another turian visiting makes all the difference, a silent testimony that some of their people had managed to get away.
The first few went smoothly, until he hit a young man in familiar Palaven colors, although not his own: the twin peaks of Elysium were marked upon the young face in pale lilac. It wasn’t until he turned toward Garrus and he saw the familiar green eyes that he realized he’d seen this kid before.
“Hey soldier,” Garrus said, sitting down next to him where he lay practically at the doors to Huerta. He was one of the many forced into make-shift cots in the lobby, waiting for enough people upstairs to die so they could get a room. “How are you?”
“Spirits be,” the soldier said, pressing a hand to his chest in a familiar military salute, despite the fact that he could barely stand. “Vakarian. I didn't think I'd see you after Manae.”
“It's good to know that we both got out of there.” He nodded, sitting down in a chair beside the turian – young, too young to have been in this kind of situation before. A cadet maybe, or one of the many kids co-opted from basic after Earth had gone dark. “How are you holding up... Flavius, is it?”
An unfortunate name in those lavender mountains, with far too much history to live up to.
“Yes. I'm... I'm going to be all right.” The fledgling clasped his hands together. Garrus watched as Flavius shifted, the enormous, already blue-tinted bandage that ran down nearly the entirety of the fledgling's leg leaving marks on the cot. “A brute did some damage, but luckily me and my squad managed to take it down. The doctors think I'll be out of here in a few weeks, and then I can go back to the front, to my unit.”
“You shouldn't be worrying about that,” Garrus said, softly. He didn't want to discourage the kid's clearly krogan-sized quad, but they were already hard pressed for supplies; no matter how much the kid wanted to fight, the last thing they really needed was more Lieutenant Victuses; brave but, ultimately, dead.
“I...” The kid's hand tightened, and his mandibles flared out in pain for a moment before he continued, quieter. “They're dying out there, sir. I want to help. It's my duty, sir. I'm Elysian, sir. My people are the guardians of the holy mountains, I—”
“I know.” It felt weird to be called sir; his two-year foray on Omega had not prepared him for the realities of military leadership. “But you've got people back at home who care for you. And...” He closed his eyes. “Part of your duty is to try to inspire them, too.”
“Won't matter with the comms down, sir.” The fledgling’s eyes were strong, resolute in a way that scared him now. “They won't know if anything happens for... Well, probably ‘til the end of this, sir.”
“They will eventually.” Garrus puts a hand on his shoulder, careful, weighted. Times like this, he really wished he were Shepard, who was so much better at inspiring people than him. “And we need people to go back home, build up Palaven again. Not much point guarding those mountains if there's no Cipritine to defend them from, right? ”
“Yeah, that's true,” Flavius agreed, mandibles flaring into a small smile to the old joke. “We do.”
He released a deep breath at that; it was hard to convince soldiers of a future he himself barely believed in. If Shepard wasn't their leader, he wasn't sure he'd believe at all.
But he couldn't tell that to the kid. Instead, he did what he thought Shepard would do: give them hope for a life after this, tell them that there could be a life after this.
“We're going to need people who can wield a hammer as well as they can handle a gun, soldier.” He pressed his hand into Flavius' shoulder; he was too thin, the space between the plates far too large for a kid who was getting enough food to eat. He hid a wince, looking away; hard to believe they'd already begun rationing, but his people were nothing if not bleakly practical. “Certainly won't be me; you saw what happened when I tried to repair the barracks.”
Even if the kid had missed him nearly nailing his arm into the camouflage screen, he had no doubt he'd seen his pained yelp recorded on many, many cadets screens.
Flavius snorted. “Well, you capital boys never were good builders, sir.”
“All the more reason that you need to stick around.”
“Alright, sir.” Flavius nodded. “I'll try.”
“Good.” He relaxed a bit; if only every visit could be this easy. He heard the sharp click-clack of a human female's shoes and looked up. A familiar doctor moved toward Flavius' bed and he cringed; ever since Tali had told him what chocolate meant to human females, he'd been dreading running into Dr. Michel again.
“Bonjour, Garrus!” She grinned wide and he froze, unsure of what to say, and how to say it in a way that wouldn't lead her on. “Oh...Who is your young friend?”
“Uh, this is Flavius.” He nodded toward the boy and stood, hoping the doctor wouldn't have too many questions.
“Oh, Flavius!” Dr. Michel cooed. “What a lovely name.”
“Uhm, th-thank you,” Flavius stuttered, eyes wide.
“Flavius, have you had your bandages changed lately?” Dr. Michel made one of those concerned human female noises as she ran a hand down Flavius' side, one Garrus had come to recognize from watching Shepard.
“Not since I got here, ma'am,” he said, mandibles dipping in a way that was nothing if not intrigued.
“Oh! Mon pauvre!” She glanced toward Garrus. “Please excuse us, Garrus. I must see to his wound right away.”
He nodded. That had been surprisingly easy.
“Thank you for visiting, Vakarian.” The kid saluted him, but his attention was firmly elsewhere.
“Not a problem,” he said. “Stay alive, kid.”
Unsure of where to go next, Garrus lingered in the lobby. Quite a few humans, and more than enough of his own people; turians from all the colonies were splayed out across the suddenly-cramped room. His heart pulled in his chest; even if he spent all afternoon here, he'd barely talk to a fraction of the men.
Then again, most of them weren't in a state for talking. Some were quiet; still breathing but just barely. Those men weren't leaving the Citadel in anything but an urn.
Garrus closed his eyes, willing himself to focus on the positive, on those who could be saved.
When he opened them, he caught the sight of an N7 hoodie and blinked. Had he seen it only because he wanted her?
But when he opened his eyes again, yes, the familiar N7 detail was clear to him even across the promenade. He smiled reflexively; it was so like her, to spend her valuable free time tending to the troops. It worked too; he could attest that the sight of Shepard certainly made him feel a little better, a little bit more confident about the state of their universe.
He wondered, as he watched her sign in with the nurse at the front counter, what she was here for. Should he go and say hello? Despite her recent promise to be a one-turian woman, the last thing Garrus wanted to do was overstep his boundaries. If she was here on Alliance business, it wouldn’t be right to interrupt her duties just to calm his own anxieties. Like him, she had her duty, and in this war he had come to understand why duty was the first and foremost of turian values. The selfless sacrifices of many, many young martyrs were the only reason his people had lasted so long in this fight.
But he couldn't stop himself from watching her, if just for a moment. Shepard smiled at the nurse and his mandibles twitched in a small smile of his own. He would never know how she found the strength to smile in places as bleak as this, but he was damn glad she did.
Ah spirits, he was going to at least steal one moment with her. If she was busy, well, Shepard was always direct, she'd tell him if he should go. His feet moved quickly as his heart beat in a too-fast rhythm. He knew it wasn't necessarily right, but he couldn't deny how much he needed to see her, to reassure himself that she hadn't been cut down or injured in some awful surprise reaper strike. If he could just hold her and feel her heartbeat against his chest, just for long enough to feel a small flutter that would remind him that she was still OK and that maybe, just maybe, they could get through this together.
“The maternity ward is expecting you, Commander,” the assistant at the front desk said.
That sentence – simple, direct – stopped him cold.
“Shepard?” he muttered, although that in itself was absurd; it wasn’t as if she could hear him.
There were many places that he could conceive of Shepard going, but the maternity ward would have been one of the last he'd imagine. And there were... relatively few reasons unless... unless...
He felt dizzy, the Citadel spinning fast, too fast under his feet, and he felt his vision swim for a moment as he pressed his arms against the firm glass of Huerta's windows. He tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs burned, and he could only manage short huffs as he tried to come to terms with just what that sentence might mean.
There were precious few things one used a maternity ward for.
...Spritis, Shepard was going to have a baby. And, considering he'd been sleeping in her bed for as long as he had, his baby.
He was going to be a father. A father! He wasn't sure if his heart threatened to beat out of his chest with pride or terror or some beautifully awful mix of the two, but it was there all the same. Spirits, there was a child in her; a child, a new life in a universe where billions of souls blinked out every hour. Spirits.
What was going to tell his father, or Sol? His mandibles twitched in irritation as he thought of his father – his very traditional father – and how he'd react to such news.He'd have to bond with her, bond soon, so the child would imprint on him. Unless the baby was human...
The sudden reminder of Shepard's species was a rude one, one that sent a curling tendril of doubt directly up his gizzard. Visions of a turian child with Shepard's magnificent red hair, or her soft and pouty human lips? It would be a freak. The child would never quite belong in his community; at best, there would be years and years of teaching the child to hide, to pass. Nothing says daddy loves you just the way you are like telling your future turian-human hybrid baby to come here so daddy can shave your fringe.
And what if the child was more human than turian? Humans may be more open-minded about aliens than his people, but a human with a protruding keel would only draw fire from scum like Terra Firma and Cerberus. For once, the idea of his child inheriting his crest didn't fill him with any sort of joy at all.
Spirits, he couldn't do that to his child. It had been hard enough to watch his mother deal with the disgrace of being a bareface; he couldn't imagine how much harder the sword would fall on a little girl or boy who wasn't even wholly turian or human but some strange amalgamation of the two.
Except... all of this was impossible, wasn't it?
All this speculation was ridiculous; a live birth between two species with opposite chirality was impossible. At least, it shouldn't be possible, not unless Cerberus had been far more creative than Shepard or he had ever assumed.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool glass. He'd never thought he'd hear that his girlfriend was pregnant, and hope, desperately, that it was not his. He stared down at his feet as his stomach lurched; he never thought he'd wish to be cheated on, but he'd gladly suffer that pain rather than foist it upon his unborn child.
He hoped it would be a human baby, a result of some brief affair during her time on earth that she had not mentioned. He could not blame her; after all, it was not as if they had discussed going exclusive before Hackett had taken her home. How long did humans gestate? It was possible for her to be pregnant from some one-night-stand from before they had gotten together, wasn't it? Spirits, he had no idea. Such information had never seemed important before. If it were longer than a few months, it could be any man's.
And that scenario would explain all too well why Shepard hadn't told him yet; it was understandable that she might not want to damage his morale, not with so much on the line.
But if Shepard thought it would turn him away, she couldn't be more wrong. Whoever had planted the seed within her, he would love the child, love it dearly. It was at least half-Shepard, after all.
And now that he knew... He felt like he had to tell her that. Shepard, after all, gave so much of herself to him and everyone else, but such a secret was no doubt causing her a great amount of anxiety. And while he couldn't give her much, he could give her peace of mind on this. He didn't know what to say to Shepard, but he knew he had to tell her something, let her know it would be okay.
“Sir?” A turian doctor appeared on his left; her elbow spur brushed against his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“Fine.” He took a deep breath and the breath came easier this time, his heart rate calming. “Just got some big news.”
“Oh.” The hand withdrew. “I'm sorry.”
He shook his head, mandibles flaring in a smile. “No, no. Good news, I think.”
“Well.” She smiled. “Rare enough in these times.”
“Yeah.” He turned toward her, scratching his neck. “Could you direct me to the maternity ward?”
*****
The maternity ward was calmer than the main floor, one of the few areas refugees from the war hadn't quite breached yet. Shepard wasn't anywhere in sight, and his resolve withered for just a second. He wasn't quite sure of what the protocol here was; should he ask for her or should he just wait? Or perhaps he should just leave, try to tell her when they were alone in her quarters.
“Excuse me, sir?” An asari nurse with light blue markings touched his arm. “I've seen you on the news. You're one of Commander Shepard's crewmates, aren't you?”
“Yeah,” he said, caught off guard, staring down toward the asari's nametag. “You could say that... Nurse Verita.”
Nurse Verita smiled. “She didn't tell me she brought someone with her today.”
“Oh, uh, you see...” Garrus stammered, not quite sure how to explain exactly what was going on. Somehow, ‘I've just discovered my girlfriend is pregnant but she hasn't told me and it might be my mutant freak baby’ didn't seem like the most eloquent thing to say.
The nurse smiled, no doubt used to bumbling soon-to-be-fathers.
“No worries, I’ll take you to her.”
His heart beat faster and his stomach churned more with each and every step, trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say.
“I'm sure she'll be happy to see you.” Nurse Verita grinned. “The Commander is... well, you'll see. I'm afraid she has her hands quite full.”
His heart sank nearly into his gizzard at that – spirits, were they having twins?! – but he forced himself not to ask what she meant. Better to hear it from Shepard herself.
“She's in here,” Nurse Verita said kindly, opening the door for him.
He stepped inside.
He spotted Shepard immediately, lying in the middle of the room. Garrus's greeting died in his throat at the sight of her. Far from what he had expected to see – Shepard in stirrups, an asari showing him the developing bodies of their young – Shepard lay on the floor, comfortable as she was in seemingly every situation, covered in… babies.
“Uhm, hey.” He cleared his throat as he took stock of Shepard's small companions: a tiny drell-let whose face was mashed into the soft tenderness of her belly; an elcor calf snuggled into her side, a human in her arms. And, wonderfully, turian twins perched on her shoulders, a boy and a girl, and his heart pounded with a desire the like of which he'd never felt before, deep and true down to the bone.
*****
******
The turian nestling chirped fussily, his tiny mandibles trembling with confusion as he vaguely head butted her clavicle. Shepard bit her lip to keep from laughing, so as not to disturb the little drell-let snoozing on her belly, and gave the nestling a strand of her hair to play with. That would distract him well enough. His twin sister wasn't bothered by her lack of cowl, her little fingers clenching tightly in Shepard’s hoodie instead.
The turian nestlings were unbelievably small, roughly the size of a large mango. Shepard had let herself be told it was because turian women didn't have quite enough give to grow bigger babies like humans or elcor or asari did; at any rate, it was ridiculously cute. It was hard to believe Garrus was this tiny once, or Sparatus, or, God forbid, Saren.
She couldn't help the little giggle at the thought, jostling the drell-let after all; he made a soft little noise, squirming just enough to roll down the slope of Shepard’s belly against the elcor calf snuggled into her side. The calf snorted agreeably, unbothered: it turned out elcor temperaments were gentle and serene from the cradle onwards.
Shepard reached down to pet a finger over the fine scales covering the crown of the drell-let’s head, soothing him. The drell-let jittered a little, peeved, but melted into the touch after only a few moments, still as weak to that particular trick as ever. He mashed his face into Shepard’s belly and let himself be soothed into submission, until finally he fell asleep again.
“If only everyone were as easy to pacify as you, buddy,” Shepard murmured. She moved her hand to offer scratches to the elcor calf next, who liked when she rubbed her fingertips over his forehead in little circles. The calf was only three weeks old but already too heavy to lie on top of her, though he didn't seem bothered to be sharing the pile of pillows on the floor with her instead.
Babies were pretty easy in general, Shepard had found. Every time she came to the ward it knocked down her stress levels to about a third of the total, which were the kind of numbers you embraced like gospel.
The girl nestling chirped, disgruntled out of her doze; a second later there was a knock on the door.
“Commander Shepard?” Nurse Verita said, poking her head in through the door. She was holding a human baby dressed in a simple off-white onesie, sucking peacefully on his pacifier. “Do you have room for one more?”
Shepard nodded, fighting to maintain a poker face, throat tight. She couldn't help it. The human babies always got to her a bit, made her think about it: Chakwas shaking her head, eyes sad, handing over the scan results with steady surgeon’s hands. Her own had been shaking as though she’d never trained to hold a gun in her life.
Nurse Verita approached with the baby, laying him down on the vacant spot on her chest carefully. Shepard bit her lip and put her hand on his little back to steady him, feeling his tiny sleepy breaths.
“I’ll be back with his formula in a minute,” Verita said softly.
Shepard nodded. “The male nestling was still hungry after his bottle,” she said, tilting her chin to brush against his tiny little fringe. He chirped fussily and headbutted her cheek in answer. “I gave him what his sister didn't finish.”
Verita hummed. “I’ll pass it on. He’s growing like a varren, this one.”
Shepard nodded. The drell-let had eaten about as much as the two nestlings combined, not to mention the elcor calf; Shepard made a mental note to make another donation to the supply chain infrastructure. Maybe she could smuggle some abandoned baby grub from reaper-infested colonies in the Normandy and drop it off herself. She could put a team on it, send them off in the shuttle while she was stuck bickering uselessly with Tevos in the War Room. It might make a good N7 training exercise for Vega, and God knew Garrus needed to be forced away from his calibrations once in a while or he’d grow attached to the guns like a giant turian-shaped barnacle.
“The hatchlings should be born within the hour,” Nurse Verita said over her shoulder, jerking her out of her thoughts. Shepard looked up, heart leaping.
“Really?"
“Yes, Commander.” Nurse Verita smiled wide. “Doctor Liciis says they’re about ready to burst. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”
“Thank you, Verita,” Shepard said. She’d asked to be told when the hatchlings were due: a cluster of orphaned salarian eggs abandoned on one of the remoter colonies in the Anos Basin. That they’d been rescued at all was a miracle, but no one was going to question the luck.
Verita left with a little wave, arms full of the remnants of various empty bottles of alien formula that had been lying around her in a heap. Shepard closed her eyes and cupped the human boy’s head, stroking his fine little hairs. She wondered what kind of doors spectre authority could open for these kids, if maybe she could find them foster homes, some kind of safe house more suited to their needs than an overtaxed hospital ward.
She bit her lip. Safe was a moot concept while the Reapers terrorized the galaxy, and Huerta was starting to look more and more like a hospice the longer this war lasted. Nothing was right anymore, and all she wanted was to make it better somehow; she’d do anything.
She would rip the Reapers out of the sky with her bare hands if it meant giving these little balls of life any kind of future.
She startled at another knock on the door. She expected Verita to return bearing food for the human baby, but when she looked up in the doorway was Garrus, staring at her.
“Uhm, hey,” he said. His mandibles were spread comically wide, eyes flicking wildly between the pile of children on her person and her face.
“Hey,” she said, smiling. Warmth filled her belly at the sight of him, as welcome as it was unexpected.
“I…” Garrus took a step into the room, then seemed to think better of it and stopped, standing there awkwardly. “What are you doing?”
Shepard wondered how best to say ‘I am cuddling babies’ without sounding like she was stating the obvious. She rather thought Garrus might want a more elaborate explanation, and she frankly owed him one; the problem had always been finding a right time to tell him.
Nurse Verita cleared her throat from the doorway. “Commander Shepard volunteers every time she visits the Citadel, sir. The orphans need the attention, you see, to grow and develop well, and what with the staff completely overrun… Well, we are grateful for the Commander’s interest."
Garrus nodded. “She is very generous.”
Shepard fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was also right here. “Do you want to help out?”
The look on Garrus’ face was hilarious; pure turian in the headlights. Shepard bit her lip to keep from laughing and motioned for him to sit down next to the elcor calf.
Garrus looked like he was going into a court martial, gingerly lowering himself to the floor. “I don’t know, Shepard…”
“He’s very gentle, Garrus, he won’t bite.”
Garrus narrowed his eyes at her and heaved the calf into his lap, who hummed agreeably and settled down at once, pushing his face into Garrus’ crest. Garrus stared down at him, surprised. Pleased. “Huh.”
“See?” Shepard smiled, heart melting a little. “He likes you already.”
Nurse Verita handed Shepard a bottle of formula. Shepard looked down at herself a moment, then back at Verita, smiling sheepishly. Together they came up with a configuration that worked best, the baby boy cradled in her arms to be fed, the drell-let and nestlings dozing in her lap, curled together in a comfortable little puppy pile.
Garrus was staring at her again.
Verita left with a little pat to the elcor calf’s forehead, muttering about new onesies; the calf was getting admittedly big for his little yellow outfit. Shepard was already mentally composing a letter to the elcor ambassador for advice.
“Shepard—”
She looked up to find Garrus’ mandibles fluttering in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“I… I like coming here. I like babies, you know that.”
Garrus nodded slowly. “That’s not all of it.”
Shepard bit back a smile. That’s what you get for people knowing you too well. “No, it’s not.”
“...Want to talk about it?” Garrus gently touched her arm. Shepard sighed. It was a conversation that was long in coming, but knowing that it was a conversation that they had to have didn't make actually having it any easier.
“Cerberus didn't bother to equip me with a new uterus,” She said softly, stroking her fingertips over the baby boy’s soft little belly. He squirmed happily, tiny legs kicking out as he drank. “Not really combat essential, I guess.”
Garrus was silent.
“It’s not…” Shepard bit her lip. “I know it doesn't mean I’ll never be a mother. But.”
She couldn't finish it. It still felt like a loss, some kind of price for her life she had no memory of agreeing to pay.
“Shepard…” Garrus said quietly. He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Shepard looked up and smiled at him. The elcor calf was nosing curiously at Garrus’ elbow hovering in front of his face.
”Hey, most people don't get a second chance at life.” She stroked the dozing drell-let’s back, who curled his still-webbed little hands against her thigh before snuggling deeper into her lap. “Seems awfully petty to complain about it.”
“Shepard...” Garrus put his hand over hers on the drell-let’s little body. Shepard stared down at it, something captivatingly fascinating about how huge Garrus’ hands looked compared to the babies in her lap. “It's okay to feel bad about it.”
She tried for a smile. “It's not really, though, is it? I mean, I knew we were never going to have kids of our own, but...”
“Hey, don't say that.” Garrus patted the calf’s head, who chuffed happily and nuzzled against his palm. “You'll upset the little ones. I could go for a couple of these, actually,” he added, looking down pointedly at the calf's sweet little face.
Shepard had to bite her cheek from laughing.
“I'm serious,” Garrus said softly. “After the war, if things...”
“Yeah.” Shepard nodded, holding out a hand to steadily reign in the boy nestling, who had started to roll out of the pile. “After the war.”
“Ma’am?” Nurse Verita stuck her had in the door. “Ten minutes.”
Garrus frowned. “Ten minutes till what?”
Shepard grinned and sat up, careful not to drop any of her cargo. She urged the elcor calf towards Nurse Verita with a tender hand to the curve of his little head, watching him stumble cheerfully with his too-big elephant feet. “Help me get these guys to bed, Garrus.”
Shepard carefully laid the snoozing girl nestling in Garrus’ cowl, then her brother. They fit there perfectly, and Garrus was remarkably fine with it, subvocals buzzing comfortingly to his charges. Shepard smiled at him, privately, gently, reaching out to lay her hand on his scarred cheek.
“Come on,” she said, getting on her toes to press her forehead to his. “Let’s go watch the miracle of life.”
*****
The tank stood by the far wall of Theatre B, quickly improvised and assembled by some of the salarian doctors in their barely-existent spare time. The water was a pale pink color, shining slightly in the fluorescent lights, like liquid mother of pearl. Some kind of chemical that simulated the natural enzymes in the birthing pools of Sur’Kesh, she’d been told.
The first hatchling broke free of his squidgy-looking, pale green egg at 17:08, which one of the salarian doctors called out excitedly to the crowd of onlookers – a lot of the staff had turned up to watch the hatching, and some of the more mobile patients and their visitors too – and his dozen siblings followed not long after.
They looked slightly like off-white tadpoles, Shepard thought, staring raptly at the hatchlings’ wiggling little bodies. They had stumpy curled-up legs, though no arms yet, and a long fin-like tail that would drop by the time they developed past infancy. Their eyes looked comically gigantic on the sides of their tiny little faces, staring curiously out through the glass at all these people gathering around to watch them come to life.
Shepard thought, unbidden, of Mordin, and imagined him flitting around in his birthing pool as a tiny baby tadpole, impatient to grow arms so he could hold a test tube and start his madcap sciencing already.
Shepard squeezed Garrus’ hand tightly, glancing up at him. He seemed just as excited as her, mandibles twitching wonderingly, and she was viscerally happy suddenly, to be able to share this with him, that he had come to find her.
Garrus looked down at her and smiled when he caught her eye, and that familiar warmth filled her again, right down to her bones.
These little balls of life would have a future, she vowed, and tangled Garrus’ fingers with her own.