Chapter Text
Meat and tubes.
Those were the words used to describe the state her body had been in when Cerberus got their filthy paws on her.
Meat and tubes.
And then the guy she had no choice but to work with in the moment had expected her to immediately come to terms with that information, to simply pick up a weapon and fight for her life after being told she had died and been resurrected. Like that was just a normal, everyday occurrence. Of course Shepard did exactly that, because she was a trained soldier. The ability to remain calm in the midst of battle was like breathing. And picking up a gun was like muscle memory even if those muscles were maybe not technically the same ones that had once occupied her body.
Leila Shepard had died.
She could remember it, actually…being surrounded by the void of space, the white of a planet looming large across her vision, choking and gasping for air as she clung to the last vestige of life within her. She could still feel the sting of breath leaving her lungs and the cold, lonely emptiness of it all as the realization that she was facing the end gripped her in a panic. There was no fighting her way out this time.
Shepard clutched at her chest, unable to steady her breathing. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the cabin. She opened her eyes and stumbled toward the bathroom with what little presence of mind she had. Hands shaking she turned on the faucet and splashed her face before clutching at the sink, knuckles white, and willed herself to simply breathe, in and out…in and out. Slowly her breath returned to normal and Shepard took stock of her surroundings to try and ground herself. The cool metal of the sink under her fingertips, the low hum of the ship, the solid surface beneath her feet. She wasn’t dying anymore. She was alive, even if it was impossible.
She didn’t know what she had expected when she lifted her head, but it wasn’t the eyes of a complete stranger staring back at her through the mirror. Though that wasn’t entirely true. The face was familiar, but it certainly wasn’t the one she had worn before. Shepard leaned forward to inspect the scars on her face. Not her scars. Those were gone, and in their place was nothing but smooth skin. The new ones, scattered at random across her cheeks seemed to taunt her, the unnatural red glow a reminder that the body she now occupied couldn’t possibly be her own.
“What the fuck did they do to me?” Shepard whispered out loud, as she hesitantly traced the line across her cheek, almost surprised at how real the skin felt under her fingers. But what was beneath the skin? Was she still made from muscle and bone? If she cut herself would she still bleed? Shepard felt panic surge in her chest once again, sick to her stomach with anxiety. She dug her fingernails into her wrist and scratched until tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and a drop of deep red blood surfaced on her tan skin. But that wasn’t enough. She still couldn’t be sure. Not when she had no idea the lengths Cerberus, with their horrifying experiments, had gone through to rebuild her from nothing.
Nothing but meat and tubes.
Would others even recognize her like this? Joker had welcomed her easily enough, almost too easily if she was being honest. She had died trying to save him, so perhaps it was survivor’s guilt that made him accept her so quickly. Or the shiny new ship Cerberus had built and installed him into. No, he would see what he wanted to see if it meant clearing his own conscious. Besides, while she always liked Joker they hadn’t been particularly close. He hadn’t known her like others had.
Which led her to Tali. Shepard had been so excited to see a friendly face when she stumbled upon the quarian in the most unlikely of places. It had felt like a miracle at the time, that one of her people would just appear when she was surrounded by the enemy after learning that her entire world had just come crashing down.
Two years. Two whole years lost. Just like that.
But, there had been no warmth from her old friend on Freedom’s Progress. Tali’s cold, business-like demeanor had been like a slap across the face to Shepard. Before waking up, before dying, Tali had been her friend. Just the day before they had sat side by side in the Normandy mess hall and chatted over breakfast.
No, not the day before, damn it. It’s been years.
Tali leaned forward in her chair as Shepard flipped through her messages. One in particular had caught her eye. She had read it first thing after she woke up, again while she was waiting for the coffee to brew, and now Shepard was trying to keep from opening it a third time. Too late. Was she reading too much into this? They were friends, right? Though, dinner plans with a friend was probably not a normal thing to obsess over. Shepard tried to tell herself it was just because she missed having the whole squad by her side. It had been a little over a month since they had all been together and the Normandy just didn’t feel the same without all of them. Sometimes she would wander down to the cargo hold on her rounds, but these days it was empty. The new Mako sat there, too shiny, just waiting for her to drive it into the ground. But of course, there was no turian on board anymore to take care of it when she inevitably messed up the shock absorbers, or threw the alignment out of whack.
“What are you looking at over there?” Tali asked suddenly. Her voice cutting right through Shepard’s thoughts.
She jumped, but composed herself quickly. “Nothing. Just flipping through messages.”
“Right,” Tali replied. “I wish my messages made me smile like that.”
“What?”
“Shepard, are you…blushing?”
“No. Me? No.”
“Okay. If you say so,” Tali replied with a shrug before turning her attention back to the tube of nutritional paste she was holding.
Shepard excused herself from the table under the guise of getting ready for their next drop. She took her time pulling on her armor in her cabin, feeling a strange sense of nervousness. She was stalling now. It was just dinner. With her friend. With Garrus. Was it a date, she wondered as she finally sat down to type out a sentence, only to delete it seconds later. Shepard’s eyes shifted to the photo on her desk Ashley had given to her a few days prior and settled on the two people in the middle. She had been caught off guard when Garrus had pulled her gently into him that night, tucking her closer against his large, warm chest. Surprised, but not uncomfortable by the gesture at all. To be that close to him had felt…good. She picked up the frame and traced her thumb across it. The version of herself in the photo looked happy. She returned to the message she was writing and smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Garrus’ invitation turned out to be a date.
Shepard blinked away the memory as a sense of loss settled around her like a thick cloud. Not only the loss of time, but of friendships, of moments of happiness, of all the things that might have been if she had survived the destruction of her ship. She had never even sent that message. All hell had broken loose on the Normandy before she could finish typing it. For Garrus, his words had simply gone unanswered for two whole years, and now she had no way of knowing where her best friend even was. She wondered how he had learned of her death. How had he taken it?
The turian disappeared a few months after you died.
A voice in the back of her head whispered that Garrus was likely either dead or just didn’t want to be found. And even if she did manage to find him, why would his reaction be any different than Tali’s had been? The Commander Shepard he had known had fought against Cerberus. The friend he knew back then was dead.
Shepard rubbed her arms, hands drifting over the scratchy yellow and black uniform and landing on the embroidered insignia on her shoulder. Cerberus had been behind the attack on Akuze all those years ago. They were the reason she had to watch her own people die, and yet here she was wearing their colors. Bile surged in her throat at the still vivid memories of acid burning through flesh, of the metallic tang of blood in the air as her team dropped one by one. The idea that she was now working with the very same people who had taken the lives of those men and women caused her knees to buckle.
She stumbled over to the wardrobe, tugging at the Cerberus uniform on her body until she stood there naked, her skin exposed to the cool air filtering through the cabin. She desperately dug through the closet hoping to find something…anything, not affiliated with the organization she still saw as her enemy.
Is this a joke?, she thought bitterly when she noticed the N7 logo peeking at her through a pile of clothing. It was her hoodie, but it wasn’t hers. That one, that she wore when she was off-duty aboard the Normandy, had to have been lost above Alchera. Shepard would often throw it on before venturing out into the mess hall late at night, hoping to find a certain turian waiting there for her. No. She couldn’t think about that…about him. Not right now.
Shepard tore the hoodie out of the drawer and threw it onto the bed. Her eyes caught on the desk where a familiar set of books sat stacked against the wall.
“They think they know me,” she snarled to the empty room, stalking over to the desk and picking one of them up. As a spacer kid Leila Shepard had always been obsessed with the ocean. She would always carry around this book her mom had given her after refusing to buy her a pet fish one year. It was about two little blue fish who got lost and had to find their way home again. She and her brother, Jon, would read it together all the time. Hell, she could probably still recite it word for word. Embarrassingly enough that book accompanied her through basic training, wrapped up in an old sweatshirt inside her footlocker, though somewhere along the way it had eventually gotten lost. One of her favorite memories was when she laid eyes on the ocean for the first time in Rio while she was there for N-School. If she closed her eyes now she could still remember the course, warm feeling of the sand between her toes and the way the waves crashed on the shore, blue tinted foam swirling around her ankles.
That book that brought all those memories back was the very same one in her hands now. Shepard let out a bitter huff of laughter and whipped her head around to face the room. Of course. Even the goddamn fish tank was there to mock her.
Fuck them.
How dare they? she thought. What gave Cerberus the right to put me back together? To research my life and drop me into this perfectly catered cage like I’m some kind of experiment? That’s it, isn’t it? I’m just a lab rat to them?
Shepard let out a guttural scream and swiped her arms across the desk, scattering the books to the floor. She picked up one and hurled it toward the fish tank before screaming again and sliding down the front of the desk. She rubbed her hands across her face and into her hair, forgetting just how short the strands were now when her fingers slipped right through.
What was she supposed to do? She was alone, trapped on a ship that belonged to the enemy. Cerberus had already ruined her life once. It only stood to reason that they would do it again in her second go around if given the chance.
“Fuck!” Shepard screamed again into the empty room and felt the sting of tears as she wrenched her eyes closed and hugged her knees tight against her chest. She had to keep going, play along with them until she could make her move and escape, but not without gathering useful information to take the Illusive Man and this whole organization down with her. It was what she had trained for, after all. She just had to play her part and be the Commander Shepard they wanted. She resigned herself to the plan, but for now, away from the eyes of the crew that wasn’t really hers, Shepard let go for the first time in a long time. Curled up on the cool, metal floor she cried, her body heaving with sobs as she grieved for the life she had lost and for the time she would never get back.
After what felt like hours, the comms crackled to life overhead and a smooth synthetic voice filled the cabin.
“Commander Shepard, the Normandy crew is awaiting your orders.”
“Right,” she sighed, pushing herself up to stand at the desk. Where was it that Cerberus bitch had suggested they go first? With a shiver Shepard realized she was still naked and noted the spiderweb of red scars stretching across her entire body. She padded over to closet again and pulled out a plain t-shirt and underwear, shrugging them on as she turned her face toward the ceiling.
“Joker, set a course for Omega.” She may as well get started with a new team. A new group for a new person. A growing pressure was building just behind her temple, strong enough that it forced her to close her eyes as the pilot replied.
“Aye aye, Commander. ETA seven hours.”
Shepard didn’t bother responding. She simply turned and let herself fall into the bed before rolling over and closing her eyes to the uncomfortable view of space above her, thankful she could already feel the pull of sleep tugging her down. She wondered if she would even wake up after this or if death was just waiting on the other side of the darkness to reclaim her once again.
Notes:
If you want to know more about the photo from Ashley or the message Garrus sent, you can find that here in Chapter 9 of Across the Stars, my first work in this series. Otherwise, this work can be read as a standalone.
Chapter Text
It was funny what borrowed time could do for someone. It could grant motivation by making a person realize they had nothing left to lose. For many it meant cheating death. And Garrus Vakarian, or rather, Archangel had cheated death more times than he could count on his fingers alone. He and death had become good acquaintances in the time since his arrival on Omega. Archangel doled out a special brand of justice, sending those who themselves had worked in the business of death to their own end. The name had started out as whisper, something uttered by grateful citizens and terrified criminals alike. Eventually it had grown into something larger and Garrus himself had come to embrace it and everything it stood for. He was a deadly force, working in the shadows, striking out at those who would take advantage of civilians and ferrying them into death’s waiting arms. Gangs, criminals, drug-dealers, murderers - it didn’t matter. Eventually Archangel came for them all.
So of course it came to reason that with all the blood he had spilled in his pursuit of justice that death would come calling for him sooner or later. Now that time had finally come and not only had his actions cost his life, they had seemingly cost him everything. His team, his family, lay dead around him, sentenced to having their lives cut short by association. In the end their belief in him had been their downfall.
Garrus had left for Omega searching for escape, with grand ideas of making the galaxy a bit safer, free from the scum that roamed the streets and ruined the lives of innocent people. All in the twisted name of honoring his best friend’s memory. Garrus had decided to take it upon himself to be the one to ruin the bad guys’ lives for a change, and he soon found others who were more than eager to join his crusade.
It was easy to let himself fall into his new identity, and together with his team they built up something new. As Archangel he could forget that he was once part of the squad that saved the Citadel, that he had dreamt of becoming a Spectre, of traveling the galaxy, of taking a dark-haired human with sparkling eyes out for dinner and drinks. He could forget that he had walked off that ship, leaving behind a home that had been blown apart without him there, and that his best friend had…
Garrus shook his head, forcing that memory back into the box he kept it locked away in, and instead tried to focus on the task at hand. It had been months since he had last thought about his old life. No use dwelling on it now. He loaded another heat sink into his rifle and took out a merc who made the poor decision to slip out of cover. A single clean shot between the eyes. As easy as a simple twitch of his finger and their head was gone, orange blood joining the macabre tapestry painted across the bridge. The sight did nothing but send a thrum of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Garrus felt no remorse for the pile of bodies accumulating outside. They had made their choice just as he had made his. Not that it mattered much in the end, both of their paths lead only to death.
Unbidden, his thoughts drifted yet again to his former Commander. Maybe dying would at least reunite them. And maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to just be done, to finally have some rest, to not have to deal with everything always falling apart around him. He could join his ragtag family in whatever afterlife awaited people like them. And maybe there would even be a bar where he could finally buy Shepard those drinks he had promised her.
Or perhaps the more likely scenario was that he was already dead and this bombed-out building, next to this crumbling bridge on Omega was his own personal hell. It was a human concept, but one that seemed apt for the situation Garrus found himself in. Maybe this was to be his punishment for all the mistakes and blood spilled…for thinking he could make a difference. Maybe he would be forced to sit with the bodies of those who trusted him and whom he couldn’t save for the rest of time. Doomed to forever shoot nameless, faceless mercs as they ran into his sights over and over again. A never ending loop of shot after shot after shot while they kept coming at him for eternity.
Either way, Garrus thought as he peered down his scope, he was going to put up a damn good fight.
Thirty three hours after the initial assault Tarak had sent in his fancy airship. Thankfully Garrus had a surprise waiting for him in the form of a prototype missile built by Sensat and Vortash. It had sent an electromagnetic pulse into the ship, fundamentally disabling it. Garrus had watched with a smug grin as it crashed onto the nearby street.
Forty five hours later Garrus ran out of ration bars and the mercs had started slowing their attacks. That just meant they were planning something. It was almost laughable to Garrus that he had managed to piss off Omega’s fabled gangs so incredibly well that they were now working together just to take him down.
Eighty six hours into his last stand, Garrus injected his final stim into the soft hide of his neck, swallowed his pride, and called his father. The gangs had begun sending out canon-fodder in waves and while Garrus was still holding his own, his aim and his resolve were both starting to slip. He could feel the artificial adrenaline surging through his veins as he watched the next group leap over the hastily-erected barrier. Steadying his rifle along the edge of the railing, Garrus peered through his scope and nearly choked at the vision before him.
“Impossible,” he breathed, and before he could think of anything else to do he switched to a concussion round and aimed it at the vision before him. It hit the woman’s shields and staggered her, causing her to scowl and lift her eyes toward the offending shooter. Bright green eyes met him through his scope and Garrus stumbled backwards into the makeshift sniper’s nest he had created. Shots rang out from below accompanied by panicked cries. Slowly he crawled back to the edge in time to see the ghost of his best friend shoot two mercs point blank in chest and disappear into the bottom level of the base.
He must have beeen imagining things, surely. That or he had finally managed to overdose on stims. Shepard was dead, Garrus had to remind himself. No matter the resemblance of that human on the bridge, it wasn’t…couldn’t be her. And yet when she stood in front of him, saying his name and moving into his personal space he couldn’t deny that her voice, her scent, her very being was undoubtedly Shepard.
Really it made sense she would be there at the end of his life, when death finally sunk its talons into Garrus. With it came a searing heat that tore through his body and made every breath feel like fighting through mud just to draw air into his lungs. But if he had to die, at least it was with Shepard’s voice in his head, calling out to him and whispering his name.
His Spirit of Victory had returned to guide him into the darkness.
Indigo-tinged water snaked down Shepard’s bare legs and swirled at her feet. The sight, combined with the copper scent still assaulting her nostrils made her feel sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes and continued lathering soap into her hair until the strong botanical scent filled the air instead. After getting forced out of the med-bay, Shepard had stormed up to the cabin in a huff, ignoring Miranda’s attempt to garner her attention in the mess hall and locking the cabin door behind her. She had immediately set about scrubbing her hands in the bathroom sink. But the blood…Garrus’ blood, had been caked so thickly under her fingernails and across her palms that no matter how hard she rubbed, she couldn’t erase the stain it left behind on her scarred skin. Visions of her best friend lying in a puddle of his own blood and the sound of wet, gurgling coughs flashed through her mind.
She had turned on the shower then and stepped under the scalding hot stream, still dressed in full armor. Not that it mattered, the black ceramic plating was sticky and smeared with dark blue and would have to be cleaned anyway. After screaming into her comms for help, Shepard had kneeled beside Garrus, trying desperately to slow the bleeding and begging him not to die on her. He couldn’t. Not when she had just found him, not when she needed him now more than ever. The words had hung unspoken over them both, but they were true all the same.
And now Shepard stood naked under the water, armor tossed in a haphazard pile by the bathroom door, as she rubbed the skin on her face raw in an attempt to cleanse both the blood and the thoughts.
Garrus would be okay.
He had to be.
“Commander.” Five minutes ago Miranda had forced herself into the captain’s cabin asking when she could expect a full report on what happened during the mission on Omega. Though it was probably a bit childish, Shepard had been ignoring her ever since.
“I don’t think it’s wise to keep the Normandy docked here longer than necessary.”
Shepard continued to clean her chestplate as Miranda spoke. After her shower, she had laid down in her bed, but the events on Omega played on repeat behind her eyelids. A few hours passed as she hovered on the edge of restless sleep until the ship’s A.I., EDI announced that Garrus was stable. According to Chakwas he would need surgery to correct some of the damage, and she promised to update her more later. Since then Shepard had been sitting on the sofa in a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra while she scraped the remaining bits of dried blood from the seams in her armor. It was particularly bad in and around the N7 logo. Miranda eventually sighed and stepped closer, her shadow falling across Shepard’s lap, causing the Commander to finally glance up at the woman.
“Funny, I thought I was the one in charge here,” Shepard sneered, her eyes narrowing.
“Hard to tell who is in charge when the CO is hiding in her room,” Miranda mumbled.
“Excuse me?” Shepard set the chestplate to the side and stood, immediately edging into the taller woman’s space.
“We’re wasting time. Jacob said you have a lead on the professor’s location, so I don’t understand what the delay is. We could have already picked him up and been on our way to the next target by now.”
“It’s only been a few hours and the professor is in the middle of a quarantine zone. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. And last I checked, your boss placed me in command of this operation,” Shepard gritted out, her hand flying up to point at herself. She took a step back and began pacing in front of Miranda. “And since the Normandy is under my command, it is going to sit here on Omega until I say otherwise. Once I hear that Vakarian is out of surgery, I’ll take a squad into the quarantine zone and extract Solus. You don’t have to worry about me doing my job.” A thought suddenly occurred to her and Shepard stopped mid-stride, turning to face Miranda. She thrust a finger at the woman and stepped closer. “And since you’re so good at everything, Ms. Lawson, maybe you would be so inclined to lend Doctor Chakwas a hand. After all you seemed to have no issues bringing me back from worse.”
“If you’re insinuating that we should divert resources toward saving some turian vigilante—”
“I’m merely suggesting you do whatever it takes to ensure the patient in the medbay walks out of there alive. I need people around me I can trust, Lawson. People who are not Cerberus. And right now that list is extremely short. If I’m going to take down the Collectors I need him on my team.”
“Fine,” Miranda responded, her voice low. “I’ll see what assistance I can offer.”
“Good. Dismissed.”
The woman humored her military command even though, as Shepard kept having to remind herself, the Normandy SR-2 was technically not a military vessel. And she was technically no longer a military officer. But if they insisted on using her title then she damn sure was going to exercise the authority it implied.
Garrus blinked, confusion settling in as he struggled to register where he was. Everything seemed too bright. Certainly brighter than he had expected from death, but as the fog lifted and blurry images began swimming across his vision, Garrus began to wonder if he had somehow managed to evade death yet again.
The events of the past few days slowly came back to him as his current surroundings solidified. His team…all dead. His own hands covered in blood as he tended to their bodies, painful keens ripping from his chest as he laid them to rest the best way he could at the time, counting their bodies and finding all but one. Then the realization that he was trapped, set up, betrayed. The helplessness that coalesced into something more deadly; anger, hate, and a callousness that still ran through his veins. And then Garrus remembered the impossible happening. The vision that made him question everything else he remembered. She must have been a hallucination conjured from his dying brain or from the stims he had pumped into his body. Shepard was dead. Had been for two years. At one point he figured his stint on Omega would have him joining her, but it seemed he couldn’t even get that right.
When his eyesight finally cleared Garrus realized he had no idea whatsoever where he was. It certainly couldn’t be Omega, that much was certain. The room was far too clean, and too sterile. Garrus inhaled deeply, the scent of antiseptic and medigel lending a clue that he was likely in some sort of medical facility. He shifted and attempted to raise his head, but pain exploded through his face and neck, causing him to grunt words that set his right mandible on fire.
“Easy now, Garrus,” came a familiar voice from the other side of the room. He hadn’t noticed the human woman until now, but her appearance made him choke in confusion.
“Chakwas? What—?” he managed to say, his words garbled as his fingers pressed against the bandages stuck to his face.
“Later, dear,” the doctor said. Her voice was calm, but it did nothing to quell the disorienting feeling of seeing someone from his old life again. “You need to rest. You took a pretty big hit out there.”
Garrus followed Chakwas with his eyes as she made her way around his bed and began adjusting things on the nearby console. “Where…am I?” he grunted.
“Believe it or not, this is the Normandy,” she replied, eyes meeting his as her hand hovered above the terminal. “Now hold on for me, dear. You’re likely going to need something for that pain.”
She pressed a button and Garrus felt a pleasant warmth flood his veins. “Can’t be. That’s…impossible,” he slurred, already feeling the effects of whatever meds she had given him settling over him like a fog.
“Right you are,” the doctor whispered.
Notes:
Happy Holidays to all who celebrate and as always, thank you for reading!
Chapter Text
Garrus held a less tenuous grip on reality the second time he woke up, though his head was still the kind of foggy that was par for the course with medical sedation. Beside him, Chakwas was fiddling with the monitor and as he let his head fall to the side to look at her, he was reminded of their last brief conversation. They were on the Normandy, Chakwas had said. Unless he had hallucinated that detail, which based on everything else swimming through his mind, could very well be the case. After checking his bandage, Chakwas sat down, and agreed, albeit reluctantly to answer his many questions. She confirmed that he was indeed on the Normandy, or at least a new version of the ship he had once called home. But the reason behind there needing to be a new Normandy had been an even tougher pill for Garrus to swallow.
“Commander Shepard is alive, Garrus,” Chakwas had said, as simply as if she were telling him his visor was on upside down. While that did make sense with his fuzzy memories of what had transpired on Omega, and Garrus wanted it to be true more than anything, people didn’t just come back to life. Not after two years, not like that. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity if it didn’t hurt so damn much to do so. “She’s the one who brought you here. She saved your life.”
Garrus had stared at the doctor, mandibles slack and eyes wide for so long that she had stood to check his vitals. Eventually he found his voice, only to utter a choked, “What?”
Chakwas patted his hand and lowered her voice. “I know this might be hard to understand. God knows it was for me as well, but I promise you it’s really her, Garrus. I don’t exactly know how, but it’s true. I’ve done the tests myself and confirmed it. Other than the cybernetics, the Commander is just the same as she always was.”
“I need to see her,” he responded in an instant, attempting to sit up as the doctor eased him gently back onto the bed.
“Now, now. Not so fast.”
“Please, doc,” he begged, nearly choking as the words scratched in his throat. “Pump me full of meds if you have to. But, if what you’re saying is true…that Shepard is alive and I didn’t hallucinate her…spirits, I need to see her. I’ll even come back here after so you can look me over, I promise.”
“Fine, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait,” Chakwas relented. “The Commander left the ship to pick up another crew member this morning. I expect she won’t be much longer. But you should know, Garrus. She only woke up a few days ago. For her, it hasn’t been two years like it has been for us.”
At that Garrus paused and flexed his mandible in though, the one that worked at least. “Woke up? Like a coma?”
“Yes…and no. It’s complicated. Cerberus claims they were able to bring her back from actual death. But the implications of—“
“Wait. Cerberus?” The growl that slipped out with that name was entirely involuntary, growing even louder when he finally took stock of the yellow and black logo covering the wall over the doctor’s right shoulder.
“Calm down, dear. Just…speak with the Commander. She can give you more answers than I can.” Chakwas sighed and brought her chair closer to his bed. “Do promise to be patient with her, though. None of this was her choice.”
He could hardly believe it. According to Chakwas, Shepard was alive, brought back from the dead by Cerberus of all people. Memories from his last stand were becoming sharper the longer he was awake. Shepard marching across the bridge, the glint of light off her pistol as she rushed forward, green eyes staring him down through his scope as he hit her square in the shoulder with a concussive shot. The way the skin crinkled around her eyes when she saw it was him under the helmet, the ease with which she took his rifle in her own hands and popped a mech with a single, clean shot. He could even remember the desperate cries coming from nearby when he was certain he was about to die. It had all been real…she had been real.
Garrus nodded his understanding to the doctor and ran his talons absentmindedly over his crest. “How is she handling it?”
“I imagine this situation can’t be easy for her either, but other than the outburst when she brought you back here, she has appeared perfectly at ease. You and I both know the Commander has always preferred to put up a strong front, however.”
Garrus breathed out a nervous laugh and stared at his hands. Before he could say anything in response, the doctor gripped his forearm. “One more thing. I joined Cerberus for her and only for her and for that I have no regrets. But these people here…they are not her people. I can’t begin to know what their motives really are, but I do know that the Commander could use a friend. I remember the two of you being quite close on the SR-1. Perhaps her finding you like this was fate.”
“Right,” he mumbled. Garrus wasn’t sure he wanted to chalk up the death of his entire team and the reincarnation of his best friend as mere fate. But he sat there in silence, instead, letting Chakwas check him over so she could clear him to leave the medbay once Shepard was back onboard.
“It appears the cybernetics are taking well and all seems to be in order. If you’re not in too much pain, I see no reason why I should keep you here any longer. Though please take care not to exert yourself. The damage to your face and neck aside, your nervous system also took quite a hit. You’ll likely be feeling the effects of stim withdrawal for a few more days at least. Shaky hands, mood swings, the like. If it gets to be too much, please come see me,” she told him before sending him on his way with orders to rest and drink water.
“You got it, Doc,” Garrus said with a dip of his head. He swung his legs off the bed and let the blanket covering him fall as his bare feet hit the floor. He hadn’t realized until a shiver racked through his body that his undersuit had been unzipped to his waist and his torso was completely bare. As he reached down to slip his arms into the suit, the cracks in his cowl were the first thing to catch his eye. He lifted a hand to explore the damage alongside the once-smooth edge. Now the plates had chipped, leaving behind a jagged, uneven dip from the explosion. If that’s what had happened to his chest, then what did his faec look like under the bandages? And how in the name of Trebia was he even sitting here after taking a hit from an actual missile? He knew firsthand that most people weren’t lucky enough to live through something like that.
“Doctor Chakwas,” Garrus said, getting the attention of the woman as she settled in at her desk. “Thank you.”
She offered him a kind smile. “You’re most welcome, Garrus. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
He chuckled softly, wincing only slightly at the ache it caused and finally slid his arms into his undersuit. “Do you know if Shepard is back yet?” he asked.
The response came immediately, though not from the source Garrus expected. “The Commander boarded the Normandy eight minutes and third seven seconds ago and is currently meeting with Lieutenant Taylor in the Communications Room on Deck 2.”
“Uh…thanks,” he replied to the ceiling, where the slightly robotic voice of what Garrus could only assume was a V.I. had come from.
“Of course, Archangel.”
Despite what Shepard had said to placate Miranda, she still managed to put off extracting the professor for almost two days after being informed that Garrus was safely out of surgery. Thankfully his prognosis was good and the doctor was hopeful for a full recovery. All Shepard had to do was wait for him to wake up and then she could stop holding her breath. In that time she spent nearly every free moment either by his bedside or nearby in the mess hall reading dossiers, scouting reports, and plotting out her next move. Unfortunately Miranda was right. She couldn’t sit around on Omega and delay things any longer.
Shepard rose from the table and entered the medbay where Chakwas was sipping on a mug of tea at her desk as the steam rose softly into the air.
“Any updates?” Shepard asked, glancing over at Garrus’ still form lying on one of the raised medical beds. Two pillows were tucked beneath his neck, arranged so that his crest jutted out over top, and a thick blanket covered most of his body below his shoulders. Not for the first time Shepard felt extremely grateful that Chakwas was the one running this medbay. Had it been anyone with actual loyalty to Cerberus, she wasn’t sure Garrus would have been so well taken care of or if he even would have made it out of his ordeal alive.
“None of significance,” the older woman replied, swiveling around in her chair to face Shepard. “But his vitals are holding steady and there are still no signs of his body rejecting the cybernetics. So all good.”
Shepard nodded and took her usual place in the chair at Garrus’ side. She watched his chest rise and fall ever so slightly, transfixed by the slow and steady rhythm. “I’m heading out to pick up a salarian professor for the team. Hopefully it will just be a quick in and out.” She raised her head toward the doctor. “Let me know if anything changes, will you?’
“Of course, Commander. Though if I may ask, when was the last time you slept?”
“Sleep is hard to come by these days, Doc.”
“Do me a favor and at least try. We can’t have you landing yourself in here right out of the gate because you drove yourself to exhaustion. A quick nap, that’s all I ask.”
“I guess it couldn’t hurt.” Shepard stole another glance at Garrus before standing. “But if I have to hear another word from Lawson about delaying the mission I’m sending her your way.”
“Do what you must, Commander, but I’m fairly certain I can handle her,” the doctor replied with a chuckle.
Hours later Shepard was escorting Dr. Mordin Solus through the CIC to the comm room and pretending to listen as Jacob droned on about all the features of the ship. She perked up only when Mordin turned toward the door and mumbled something about needing to assess the lab and get to work. Shepard brushed her hands together and moved to escape the small room behind him. “I should probably go check on Garrus,” she said with a nod in the soldier’s direction.
“Shepard, wait,” Jacob responded, stopping her in her tracks. “I know you’re hoping for the turian to join the ground team, but his injuries were extensive. I’m not sure someone can just recover from something like that. All I’m saying is maybe don’t get your hopes up.”
Shepard scowled and turned to give Jacob a piece of her mind when the door slid open behind her revealing who else but the turian himself. Impeccable timing, big guy, she thought with a grin.
Garrus strolled through the doorway in nothing but a black undersuit — tall, lean, and looking every bit like the imposing turian stereotype the Alliance had warned her about during basic. And most of all, he looked awake and healthy. It if hadn’t been for the bandages or the burned, fraying fabric at his edge of his cowl, one would have never known about his brush with death four days prior.
“Tough son of a bitch,” Jacob muttered and Shepard couldn’t help but smirk, because damn if it wasn’t true.
“Hey Shepard. Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad is it?”
She couldn’t help but laugh as Garrus ignored Jacob, his crystal blue eyes focused solely on her. “Slap some facepaint on there and I doubt anyone will even notice,” she replied.
Garrus flared out his mandibles and then winced. “Oh, damn it! Don’t make me laugh. My face is barely holding together as it is.” He stepped further into the room and scratched at the back of his neck. “You know, I’ve been told some women find facial scars attractive.”
Shepard bit her lip to keep from smiling at that and decided to ignore the way the comment made her stomach flip. “Oh yeah? And where did you hear that?”
“From a krogan, of course, who else?” he deadpanned and suddenly Shepard burst out laughing. She had waited four days for her friend to wake up and of course he decides to do so while she was gone. She could hardly contain the relief bubbling in her chest at the realization that Garrus was here, alive, with her. She didn’t have to do this alone.
Then Jacob stepped up and introduced himself to Garrus, a quick reminder that they weren’t alone in the room. Afterward, he turned on his heels, shot Shepard a formal salute and, thankfully, left.
Garrus watched Jacob with narrowed eyes that Shepard couldn’t help but compare to that of a hawk. He had called himself a natural-born predator before and in the dim lighting of the comm room, his body projecting a perfectly calm exterior, she could certainly see it. Only once the doors closed behind Jacob, did Garrus speak again.
“So, care to share what’s going on, Shepard? I wake up on a Cerberus ship with a face full of cybernetics and somehow that’s not even the strangest thing about all of this. I…I can’t believe you’re alive. For a moment there, I thought seeing you on Omega had all been a dream.” Shepard noticed his posture relax as he spoke, his demeanor turning softer now that it was just the two of them present.
“Here I am,” she shrugged. “A bit worse for wear, but…alive.”
“The scars are new, I see. But at least we can match.” Garrus took an unexpected step forward and gripped her forearm gently, causing Shepard to let out a small gasp of surprise at the contact. “It’s really good to see you. In case I didn’t already mention that. Unexpected sure, but…well, things haven’t been the same without you.”
“I can see that. I mean…Omega? Garrus, what happened there?”
Garrus scanned the empty room and tilted his head to the side before releasing her arm. “Not here. But I promise I’ll tell you everything.”
“So you’re staying then?”
“On the Normandy?” he scoffed. “Of course. Where else would I go?”
Shepard furrowed her brow and shook her head. “You don’t even know what the mission is.”
“I got the gist of it from Chakwas and I’m sure you’ll fill me in later on anything else I need to know. Don’t get me wrong…I don’t love the idea of getting wrapped up with Cerberus, but I trust you, Shepard. And I’m with you.”
“Good to know. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my team.”
“Guess it’s just like old times then, huh?”
Shepard hoped it could be, but a seed of doubt gnawed at her, a small voice inside that whispered Garrus was wrong. She wasn’t the same, so how could anything else be.
Chapter 4
Notes:
PLEASE NOTE: This chapter contains graphic depictions of injury and death. Rating has also been updated accordingly.
Chapter Text
Seeing Shepard again, really seeing her, without the stim-induced haze, left Garrus feeling conflicted. Sure he was happy to see her alive, and they had fallen quickly into their old habit of banter, but once he left the room he had doubts that it could really be that easy to pick up where they left off. How was one supposed to deal with the reality of seeing a person they had mourned? Garrus had well and truly grieved for Shepard, the pain of losing her and never even being able to say goodbye a constant ache in his chest that had taken years to ease. And even then her memory had always been there, haunting him in his dreams and waking hours alike.
The grief that followed after her death had played a big part in Garrus’ decision to leave the Citadel. There were too many memories there, too many people dragging her name through the mud, and tearing down all the work she had done, that they had done together.
And so he left, but Garrus had carried her with him everywhere he went, as he committed acts he knew she would never approve of. And maybe that’s why he let himself slide so far into the darkness. Without her there to guide him, it felt like there was no light left for him anyway. Shepard had become his best friend aboard the SR-1 and for so long after her death, the loss felt too large for him to fully process. Hell, he was still processing it.
And now he was somehow supposed to reconcile her sudden presence back in his life with the ghost that had followed him for two years, all while he was once again in the midst of grieving? It was all too much for him to handle.
The worst part was that Garrus couldn’t deny the way he was drawn to still. The smile she had given him in the comm room had been dangerously close to the ones she used to share with him late at night aboard the SR-1. Her voice, exactly as he remembered it, felt like a balm to his weary soul, soothing away the hardened exterior Omega had built up with every syllable uttered through her lips.
But no matter how much he cared about her, he also knew the feelings he once harbored for her were pointless. There had never been and never would be a future there, species-differences aside. Even if there were, Shepard deserved more than Garrus could possibly give her. He was broken; a shadow of the person he once was, a failure of a turian and a leader. Ten people lost because of him and his decisions. They had been the ones who had surrounded him, followed him, who had helped him to heal from the anger and grief that consumed him those first few months on Omega. He had never fully recovered during his time on that spirits-forsaken asteroid, but their presence and their trust had made his dark days somewhat bearable. They had brought light back into his life little by little and had become his family. And now…because of him, they were all gone.
If Shepard needed Garrus in the field he would be there by her side, gun in hand and ready to put a bullet between the eye of anyone who needed it. But he had no plans of dragging her into his mess. She had enough trouble on her hands without knowing the lows her friend had stooped to, or the blood that stained his hands in vengeance. There had been no honor in much of the justice he doled out on Omega. He frowned, mandibles drooping low, when he thought about what the great Commander Shepard would have to say about that. The same woman who had stayed his hand against Dr. Saleon, who had done her best to guide him down a path of righteousness. What would she think of the person he had become in her absence?
With nothing else to do, Garrus quickly scoured the ship, acquainting himself with the new layout and additions. He had no belongings other than the few things either recovered from his base by Shepard’s new squad or what had been on his back when he was brought on board; his rifle, his pistol, his damaged armor, and his visor. The items were now in a box, placed into his arms by a too-cheery human woman in the CIC before he stepped into the elevator to return to the crew deck.
The SR-2 was much larger than it’s predecessor and while it managed to capture much of the original charm and efficiencies, this was clearly a ship built with civilian comfort in mind. There was a bar for spirit’s sake, which upon closer inspection held absolutely no dextro-friendly alcohol. Not a surprise seeing as it was stocked by a borderline terrorist, pro-humanity group. He should probably make a note to requisition some protein bars and dextro meals from whoever handled that sort of thing unless he wanted to starve as well. Funny how the original Normandy had been a joint venture by his people and the humans and yet this rendition so clearly was put together with zero regard to other species. All this despite Shepard’s known affinity for working with an alien crew.
When Garrus found the main battery on the crew deck he peeked inside and shut the door, instantly comforted by the red glow and the gentle hum of the Normandy’s weapons system found inside. Now this he knew how to deal with. Unlike every other problem in his life, this was one he could actually solve. Garrus locked the door and settled in. First things first, he fitted his visor over his left eye and switched it on, sighing as the familiar stream of data began running across his vision. It was comforting in a strange sort of way. When he first woke up without his visor he had expected to learn that it had been destroyed in the attack. It wouldn’t be the first one he had lost, but he couldn’t deny the absence would have felt somewhat bigger this time. His old visor had been destroyed months ago. A hit to the side of his head in a tussle with Garm had cracked the housing and rendered it inoperable. The one he was currently wearing still used some of the components of the original, but Garrus had used it mostly to modify the visor he had gotten for Shepard years ago. He was almost embarrassed to admit he had carried that thing around for a year after her death, but in the end it had been useful. He had already copied over all of his programs so all that was left to do was fit it to his specifications. Shockingly enough it turned out even better than the original. Some sentimental part of him had also liked that it felt as if he were carrying a piece of Shepard around with him. Like she was still with him, guiding his shots.
After his visor had run through the startup application, Garrus pulled out his gun and armor and dropped them both onto a nearby workbench before scanning the room with his omni-tool raised. He was almost surprised not to find any bugs planted in the battery, but he went ahead and knocked out the camera feed just to be safe. The last thing he wanted was Cerberus spying on him even if all he was doing was fixing their shoddy algorithms. The low vibration of the ship under his feet suddenly had him staggering to sit down, and he was hit with a wave of disorientation. All the questions that had been bubbling up since he awoke under the bright lights of the medbay seemed to finally rise to the surface.
What was he doing here?, he asked himself. This imitation of the place he once called home had first seemed like a marvel, but now it felt more like he was trapped in some weird dream.
Or maybe it was all a nightmare.
His thoughts turned to his team, of the way he had found them when he arrived at their base. Garrus had known he was walking into a trap the moment he arrived at the meeting point Sidonis led him to and found it empty. He had torn through Omega after that, a sinking feeling in his gut as his feet carried him across rooftops and down alleyways faster than he even knew possible. But of course, he was too late. A wave of guilt washed over Garrus. Why should he be allowed to go on when his team had been gunned down in cold blood, their lives so brutally taken from them for Garrus’ mistake?
The scene that greeted him in the base had been horrific. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air and burned his nose with each inhale. For as long as he lived, that day would be etched into his memory with perfect clarity. The streak of red painted across the floor that led him to find Monteague. The human had clearly been attempting to crawl towards the blue mutilated body of Mierin. Somehow the man had still been breathing, though his legs were completely gone below the knee, bone and sinew dangling from ends in a sight that made Garrus turn away, nausea roiling in his stomach. And yet he made himself stay, moving Monty as carefully as he could until the man was able to touch his bondmate. A soft touch to her bloodied face and a choking sob before he drew his last breath.
Weaver had never even stood a chance. Her’s was the first body Garrus had come across right in the main doorway. Facedown in a pool of blood with a bullet wound in the back of her skull, blonde curls matted in a sticky mess of blood and brain tissue. The one consolation was that she had at least met a quick end, probably hadn’t even seen the mercs coming. Not like Butler, whose body was so full of bullet holes that Garrus hadn’t even recognized him at first. The human was slumped backward over the stair railing with a knife in his chest — the final thing to take him if three bodies in blue suns armor surrounding him were any clue. If Garrus had to guess he would wager Butler had been attempting to buy the others time to make it out. Brave. But that hadn’t mattered in the end.
Krul was next. Garrus found him at the door to the lower levels, armor blackened and a gaping hole in his chest.
Vortash was laying not far away, his body in much the same condition.
Garrus somehow made it up the stairs, already awash with grief and anger when he stumbled upon the next three bodies.
Erash. Ripper. Sensat.
Mel had been the only other member of his team still alive. She was sprawled next to two dead mercs in the largest room upstairs, her shotgun lying beside her as evidence of the fight she had put up until the very end.
“Stay with me, Mel. It’s going to be alright,” he stuttered, words barely audible beneath his desperate subvocals. He rushed to spread medi-gel onto the wounds peppering her abdomen, his fingers sinking through the holes into her suit with a sickening squelch.
“I don’t fear death, G. It’s…the way of things,” she said, coughs interrupting her words and spraying blue blood across the floor.
“I’m so sorry. I should have been here, I should have—“
“Shhh, Garrus.” His breath caught in his throat, no one had called him that name in over a year. “Be…at peace. And don’t…blame yourself.” Mel pressed her hand flat against his chest and Garrus gripped it roughly as he gingerly propped her up and situated her carapace against his thigh.
“Mel, please,” Garrus choked out, noticing the thick indigo puddle pooling beneath them both. “Stay with me.”
Her hand slid slowly out of his and down his keel bone as he watched as her amber eyes slip out of focus. “May the Spirits guide you,” he whispered softly into her fringe. “May they carry you into the warmth of Trebia, and may you find peace under her rays.” Garrus held her body against his until it grew cold in his arms.
He removed his visor and ran his thumb over the names he had carved with his own talon in between the waves of mercs on Omega. At the time it had been his way of keeping his team close, their names becoming a part of him as he finished what they started together. But now it was simply another reminder of what he had lost. A snarl ripped out of him as he brushed over the last name on the list, scratched into the metal back when he still thought Sidonis a victim. It didn’t take long for the pieces to slot into place.
The turian’s personal effects had all been missing from the base, a detail Garrus had stumbled upon while he was laying their team to rest as best he could in what little time he had. The detective in him had bristled at the evidence, but it wasn’t until two days into his last stand, when he using a tracking program Vortash had made, that his hunch was proven right. Sure enough Sidonis had booked transport off Omega before the attack had even happened. Garrus had trusted the man, loved him like a brother. He had been his first friend on that fetid rock and yet the damn traitor had turned on him and everything they built. He had run, leaving behind a trail of blood in his wake for Garrus to clean up.
He stared unblinking at the name etched there as a low growl emanated from somewhere deep within his chest. Pulling off his glove with his teeth and throwing it to the side, Garrus dug his sharpened talon into the metal until the name was left barely legible. Even if it was the last thing he ever did, Garrus vowed to find Sidonis and make him pay.
A life for a life, he had once heard someone say. Well, Sidonis owed him ten lives and he planned to collect.
Chapter Text
As the door to the battery slid open Garrus felt his muscles tense. He knew it was Shepard long before she ever announced herself. After their early conversation Garrus had fled to the battery and become so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had almost completely forgotten his promise. Shepard wanted to know about Omega, a reasonable request all things considered. Now though, separated from their private reunion in the comm room and his initial elation at seeing her alive, Garrus wasn’t so sure he could put any of what had happened there into words. The gaping wound left in his soul was still far too fresh, as were the memories of the life he had made in Shepard’s absence. He couldn’t shake the feeling that at any moment he might wake up and find this interlude on the Normandy had all been in his head. He would open his eyes, walk downstairs and see his team safe and sound in the base with the horrors having never happened.
How was it that everything in his life had flipped on its axis in an instant? Two years had passed since Garrus had disembarked from the Normandy and last laid eyes on his human best friend. In the time since, Garrus had learned to move on, albeit just barely. He had somehow managed to build a new life out of the ashes of his grief. Yet now he suddenly found himself thrust fringe-first into the old one, and he wasn’t quite convinced he fit into it anymore.
“Hey,” Shepard greeted him quietly, coming to a stop just inside the doorway. “I wasn’t sure where you had gone. I actually checked the cargo bay at first. Old habits, I guess.”
The sound of Shepard’s boots scuffing against the floor echoed in the room and Garrus was transported back to the hold of the SR-1, tucked up under the Mako and waiting for the sound of his Commander’s approach to signal his next break. Garrus shook his head to dispel the image of the past from his mind and finally turned to face her.
“Found the guns and figured this would was as good a place as any to camp. I was glad to see they added some firepower to this Normandy,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the cannons. “Though, frankly it could be better.”
Shepard shifted her weight and gave him a soft smile. “That’s right. I remember you mentioning you had gunnery training in the military.”
“Mmhmm. Nice to flex those muscles again.”
“You know, we may end up having to face these Collectors head on at some point. If there’s anything you can think of to help strengthen our offensive approach, I’d love to hear it.”
Garrus nodded. “Will do. And in the meantime I’ll make sure what we have is up to the task.”
They fell into a thick silence while Garrus stared at his feet, worried if he met Shepard’s eye her green gaze might drag out everything he was hiding from her. She always did have a way of breaking down his walls, but there was no way he was ready for that just yet. He wasn’t sure he ever would be, truth be told.
After a long moment, Shepard spoke again, her voice sounding far too loud for the small room. Humans always seemed to speak louder than necessary. Garrus supposed it was due to their subpar hearing. “How are you feeling?” she asked. Her hand lifted to the right side of her face, fingers lightly grazing her own scarred skin. Garrus wondered if the gesture was made consciously or not.
He turned his head to the side, effectively hiding his bandage from Shepard’s view. Yet another thing he didn’t really care to talk about. “Don’t worry. I’m fit for duty, Commander.”
“Garrus.” His name was said in an exasperated tone that he knew meant she was aware he was dodging the question. “That’s not what I asked. How are you, really?“
He snapped his eyes back to hers. “I definitely wouldn’t recommend taking a rocket to the face if that’s what you’re asking. But, the pain is manageable. Mostly.” Garrus tilted his head back and forth as if to test the validity of that statement. In all actuality the pain meds simply hadn’t worn off yet. He wasn’t looking forward to the moment they did. “It does feel strange though. Doc said it may take some time until I have full functionality in my right mandible. Could be worse, considering.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Shepard said, her voice dropping along with her eyes.
“Same goes for you, Shepard,” Garrus replied. “I still don’t quite understand how you’re even standing here.” That was certainly an understatement, but Garrus didn’t have the vocabulary to describe how disorienting it was to see this woman existing somewhere outside of his dreams. Nor did he really want to burden her with his complicated feelings on the subject.
“Yeah, you and me both.” She shrugged and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed at her chest.
“And you, Shepard? I didn’t really get a chance to ask earlier,” Garrus said, mirroring her stance by leaning against his console. “Are you alright? Chakwas told me you were in a coma…or something similar at least.”
She breathed out something between a laugh and a sigh and glanced up at the ceiling. “I’m…coping. Haven’t really had much time to dwell on things if I’m being honest. Which is probably for the best.”
Garrus had no doubt she was coping as well as she knew how, but in the short amount of time they had been talking, he could already see that the spark she once possessed didn’t burn quite as bright as it had in the past.
The version of Shepard standing in front of him now was more reserved than he ever remembered seeing her. The tension held in her body was visible, reminding him of the similar way she had held her shoulders after running into the survivor from Akuze. With a bit of an ache in his chest Garrus wondered what Cerberus might have done to her before he came on board.
Shepard was missing that fire in her eyes, sure, but wasn’t that understandable considering her circumstance? Even with her now short hair and the gauntness of her cheeks, there wasn’t a doubt in Garrus’ mind that this was Shepard in front of him. A clone could never hope to imitate all her little quirks, particularly the ones she kept hidden away from the rest of the world. And a Cerberus controlled clone would have likely left a broken, bleeding turian that was on death’s doorstep to cross that threshold without interference. But instead Garrus had been brought back and patched up. He knew that must have been Shepard’s influence. She had always fought tooth and talon for those on her team since the day he met her. Leaving someone behind had never been a choice she made if she could help it.
Even now, as they stood together in the silence, the twitch at the corner of her mouth was achingly familiar. Garrus was thrown back into those late-night conversations in the mess hall where he would test the waters to see how many smiles he could earn. That was when Garrus first learned to interpret the meanings of those intricate human expressions Shepard was capable of. Long before he had sold his soul and covered his hands in blood. So yes, Shepard was the same, even if a little bit broken. But was he?
“You can talk to me, Shepard,” he offered after a time, shaking away the cloud of thoughts that seemed to hang over his head. “No one else can hear us in here. I made sure of that.”
Her eyes met his across the dimly lit space and he saw the smallest hint of a spark ignite. “That right? Then let’s just say waking up in a lab to find out you lost two years of your life can really fuck with a person’s head. I won’t bore you with the details, Garrus, but suffice to say that Cerberus is still firmly on my shit list. I’ve been playing along so far, but once we get to the Citadel the plan is to speak with Anderson and the Council. If we can get them to offer support with investigating the colonies we won’t need to work with Cerberus anymore. Though either way I’m keeping this ship.” At that the corner of her mouth ticked up to portray the barest hint of a smug smile.
“I hate to ruin your plan, but don’t get your hopes up when it comes to the Council. While you were gone they did nothing but stick their heads in the sand, as you humans say. The attack on the Citadel was placed squarely on the geth, and any mention of the Reapers was buried.”
Shepard stood up suddenly, her arms thrown out to her side. “What? You can’t be serious.”
“Unfortunately, I am. I tried to meet with them after…well, you know. Thought I could show the Council evidence of what we’d seen, prove to them that you were right, that the Reapers were out there. But, they didn’t want to hear it. They refused to see the real threat and I highly doubt that’s changed in the last year and a half.”
“I don’t understand,” Shepard said, shaking her head. She started pacing slowly in front of the locked door, her boots tapping a soft rhythm as she went. “The entire Citadel saw Sovereign with their own eyes. It clearly wasn’t a geth ship.”
Garrus shrugged one shoulder and sunk his weight into his hip. “People see what they want to see. And once Saren was out of the way, and you weren’t there to push back, everyone on the Citadel went about their usual business. It was almost as if nothing had happened at all. I couldn’t stand it.”
“Is that why you left?” she asked, coming to an abrupt stop.
He tilted his head back and forth. “Partially. It was difficult being on the Citadel after that. Everything was wrapped up in politics, even my offer with the Spectres. They wanted me to denounce you, agree not to cause a scene like you had, be a good, obedient turian. But I just couldn’t do that, not with everything I had seen. I tried distracting myself with C-Sec work, but it was just more of the same. So…I left. Figured I could do more good on my own.”
“Why Omega?”
“I was following a trail of drug trafficking that led me there. I didn’t really have a plan, but it didn’t take long to realize the place was full of criminals and thugs kicking the helpless. I decided to stay and kick back.”
While he was talking, Shepard had crossed the space and rested her back against the console beside him. She was close enough now her arm was brushing lightly against his. “When I found you,” she said, voice low. “How long had you been holding that base?”
“About three days, give or take. It all started to blur a bit at the end there.”
“Jesus, Garrus. Three days straight? What the hell started all of that?”
This was the part he had wanted to avoid talking about, but wouldn’t he be a hypocrite for asking Shepard to open up if he were unwilling to? Best to get it over with and tell Shepard the short of it. Garrus hung his head and let out a deep sigh.
“I…had a team. Twelve of us in total. Every one of my men had lost someone or something to the scum of Omega and together we were working to make it a safer place. For about a year we executed hits and raids across Omega; targeting slavers, traffickers, and gang members in the shadows. But, in the end we were betrayed. By one of our own. I was lured away from the base, and by the time I managed to make it back they were all dead. I couldn’t save anyone.”
“The body bags,” she whispered. “Garrus, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
He could feel her weight press against his arm more firmly, but Garrus only stood there, thankful he didn’t have to face Shepard or her sympathy head on. “Yeah, me too.”
“Are you sure your man betrayed you? What if the gangs just got to him first?” Shepard’s question struck Garrus like a slap across the face and he nearly growled before he got a handle on himself. He was positive she could feel him shaking.
“When I didn’t find Sidonis’ body at the base I did some digging. He booked passage off Omega and cleared out all his accounts. He sold us out and ran,” Garrus spat, teeth grinding against one another. “I should have seen it coming.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Shepard offered. But why couldn’t he? They were his team, his responsibility. They had trusted Garrus to lead them and all he had done was gotten them killed, too wrapped up in his lust for vengeance to see the cracks forming. Garrus didn’t say any more, hoping Shepard would take the hint and drop the subject. He already knew he wanted revenge for his team’s deaths and he already knew she would attempt to talk him out of it. It was one thing to let Saleon go, but Sidonis? This time it really was personal.
The day Shepard died Garrus lost a part of himself and he wasn’t sure he ever managed to find it again. Maybe he never would. And now that she had returned, her presence couldn’t just magically erase the past two years, or the things he had done during that time. Garrus had a list a mile long of those whose lives he cut short in the name of justice. Some of those kills were clean, surgical — a quick, merciful bullet between the eyes. But others had been brutal; he had torn flesh with his bare talons, slit throats and left his victims to choke on their own blood, pressed red sand into eye sockets with so much force he could still hear the sickly pop and the scream that followed. Perhaps the worst part was that he wasn’t sorry about any of it.
And of course, Garrus couldn’t share any of that with Shepard. She who had expected so much more out of him than what he had proven to be. No, she simply wouldn’t understand. It was why he had supplied her with the short, sterile version of his time on Omega. Though he held no remorse for the criminals and gang members he had ended on that rock, Garrus didn’t think he could handle Shepard looking at or treating him differently. She was about all he had left in the galaxy and he had no intention of losing her again, even if it meant keeping her at arm’s length and ignorant of his secrets.
After another beat of silence had passed Garrus turned around and began fiddling with the console. “Thanks for coming by, Commander. Now, if you don’t mind I’d like to get started on some of these diagnostics.”
He could hear her feet shifting beside him, the momentary pause where the weight of her gaze burned into the side of his head. Then she said quietly, “Okay, Garrus. I’ll talk to you later.”
When she had left him alone, Garrus slumped against the surface of his terminal. Everything in him screamed to keep Shepard close, but instead he was pushing her away. He wanted so badly to be the turian she knew from the SR-1, to be the friend and confidant she needed. What he wouldn’t give to go back to the way things had once been between them. But, the reality was that there was very little left of that naive C-Sec investigator Shepard had once known. Everything about the turian he was now had been colored by loss.
And how could he even begin to explain that to her? How could he possibly burden Shepard, who had been the subject of his grief for two years, with the weight of all he carried now?
Shepard left the battery frustrated and unsatisfied by their discussion. Garrus needed time to process everything and that she could at least understand. But when he practically ignored her the following day, spouting off something about calibrations only to throw the exact same line in her face earlier that morning, she almost lost it. Sure it was one thing to take a moment to collect himself, but had he not been the one to say he was with her? It sure as hell didn’t feel like it. Garrus was very clearing pushing her away and she had no idea why.
Maybe it was too much to assume he still felt anything for her, if he ever even had. Maybe she had read more into that message than he meant. Even if she hadn’t, two years had passed. Perhaps he had been with someone on his Omega team and he had lost them, too. Which meant Shepard was being incredibly insensitive. Garrus had built a life with those people and she had glossed over their deaths without even asking about the people they had been.
She would make it up to him, apologize and set things right between them. Once upon a time her and Garrus had been good friends. Surely they could be that again.
But there was still that small thought in the back of her mind that sat ever present, slowly eating away at her. Was she even the same person she had been before? Did Garrus think she had changed? Maybe he could sense something was different, that she wasn’t quite herself and that was the real reason he pushed her away.
Miranda had assured her that Cerberus didn’t want to change her, but as far as Shepard was concerned that woman’s word meant nothing. Jesus Christ, she had died. Was there really a way for someone to come back from that?
Shepard stood in the mess, her mood continuing to sour as they approached the relay that would launch them to the Citadel. She had been running over what she planned to say to the Council all morning and was no closer to figuring out the best course of action than she had been when she started. Carefully she poured herself a glass of water with shaking hands and downed it, allowing herself a glance at the door to the main battery where the holo-lock burned red, a universal sign for “fuck off”.
“Approach locked. Relay jump in t-minus fifteen,” Joker announced over the ship’s comm system. Shepard placed her now empty glass in the sink and headed for the lift.
The Citadel was just about the last place in the galaxy Garrus wanted to be, barring Omega. There was something about it that felt like coming home with his tail between his legs — a human idiom that conjured strange images in his head, but also fit the thoughts he was having about the whole situation. Garrus thought maybe it would be best if he just stayed on the ship. As it turned out, the decision to go ashore was made for him. Shortly after they hit the relay, an announcement came through from the bridge that all personnel were to remain onboard. That suited Garrus just fine. He could easily spend their time docked by researching better artillery options.
The current Cerberus-built guns on the Normandy were better than having no weapons at all, but already he was finding deficiencies in their design. The SR-2 needed to be able to defend herself and in this, at least, Garrus wasn’t going to let Shepard down.
After his short conversation with the Commander about Sidonis two days prior, Garrus had barely spoken with her. He had begun a diagnostic on the weapons system when she left the battery that day, just as he said would, but truthfully he had spent most of his time tracking leads through his web of contacts. Nothing about his old partner had come back yet and much to Garrus’ disappointment, his inbox sat empty, save for a singular message he couldn’t even bring himself to open.
After finding his team decimated on Omega, Garrus had only an hour before Blue Suns mercs arrived at his base, clearly sent to make sure the job had been handled. He had disposed of them rather quickly, but not before one had gotten a call out that Archangel himself was still alive.
He could have run at that point, slipped out the back of the base, hopped a shuttle off Omega and disappeared into the shadows. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same thing years earlier. But, at the time Garrus’ focus hadn’t been on his own survival. There was one thing on his mind, and it was making sure the gangs paid for the deaths of his team. In short order he had set up the emergency security system and locked down all but one entrance to the base. The bridge leading to the building was now the only way in…and the only way out. After lining it with proximity charges, Garrus took his rifle, along with a crate of thermal clips, and hunkered down on the top floor.
Somewhere in between defending his position and getting his face blown off, Garrus had managed to find a moment of solitude. Settling back into his sniper’s nest, he bit off the top of a protein bar and pulled up his omni-tool interface. Most of the team had no family left to speak of, or at least none they still kept in contact with. He himself had been toeing that line for the last year. Butler, however, had been one of the exceptions. His wife, Nalah, had forced herself into their group shortly after Garrus had invited the man to join. She quickly took it as her personal mission to feed and care for them all. Every few weeks Nalah would come over, arms loaded down with bags of food, ready to cook what she lovingly called “family dinners”. The first time Garrus had found her in the kitchen he had wheeled around and fixed Butler with a glare before dragging him roughly by the shoulder into the adjacent room.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” he hissed once they were out of earshot. “Inviting your bondmate over was not part of our deal. She could have been followed!”
“You try telling her not to do something,” Butler said, shoving Garrus’ hand off of his arm with a huff. “She said she wanted to meet my new ‘coworkers’ and Sid said it was alright.”
“And just what have you told her about your coworkers?” Garrus asked. He stalked closer to the man, towering over him and effectively boxing him in against the wall.
“Look man,” the human responded with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know how turians do relationships, but Nalah and I don’t lie to each other. She knew I was contacted by Archangel the moment your message came through. I told her about the job and your offer and we made the decision together. If that’s a problem with you, I’ll bow out now. But Nalah’s smart. Smarter than me, that’s for sure. Just talk to her, alright? You’ll see.”
And so Garrus had. He quickly learned that Butler was right. Nalah was certainly the brains of the pair. And though she never stopped trying to psychoanalyze him, eventually Nalah won Garrus over with both her cooking and her ability to sit in his silence and listen. Without her Garrus wasn’t sure he would have ever been able to heal after Shepard’s death. And for that alone, he knew he owed her the courtesy of being the one to break the news about her bondmate’s death. At the time, alone and sitting in the midst of what was likely his last stand, Garrus had resolved to do more than that. Within a few minutes he had wired her the remaining credits from the team’s account. He wouldn’t need them where he was going and as far as Garrus was concerned they shouldn’t belong to him anyway. The rest of the team had wanted to retire, use the funds to buy better lives somewhere else in the galaxy. Instead they lay dead, the futures they dreamed about cut short, because Garrus had pushed them to continue their crusade.
The best he could hope for was to give Nalah a chance to get herself off Omega and start a new life. Though thanks to him she would now be living it alone. After all the woman had done for him, Garrus had repaid her kindness in blood money.
Despite his best efforts, Garrus had somehow come out of the entire ordeal alive, and now Nalah’s reply sat in his inbox, her name staring up at him every time he opened the interface. So far he hadn’t been able to bring himself to read it, too worried about what it might say. There was no way Garrus couldn’t face Nalah, not when the man who had killed her husband was still out there, free to roam the galaxy. Free to live. He had to bring Sidonis to justice, and then maybe he would be able to find his own peace.
Garrus lowered himself down on his cot, dug up from the cargo hold by none other than Chakwas when she realized he had taken to sleeping on the floor in the battery. It was made for humans and was slightly too small for him, but it was better than the alternative he had endured the first few nights. When Joker’s voice echoed through the small space some time later and announced they were docking he expected his door to open at any moment. It never did. Shepard hadn’t come back and there had been no request for him to disembark on the Citadel with her. That was fine by him. Being alone in the dimly lit hole he had found for himself was fitting and his self loathing was more than enough to keep him company.
Chapter Text
Shepard had always considered her hair one of her best features, especially when she was younger. For years she kept the pin-straight, jet-black strands cut in a neat shoulder length bob — just long enough to pull into a sleek, simple bun or a ponytail when needed, which due to her career was most of the time. Even when it sometimes became cumbersome to deal with our in the field, Shepard had never felt the desire to cut it short. Similar to her penchant for wearing makeup when many other soldiers shunned it, styling her hair was something she simply enjoyed. Maybe it came from the fond memories of her nainai running a brush through the back while some drama played on the vid screen. Shepard still loved the feel of a comb gently scraping at her scalp. Or maybe it was the small hint of femininity it provided while barking orders at men twice her size. The satisfaction at watching them snap to attention was extra sweet when she did so with a bright swath of color on her lips.
Since stepping foot onto the new Normandy and seeing herself, the lack of those small details on her person and the loss of that semblance of self had been weighing on her. Shepard didn’t know if she should feel silly for caring about things like makeup or hair when there were far more pressing matters to be concerned with, but damnit, she just wanted to feel like herself again. She ran her fingers through the course strands, almost recoiling from the unfamiliar texture, and let out a heavy breath. Her hair stood almost straight up from how closely it was cropped. Just one more thing that had been taken from Shepard, a piece of her identity that had been stripped away without her consent. Bare stomach pressed against the cold sink, Shepard leaned in closer to the mirror and worked to tame the short strands. As if the unflattering cut wasn’t enough, there was also little left of her natural dark color, only a piece here and there. What now covered most of her head was a light grey, dull in both hue and shape. Shepard absolutely hated it.
To make matters worse, earlier that day the shaved sides of her scalp had begun to itch, just enough that she had to duck into the bathroom to scratch at it without the eyes of some Cerberus crew member gawking at her. At least the itching meant her mangled hair was probably growing. How long would it take for the uneven lengths to resemble anything remotely intentional?
With a huff Shepard turned on the faucet and let the water pool into her hands before attempting to smooth down the top of her hair as best she could. The bathroom in her cabin had already been thoroughly picked through and of course there wasn’t a single comb in sight. Millions of dollars spent rebuilding both her and the Normandy and Cerberus couldn’t even be bothered to stock the ship with the most basic of supplies. For now Shepard had to resort to using her fingers to coral her hair into something remotely presentable. Most days on the ship she had resigned herself to letting it do what it wanted, but today that wasn’t an option. The public persona of Commander Shepard was nothing if not professional and a meeting with a Councilor warranted the need to look the part, especially when she was essentially turning up out of the blue after two years. That thought was going to take some getting used to.
It took a considerable amount of time to find something in the way of available clothing that would accomplish the look she wanted. In the end Shepard landed on a pair of plain black pants, combat boots, and a simple, black long sleeved shirt with a high neck. It had originally been branded by Cerberus, but Shepard had managed to rip the patch off with minimal damage to the garment. It wasn’t really within Alliance uniform regs, but then again Shepard supposed she wasn’t really an Alliance officer anymore. For now it would have to do.
The last time Leila Shepard had stepped foot on the Presidium—after Saren’s body crumbled to ash, and before the Normandy SR-1 had pushed away from the docks on its final ill-fated journey—it had been nothing more than a pile of twisted rubble. Mounds of destruction and piles of twisted, broken metal lay haphazardly while the normal brightness of the artificial sky had been dimmed by scattered areas of power outage. Large swaths of clouds floated motionless beside jagged holes that revealed the purple light of the nebula. The effect had been an odd one, but even work crews and keepers alike had been working to clean up the damage.
Now the current status of the station served as a stark reminder that two whole years had passed while Shepard had been lost to the void. From the level of security she had to go through just to leave the docks on Zakera Ward to the pristine gloss of newness that seemed to cling to everything in the Presidium, it was clear that life had continued to carry on in her absence.
Shepard herself, accustomed to regular life on a station since she was young, much preferred the energy on the wards to the shiny facade of politicians and government bureaucracy. The gleam was too sterile for her liking, as unnatural as the fluffy white clouds that hung in the now-seamless, artificial blue sky. Shepard had learned in her past life, from either an extranet article or maybe a documentary, that it was actually modeled after the sky on Earth, as was tradition on the Citadel to assist in acclimating a new species. Humanity having been the most recent addition to the galactic stage meant it would stay that way for another twenty years, or until another new species came along to join their ranks.
The echo of her footsteps echoed on the short stairwell toward the embassy conjured up a feeling of deja vu. It seemed like yesterday that Shepard had stood in this spot with a quarian and a turian she had just met by her side, armed with evidence that would change all their lives forever. Had it really been two entire years since that day? Now she came empty-handed and alone with nothing but a thin veil of hope that someone might simply listen to what she had to say. That they might extend a hand and help pull her out of the nightmare she had woken up to.
After waiting in a bright sitting area for what felt like an hour, but was confirmed on her omni-tool to have only been a few minutes, the young woman at reception waved Shepard back to Anderson’s office. She breathed in deeply and straightened her shoulders as the door opened to reveal the large office. With its position overlooking the presidium lakes it possessed an open air vista that would make most people envious. Shepard, being quite unlike most people, simply let her eyes roam across the windowless expanse and wondered what safety measures might be in place for a sitting Councilor who occupied an office like this one. Some type of invisible barrier, perhaps? Surely there had to be something protecting Anderson. Otherwise it would only take a single well-placed shot from the other side of the lake and they would be down one well-respected Alliance veteran and human Councilor. She could already spot a perfect vantage point on that balcony over there and—
“Shepard?”
Right. The meeting was already off to a great start. Shepard turned her back on the view, holding in a breath now that she was perfectly within the imaginary line of fire. When a shot didn’t come she breathed out and said with as much normalcy as she could muster, “Sorry, sir. Just admiring the…view.”
Anderson nodded and leaned against the short wall, apparently unaware of her unease. “It’s strange. It all looks so real, but then you realize there’s never a breeze and the illusion becomes somewhat shattered.” He focused his attention on her then, eyes searching for something—recognition perhaps?—as they skirted across her face. She could practically feel his gaze lingering on the not-so-subtle scars that splintered her cheek. “I’ll be honest, Shepard. It’s a real shock to see you walk through those doors. I heard the rumors, of course. But coming out of Omega who could really be sure.”
Unwittingly Shepard lightly scratched at her scalp, then stood up straight, hands locking behind her back automatically. Years of military service made the act feel as natural as breathing. “It’s all a shock to me as well, sir. Imagine waking up from a coma and realizing two years have passed.”
He narrowed his eyes and shoved off the wall, facing Shepard completely now. “That part’s true then?”
“It is, sir.” It may have been a massive oversimplification of the truth, but Shepard didn’t possess the time nor the level of understanding needed for that conversation.
“And what of the rumors that you’re now working alongside Cerberus?”Anderson asked. There was no malice in his voice, but Shepard could sense his concern plain as day. “You know we were alerted the minute a ship calling itself Normandy requesting docking permission. Can’t say I ever expected to see you aligning yourself with that group. Especially after learning they were behind what transpired on Akuze. Care to explain?”
Shepard held his gaze, gritting her teeth against the wave of anger that seemed to always be boiling just under the surface these days. “This is where it gets complicated, sir. But, I’m hoping you can help me.”
Without a response Anderson walked to the low cabinet beside his desk. He poured himself a coffee; one sugar cube added, a quick stir. Only after taking a sip did his eyes return to the other person in the room. “I’m all ears, Shepard.”
And so she explained what she could; their findings on Freedom’s Progress, the presence of the Collectors, her suspicion that the mysterious aliens were somehow working with the Reapers, and finally her plan to leave Cerberus behind if she could get Alliance backing. Anderson was silent afterward, mulling over her words until he stood and approached his console.
“I can get you an audience with the rest of the Council,” he said with a nod, his mouth set in a firm line. “But I can’t promise anything beyond that.”
The meeting with the Council proved to be just as disastrous as Garrus had warned Shepard it would be. Though no one could have predicted Sparatus throwing air quotes at her, nor their attempt to placate her by offering to uphold her Spectre status, so long as she promised not to cause a stir in Council space. Funny, Shepard hadn’t even realized before talking with them that her status was something she was in danger of losing.
She had purposely left the Cerberus uniforms behind and had plans to throw them in the trash compactor in Zaeed’s room later, but it seemed the organization was already coloring both the Council and Anderson’s impressions of her. The suspicion hung over her like a storm cloud. The harsh truth that even Anderson didn’t trust her fully stung more than she had expected. Shepard had to keep reminding herself that people had actually mourned her and then moved on with their lives.
Before the holo forms of the three alien Councilors flickered out Shepard was given orders to submit to a biometric screening to substantiate her claims and begin the process of reinstating her as an agent of the Council. “Standard protocol. Can’t be too careful,” Valern had said with a dismissive wave of his hand. At least Anderson had the wherewithal to look slightly ashamed. As annoying as it was to be asked to jump through hoops for something she had already earned, and in her mind had never lost, Shepard could at least appreciate the required pin prick in her finger. The deep crimson bead that appeared at the tip was a comforting sight these days, a welcome reminder of her humanity even as she felt violated by the buzz of automated screenings assaulting her in the dull white-walled room she had been directed to. After a few moments of steady beeping the screen eventually flashed with a confirmation of her identity.
***DATABASE MATCH***
Leila Mei Shepard
Commander, Alliance Navy (former)
Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Operative, Citadel Council (pending)
Species: Human
DOB: April 11, 2154
Birthplace: Arcturus Station
Height: 5’8”
Eyes: Green
Blood Type: O-
Languages: English, Chinese Mandarin, Galactic Standard
STATUS: DECEASED
>>>June 26, 2183 Terran Calendar...designated MIA
>>>July 17, 2183 Terran Calendar...designated KIA (Body not recovered)
>>>May 18, 2185 Terran Calendar...Operative status updated, KIA designation redacted
>>>Operative Status Pending Council Approval
Shepard stared at the holo screen in shock. Either she was more real than she thought or Cerberus had made a damn convincing clone.
...
STATUS: ACTIVE
>>>May 18, 2185 Terran Calendar...Operative status updated, reinstatement to SPECTRE program approved by Councilor David Anderson
“Spectre status recognized,” the mechanical voice chirped overhead. “Welcome Spectre Shepard.”
And just like that, blood taken and analyzed to prove her affinity for spilling it, right along with the authorization to continue doing so. Her second annointing of Spectre power was far less celebratory than the first. Not that it mattered. Not unless Shepard was actually able to accomplish something with that authority. When looking at the situation rationally, she could certainly understand the caution from the Council. The unchecked power of a Spectre in the hands of an imposter would be disastrous. And maybe she was an imposter. Jury was still out on that as far as Shepard was concerned, but she felt enough like Commander Shepard to at least know what had to be done.
Shepard hailed a cab back to Anderson’s office, ready to just be done with the whole debacle of a day. Deep down she was still mildly hopeful he might agree to help her somehow. Unfortunately that fragile thread of hope was very quickly severed.
“But these are human colonies! Why isn’t anyone willing to do anything?” Shepard huffed and added a quick “sir” as an afterthought.
Anderson was sitting at his desk this time. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, exasperation radiating off his body in waves. “Shepard,” he began with a deep sigh. “As difficult as it is to accept this, you have to understand where I’m coming from…where the Alliance is coming from. You heard it yourself, the Council doesn’t care about what’s going on in the Terminus systems. And the Alliance is still stretched thin after the Battle of the Citadel. Some have…taken notice of the missing colonists, but I can’t say anything more on that subject. Not while you’re flying a ship with Cerberus colors.” Anderson leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desk. “You could leave them you know, come back to the Alliance.”
Of course Shepard would love nothing more than to do just that, but the idea brokered its own set of concerns. “And what then? Would I be allowed to investigate the colonies with Alliance backing? Would I keep my rank? What about my ship?”
Anderson hung his head for a short moment and let out a small, humorless laugh. “I’d like to say the answer is ‘yes’, but the truth of the matter is that you’ve been gone for two years, Shepard. And the circumstances surrounding your return are murky at best. If you’re lucky you might get off with a short leash and a desk job for a few years. And if you’re not, well…”
He didn’t even have to finish that sentence. The implications Anderson left hanging in the air were enough. Court martial, endless hearings, discharge…any number of things that would effectively end her military career. Shepard had gone from Savior of the Citadel to pariah and the circumstances that led to her fall from grace hadn’t even been within her control. Her shoulders sagged. It’s what she expected, of course, but it still hurt to hear coming from Anderson, a man she had looked up to since she was a teenager.
She straightened her spine and met his eyes with a look of dutiful resolve. “Then you know I don’t have a choice, sir. As much as I hate working with Cerberus…hate everything about them, I have more resources to fight the Reapers this way. I think I’d be crazy not to take advantage of that. Especially when no one else seems to be doing anything of note.” Shepard turned to leave but stopped again halfway to the door. “Sir, I’ll do my best to pass along any useful information I can to the Alliance. I hope you know I’m not turning my back on you, I just…I can’t turn a blind eye to what’s going on out there.”
“I understand that, Shepard. And thank you. It was good to see you, truly. Keep me updated as best you can, and I promise I’ll do what I can from here.”
“Of course, sir.”
“One last thing. Your mother has also seen the rumors. I’m sure she would appreciate hearing from you directly.”
Shepard nodded stiffly and strolled into the hallway. She could have done without that last bomb from Anderson, because between having an existential crisis about coming back from the dead and being thrust into a mission against mysterious giant insects the truth was that Shepard hadn’t once thought about reaching out to her family. Might as well add “terrible daughter” and “shit sister” to her growing list of titles.
Hey mom! Hey Jon!
Sorry I disappeared for two years, but I’m back now. What have I been doing? Oh, just being rebuilt piece by piece by a terrorist organization. How is that possible? No idea! What am I doing now? Working with that very same organization. You know…standard stuff.
Yeah, that was not a conversation she was looking forward to having. Maybe a short message would be best, although what would she even say? Why was everything so damn complicated now? Shepard decided the best thing to do was to put off the family drama until later. She already had too many other things to worry about.
Head down and hands shoved deep into her pockets, Shepard stomped back out through the Presidium. Between the time passed and her new look, the possibility that someone might recognize her was slim, but the disconcerting idea of being exposed in the middle of the Citadel and potentially having to explain, well…everything, had Shepard walking faster than normal back to the ship. She could always send one of the crew out for supplies later.
Once settled back into the welcome solitude of her cabin Shepard busied herself with filling out an extensive requisitions request. Afterward she read through the remaining team dossiers, updated Joker with their next destination, and eventually opted for a change of location. Shepard took the elevator down to a relatively quiet mess hall.
As she settled in with a bowl of whatever Gardner had left simmering on the stovetop, her eyes drifted to the red glow of the locked battery. For the span of a breath she contemplated checking in on the turian locked inside. If she was really going to take on the Collectors she needed people she could trust and so far Garrus was the most likely culprit. But he needed space and she desperately needed to collect her thoughts. Shepard rose from the table and rinsed her bowl before placing it in the sanitizer. It wasn’t quite evening in the ship’s cycle, but she hoped that with the Citadel looming above her bed instead of the endless void of space that maybe she might finally get some restful sleep.
Chapter 7
Notes:
*06.30.24 - This chapter was edited for clarity and better flow.
*02.15.25 - Minor edits made. I've been doing a re-read through this story in order to get back into it and saw a few opportunities to expand some scenes and smooth out some sections with fresh eyes. :)
Chapter Text
They arrived to their destination while Shepard had been sleeping. For most of the night she had tossed and turned, only managing to fall into some deeper sleep cycle moments before her arm started buzzing.
“Commander, Ms. Lawson is requesting a word with you in her office.” The mechanical voice from her ceiling caused Shepard groan and roll over, careful not to let her eyes open onto the void that hung above her bed.
“Ms. Lawson can wait a goddamn minute,” she grumbled as she reached for her omni-tool display. Four messages from little Miss Cerberus herself. “Tell her I’ll be down in fifteen EDI.”
“You should also know we have arrived in the Osun system with stealth system engaged. Currently awaiting your authorization for final approach to Purgatory.”
Shepard swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed the back of a hand over her eyes. As weird as it was to have an AI on her ship, it was fairly handy. She would much rather EDI hear the fatigue in her voice than Joker. “How long is the trip?”
“Precisely fifty seven minutes.”
“Great. Tell Joker to take us in.”
After a curt confirmation from the resident AI, Shepard stood and crossed the room into the shower. She had read as much as she could find about Purgatory the night before and learned it was a for-profit prison ran by the Blue Suns and that it housed some of the galaxies worst criminals. In her mind this mission, routine as the dossier had made it sound, practically spelled trouble. The intel Miranda had forwarded called it a standard prisoner transfer, but Shepard couldn’t shake the feeling in her gut that it would turn out to be anything but standard.
“EDI, tell Garrus to ready and meet me in the airlock when we dock.” Thanks to his background in C-Sec and his time chasing mercs on Omega, he would likely have a unique perspective on a place like Purgatory. It also wouldn’t hurt to have someone she could trust with her as backup in case her gut just so happened to be correct.
With armor latched and firmly into place Shepard rode the elevator to the lower decks. She swung by the mess to lift a protein bar out of a drawer and let herself into the self-appointed XO’s office as she unwrapped the foil package. Miranda looked up from her desk just as Shepard took a fairly large bite.
“You said you needed to see me?” she mumbled, mouth still full. Miranda furrowed her brow but nodded curtly. Her perfect, dark hair bounced around her face with the movement.
“Yes. I think it would be best if I accompany you today to pick up Jack.”
Shepard swallowed her food. “I already tapped Vakarian as backup.”
“Backup? Commander, if I may, this is only a prisoner transfer. Cerberus has already been in contact with the warden regarding the purchase. The only thing remaining is to release the funds. As such I’d like to be there to oversee the transfer on Cerberus’ behalf and ensure all agreed-upon terms are met.”
Shepard held Miranda’s gaze as she took another bite. To the woman’s credit she didn’t shrink back in the slightest. It was almost disappointing in a way.
“I don’t like thinking of people as purchases. Feels a bit like slavery.”
“If anything we’re essentially buying Jack’s freedom. It’s up to you to convince her to join the team afterward.”
Shepard crumbled up the protein bar wrapper and tossed it into a nearby basket. Miranda’s blue eyes flicked down to watch the piece of trash bounce out and onto the floor. “Alright. Get dressed and meet me on the bridge.”
Miranda immediately shut down her console and stood. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”
Shepard eyed the catsuit Miranda had been wearing on Freedom’s Progress. She hadn’t thought much of it then, but looking at it now the thing appeared to have little, if any, protection at all. “Miranda, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re going to join my ground team you sure as hell better have some actual armor to wear over that suit.”
Miranda peered down and adjusted the slim, black holster around her waist. “Why would I need…you know what? Fine. I do have a hardsuit in the armory. Give me ten minutes.”
“We’ve got fifteen until we dock. See you upstairs.”
Sometimes Garrus wondered why people still thought they could pull one over on Shepard. Either the warden was an idiot or he truly thought his goons were enough of a threat that Shepard would just relinquish her weapons and step politely into his trap. And really the latter just made him an uninformed idiot. Anyone who knew anything about the infamous Commander Shepard knew that not even the geth had been able to stop her. Why that barefaced prick thought his mercs would be enough to best an armed Shepard, Garrus had no clue.
Letting them keep their weapons was the warden’s first mistake. His second was choosing a nice room with plenty of cover and a convenient bottle neck of an entry point to ambush them in. It was perfect for funneling the Blue Suns minions directly into his scope. Hell, it almost felt like his bridge on Omega except he wasn’t currently operating with a death wish.
“I think that’s the last of them,” Shepard announced as she stood from her spot behind a desk. “Let’s get moving.”
Garrus followed her out of the room and down the short hallway that, according to the signage, led to the the Supermax wing. Miranda was not far behind. While he still wasn’t sure what to make of the woman, he could admit her biotics were impressive. They certainly came in handy during a fight at the very least.
Shepard paused at the closed doors and inspected the red holo before locking eyes with Garrus and motioning for him to get to work. While he pulled up his hacking program Shepard leaned her back against the door to his right.
“Hey Miranda, if I’m remembering correctly, didn’t you say this was going to be a simple prisoner transfer?” The holo-lock turned green with a sudden beep and Shepard immediately turned to peer inside, pistol drawn. Once she confirmed it was empty she tossed another comment over her shoulder. “Bet you’re glad I made you wear that hardsuit now, huh?”
Garrus didn’t bother hiding his smirk as he surveyed the room. A handful of consoles stood in front of a wall of metal shutters. The rest of the space was empty save for a few lockers on the other side. Shepard came to a stop in front of the consoles with her hands on her hips, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. His mandible subconsciously flared out in recognition at the expression, one Garrus had seen on her face many times before. Damn, it was good to have her back.
After a moment she pressed a button and the floor beneath their feet began to vibrate as the metal shutters slid open to reveal a few rows of cryo-pods. One was already loaded into a mechanism at the center of the room. “Think that’s Jack?” she asked when Garrus stepped up beside her.
“It’s likely. Only one way to find out.”
“Now hold on a moment.” Miranda pushed her way between them, causing Garrus to let out a low, displeased rumble at the intrusion. “What’s your plan here?”
“Thought that was clear,” Shepard replied with a grin. Her finger hovered over the console yet again. “We get Jack and get out. Preferably before that bastard sends more reinforcements our way. Now get ready, I’m opening this thing.”
Shepard punched a few holo-keys before the console turned an angry red. “Shit. Looks like we need an authorization code.” She frowned as she continued to poke around. “I’m not familiar with this type of system.”
“Let me take a look,” Garrus said, moving back into the space he had occupied before Miranda had squeezed her way in. This system wasn’t all that different from the ones the Blue Suns employed on Omega and Garrus was well acquainted both with their encryption and how to get around it. Though it made sense Shepard didn’t recognize the hardware. It was fairly new, having been rolled out sometime within the past year and a half. “I can hack it,” he said slowly, “but there’s a chance that doing so will unlock every cell door in this wing.”
Behind him Garrus heard Miranda suck in a breath, most likely to prepare a protest, but Shepard beat her to the punch. “Do it.”
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when the pod opened but it certainly wasn’t Jack, who had to have been one of the smallest adult humans Garrus had ever seen, completely wrecking three YMIR mechs and blowing a hole straight through the wall beneath them.
Garrus stood gaping at the destruction while alarms began blaring overhead. “Warning. Warning. Cell blocks B through D have been compromised.”
The now panicked voice of Warden Kuril exploded through the speakers next. “Guards! Restore order. Lethal force authorized on all prisoners. But don’t kill Jack! Move to lock down the remaining sectors!”
The mission went to hell after that as they chased Jack through what was left of the station. Life support systems were failing left and right which meant they had to stop along the way, slip on their helmets and check their hardsuit seals. Shepard took the opportunity to shoot Lawson another satisfied smirk. A few minutes later they were on the move once more and being shot at again.
“How many damn mercs are on this station?” Garrus gritted out as he dove into cover beside Shepard. She already had her rifle out — an M92 Mantis, same as his. Though he doubted Cerberus had modded her gun to within an inch of its life like he had with the shiny, custom-painted one clutched in his own hands. As he was switching out heat sinks, a shot exploded from his left. It collided with a batarian on the other side of the room who fell backwards into the wall and slid down, leaving a bright trail of blood behind. Meanwhile Warden Kuril continued to taunt them from his perch in the corner.
“Tired already Garrus?”
Garrus raised his rifle and peered through the scope. A twitch of his finger sent another Blue Suns merc sprawling in a pool of blood. He quickly leveled his gun at the entrance where most of them had been running in. The unlucky person who decided to walk through the doorway at that moment was rewarded with a hole in his skull. The body fell unceremoniously between the doors, causing the automated system to glitch against the obstruction as it tried to close. It flashed and opened once more before attempting to shut yet again. “Not a chance, Shepard.”
She ducked down, her shoulder guard sliding against Garrus’ arm brace. “Hey, you still have infrared capabilities on that visor of yours?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I think it’s time to test out the new toy Cerberus gave me.”
“What are you…?” Garrus started to say when a fizzling sound hit his ear and Shepard vanished. He fumbled to switch his visor display to the IR scanner and instantly registered her heat signature skirting up the left side of the large room. Garrus felt almost sorry for the human who stepped right into her pathway. He had his brains blown out by Shepard’s pistol before he ever knew she was there. From his position Garrus had a perfect sight line to clear a path for her. To his right, Miranda was continuing to hold her own. He glanced over to see her toss a turian into the air like a rag doll.
All the while, Shepard crept closer and closer to the warden. Every once in a while she had to slide into cover as her cloak fizzled out, but after a moment she would reactivate it and continue on. It was like watching a performance, her every move graceful and precise. She had been impressive before, but now…Shepard was absolutely deadly. Gone was that decorum and rigidity she had carried herself with when they first met. Her kills now were brutal in a way they hadn’t been before. The younger version of Garrus that had been impressed by her level-headedness and swayed by her penchant for using words before bullets might have found the change slightly concerning, but now? Now Garrus couldn’t help but to find it positively thrilling.
The enemy forces were finally starting to dwindle and Miranda had the last few mercs on her side handled so Garrus took a moment to simply watch Shepard work. She ducked behind a crate as her body fizzled back into existence. One of the mercs, a human, was moving close to her location, but he could tell she had already spotted them. Quick as lightning, Shepard jumped up and grabbed the guy around the neck, shoving his head down into the crate with a loud crack. Then she reared back and thrust her arm, glowing orange with a bright flash-forged omni-blade, deep into the guard’s chest. When she pulled back, blood gushed from the open wound and splashed onto the front of her hardsuit. She flicked her omni-blade off as the merc slumped to the ground.
Spirits.
Had Garrus forgotten how devastating a fighter she was? Or was she somehow even better than she had been before? The addition of the cloak and the omni-blade were one thing, but there was more to it. It was like she was channeling some force that hadn’t been there when he had worked with her on the mission against Saren. She had been more forgiving back then, always willing to turn someone over to the proper authorities rather than end their life if she had to make a choice. Now though…
As if to prove his point, Shepard climbed the short wall and uncloaked directly behind the warden, pistol barrel pressed directly beneath his crest. Garrus had to practically suppress a trill when the shot rang through the warehouse.
The small grounds team boarded the Normandy with Jack now in tow. Garrus wasn’t sure how much they could trust the biotic after her display, but he did trust Shepard. And at least the woman seemed to hate Cerberus as much as, if not more, than they did. He stood back as Shepard conversed quietly with Joker and then led their new addition in the direction of the armory, and presumably on through to the briefing room. That left Garrus and Miranda to share a silent elevator ride down one floor to the crew deck where the woman immediately disappeared into her office without sparing so much as a glance his way.
It wasn’t like he had been expecting a particularly warm welcome as a turian surrounded by a human supremacist group, but was it really too much to ask for a little civility? He wondered if Miranda would ever warm up to him. Not that it mattered much to him if she did or not. Garrus wasn’t there for her, or Cerberus in fact. The singular reason he hadn’t slipped off the ship and disappeared onto the Citadel during their last stop was because he finally had Shepard back. And despite the years and the differences, he just couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her again.
With nothing else to do, Garrus retreated to the warm isolation of the main battery, eager to check his messages for any news on Sidonis.
Later that evening Garrus waited to pad out into the mess hall until most of the crew had filtered. He didn’t particularly care for eating his measly dextro rations with an audience of curious humans, or the possibility for one, so instead of finding a spot at the empty table he trudged back down the hall and ate his re-hydrated dinner with only the Normandy’s guns to keep him company.
Afterward he settled into the comforting habit of running diagnostics and checking output on the main weaponry. As the hours passed, Garrus had at some point, shed his armor and opted to work more comfortably in just his undersuit. The heavy weave hung open, unzipped just beneath his keel. In front of him the numbers blurred on the holoscreen and Garrus rubbed at his strained eyes.
He was tired, but the prospect of sleep was still ever elusive. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept more than a few hours at a time. At least it hadn’t affected his performance earlier at the prison, though Garrus was sure the stim he had injected beforehand was mostly to thank for that. Chakwas had tried her best to warn him about the effects of withdrawal shortly after he woke up from surgery, but nothing had prepared Garrus for that very first night outside the medbay. At first it was just the jitteriness keeping him awake, but as he tried to get comfortable it grew in intensity. He had attempted to sit up, but the shaking in his hands prevented him from gripping anything for support, causing him to collapse back onto the floor with a grunt. It was an embarrassment, to be unable to control his body in that way. Really what use would he be to the mission, and to Shepard, without steady hands that could shoot straight?
It had been weeks since she pulled his ass off Omega, but everything about the place still haunted him. When he closed his eyes, Garrus could still see his team. Sometimes they were whole — smiling, laughing, alive. Other times all he could see was the blood, the memory so fresh he could almost smell the metallic tang in the air.
Logically, Garrus knew he was safe on the Normandy. The lock he installed on the battery door was unbreakable by anyone onboard except perhaps the artificial intelligence itself. And the pistol he kept within reach at all times was more than enough to stop anyone who convinced the AI to let them in. And yet none of that eased his nerves or calmed the irrational fear of sleep he had acquired from forcing himself to stay awake for three straight cycles during his last stand.
Garrus had planned to go out fighting, and to take every last piece of scum on that cesspit of a station down with him. Letting his guard down for even a moment would mean allowing the enemy to encroach on his position and even at his end, Archangel wasn’t going to make it easy on the gangs. And so he kept his eyes open. Always open. And that paranoid rationale had stuck with him ever since.
When it came time for Garrus to join Shepard on her ground team again, he felt he had no choice but to swipe a handful of stims from the supply closet before meeting her in the airlock. It wasn’t like the ship was in short supply, nor were they under lock and key. On a mission like theirs, it was fairly standard to use stims to stay on top of one’s game, albeit sparingly. They were for emergencies, contingencies, as needed. Of course, for Garrus, it was beyond all of that, and deep down he felt a sting of guilt as he shoved the vials into a pocket.
The guilt was secondary to the relief felt when he first plunged the needle into the softer hide of his neck. The chemicals rushing through his veins brought with them a deep comfort as the warmth continued to spread and steady his hands. Following that was the crisp sense of awareness Garrus didn’t realize he had been missing. The lack of sleep since Omega had shrouded him in a fog that had pressed in, delaying his reactions and clouding his mind. Thanks to the boost from the stim, Garrus felt refreshed for the first time in days.
Best of all, Shepard didn’t seem to notice anything was off. They had fallen into a rhythm on the battlefield like no time had passed at all. It was just like old times, or as close to it as he could possibly hope for.
When Shepard came bursting through the door the intrusion was so unexpected Garrus instinctively reached for his gun, fingers twitching at the grip before the sound of her voice made him stop mid-movement. He opted to play it off by zipping the tight fabric of his undersuit back up to his neck instead.
He had been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t been expecting her, or anyone really, to drop by the Battery at such an hour. Though it shouldn’t have surprised him that Shepard’s inability to get a full night’s sleep still plagued her like it did in the old days. It was something else they had in common now.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, the words tumbling out of her lips like she couldn’t bare to hold them in any longer.
She keyed the door closed behind her and Garrus stiffened. If you didn’t count their foray onto Purgatory the two hadn’t spoken to one another since before the Normandy’s brief stop at the Citadel. What could she possibly have to talk to him about that late in the night cycle? Before he was able to open his mouth and ask how she had managed to crack his lock and let herself in, Shepard was already holding up a hand in warning.
“And I don’t want to hear a single word about calibrations, or whatever the hell it is you do in here all day,” she snapped.
Garrus felt his good mandible fall slack before he got control of it and pulled it dutifully against his jaw. He slowly lifted his hands from the console and neatly folded them behind his back without a word. It wasn’t often Shepard had brokered this tone with him. Still Garrus thought it best to simply fall in line and listen, at least until he figured out what the issue was.
“You said this room is clean?” Shepard asked, brows knit tight and lips turned down into a frown as she stared at the ceiling.
Garrus scoffed. “Of course.”
At that she crossed her arms and pinned him with the full intensity of her stare, the one that meant she was done fucking around and someone, somewhere, was about to get either a kick in the ass or a bullet in the skull. Spirits, that look. Garrus felt a shiver shoot down his carapace at the sight.
“I’ve been reviewing our options and I’ve decided that we need to formulate a plan,” Shepard said, her eyes still locked firmly on his.
“We?”
Her left browed ticked up toward her hairline. There had once been a small scar that bisected it. Garrus had always liked how it drew attention to her eyes, like an arrow pointing directly to that vivid emerald color he found so intriguing.
“I seem to recall you saying you’d be walking into hell with me.”
“I did. Just didn’t think it would be so soon,” Garrus replied with a sarcastic flick of his mandible. How easy it was to let himself fall into familiar territory with her. He could almost pretend the past two years hadn’t happened when Shepard was talking to him with nothing but the gentle hum of the ship in the background.
He noticed the tension in Shepard’s shoulders ease slightly, and then a moment later she continued on. “Yesterday I spoke with Anderson, and the Council. It went…fine, I guess. I’m still a Spectre so there’s that, but as far as the Collectors go we’re on our own out here. And as much as I hate being affiliated with this damn organization I can’t deny that this ship and the team I’m recruiting, plus the obscene amount of credits and resources they’re funneling my way…well, we might as well use it to our advantage.” Shepard had begun pacing as she spoke, hands waving through the air in the front of her.
As Garrus continued to stand at attention his eyes followed her every move. “So you’re saying we’re not going two for two in stealing the Normandy?”
“Not yet, no.” Shepard stopped and rubbed at her temple with one hand. “So…thoughts?”
“Why are you asking me, Shepard? You’re the one in charge here.”
“Because I don’t…” She trailed off with a huff and threw her arms to the side. “Because if I’m going to do this I need someone at my side I can trust. And look around, Garrus. Who else is there? I’m certainly not going to go lay out my concerns with little miss genetic perfection down the hall.” Her eyes darted to the floor before she added quietly, “You and I made a pretty good team once upon a time.”
The soft, nostalgic tone of her voice hit Garrus like another rocket to his chest. “Right, well,” he muttered before clearing his throat and forging on. “I’ve been reading up on the mission and it’s clear the Collectors are a threat. Even more so if they actually are in league with the Reapers. But I still don’t see why we can’t just throw the Cerberus crew out the airlock and do this on our own. Maybe we could even get some of the old team back together.”
“And spend our whole time running from two groups who want me dead? Not an option.” Shepard sliced her hand through the air as she shook her head.
Point taken. “You said we need a plan. Do you already have something in mind besides taking Cerberus for all they’re worth?”
“I’d like to do more than that. These people ruined my life, Garrus, as you well know.” A funny look crossed her face and her mouth twisted up in a sort of grimace. “And my death, too, I guess.”
He scratched at his bandage and shuffled his feet, unease radiating off him at the topic. Garrus for one was actually quite thankful for that Cerberus project in particular. Whatever they were and whatever they had done, they had somehow succeeded in bringing Commander Shepard back from the dead. And back to him.
Thankfully Shepard broke the silence before it could become any more uncomfortable. “I told Anderson I would feed the Alliance any useful intel I can. And once we’ve brought the Collectors down I fully intend to go after the Illusive Man myself.” After what they had discovered about Admiral Kahoku, and their run in with Toombs, Shepard had long ago swore she would make the organization responsible pay for their actions. It was nice to see that resolve hadn’t changed despite outwardly working with the Cerberus.
During his brief stint in Spectre training, Garrus had imagined that his first mission after being granted operative status might involve him and Shepard investigating the mysterious group. Back then it had seemed a worthy enough cause to follow up on. Instead, Shepard had died and Garrus had fallen into a well of grief, having forgotten altogether about the human group. How ironic that they ended up being the ones to bring the two together again.
Garrus relaxed against his console and let out a thoughtful hum. “This Illusive Man…he trusts you?”
Shepard tilted her head and moved over to the short railing. She draped her forearms over the top with her face angled away. “I wouldn’t go that far. Pretty sure this ship is filled with people and devices to keep tabs on me. But if Ms. Lawson is to be believed, he trusts me enough to complete this mission without micromanaging my every move. If nothing else he finds me useful.”
As Shepard leaned forward the white t-shirt she wore rose just enough for a sliver of smooth skin to show above her low-slung black sweatpants. Garrus had to practically tear his eyes away from the display.
He shifted his weight and stared into the floor. Now wasn’t the time for that. “It seems to me we’re in a perfect position to disrupt their organization from the inside. If you work with them just enough not to cast suspicion, we can turn around and undermine their operation every chance we get. And in the meantime we figure out if there’s anyone else we can trust on this ship.”
“Has anyone been giving you trouble?” Shepard turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her voice had taken on a softer quality that made Garrus’ chest thrum with warm familiarity.
“Not really, no. The few I’ve interacted with have been friendly enough.”
“Good.” Shepard nodded and scratched at her head. The room was so quiet Garrus could hear her blunt nails grazing her scalp. “I guess I’m going to have to start doing rounds and get a feel for everyone. I haven’t really come to terms with this being my ship quite yet.”
He shifted his gaze from the metal floor to her short hair, then back to her face. Their eyes met and somehow it felt like time had no meaning at all. Like he hadn’t lived an entire life as someone else in her absence. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be the turian she knew. To have all his dreams laid out in front of him, there for the taking.
Memories he had never quite let go of flooded his mind. He swallowed, then spoke quietly, carefully. “Just run it like you did the SR-1, Shepard. Be yourself. With that charm of yours I’m sure you’ll win over the whole Cerberus crew in no time.”
“Be myself, huh? You make it sound so easy.”
And wasn’t it for her? She had always made it seem that way. Garrus moved closer to the railing, closer to Shepard. “Lead from the front and people will follow. You taught me that,” he whispered.
Shepard’s eyes flickered to Garrus’ cowl where the tattered weave of his undersuit had come apart from the blast, and then up to the bandages covering the right side of his face. He fought the urge to turn away under the scrutiny and instead faced it head on. He wondered what she saw. Several breaths passed as they simply continued to stare at each other.
“What about you?” Shepard finally turned away, her attention drifting to the main gun just beyond the railing. “What are you going to do?”
“Watch your six, mostly.“
“Tough job.”
“Yeah well. Someone’s gotta do it. And I just so happen to have some experience when it comes to that particular skillset.”
She blew out a breath and shoved off the railing, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. “I guess we’re really doing this, then. The Normandy SR-2 is officially under Spectre command, Illusive Man be damned. Though I should probably play nice for now until we have a handle on things. But any chance we get to tear them down, I say we go for it. Take whatever intel we can get, sabotage anything we get our hands on, and use every ounce of Cerberus resources to our advantage. You in?”
“You kidding, Shepard? I can’t let you have all the fun.”
And finally, for the first time since Shepard had entered the battery that night, her face broke into an actual grin. It wasn’t quite the same as the ones he had thrilled in earning on the SR-1 but it was a small gift all the same. Garrus had dreamt of that smile for years. The one that made her eyes crinkle at the edges and lit up her face like a Palaven sunrise. He had never quite forgotten the sight, or the flutter in his chest it never failed to evoke.
For two years he ached with the knowledge he would never experience it beyond his own memories. And yet here she was, in the flesh, smiling at him and stretching out her hand across the small gap between them.
“Happy to have you on the team again, Vakarian.”
Garrus gladly took her much smaller hand and held on like a lifeline. The warmth of her palm against his gloved fingers sent a current of electricity surging through his nervous system. In that moment, it was almost as if a piece of himself, lost for two years had slotted back into place.
He swallowed down the emotion and dipped his head. “Happy to be here, Shepard.”
Chapter 8
Notes:
"I just need to get through this week then I’ll have more time," I whisper to myself every single week since June.
So anyway, have a chapter and just know that this fic is still alive and kicking.
UPDATED: 09/07/2025 with new prose, grammatical fixes, and slight tweaks to the end of the chapter.
Content Warning
Small mention of suicidal ideation in the paragraphs following Okeer's dossier.
Chapter Text
The consequences of dying and being brought back to life were many. Every day seemed to reveal something new; whether it was a cultural trend Shepard didn't understand, a technological advancement she had missed, or worst of all, a physical reminder that her body was no longer made of merely flesh and blood.
The mission that day was intended to be a quick one: check out a distress signal caught on the Normandy’s scanners. Upon further inspection it was coming from some run-of-the-mill freighter a few clicks outside their flight path. Of course no one answered when Joker made an attempt to contact the ship, and because Shepard had woken up itching for some action she practically pounced at the chance to take a look. On board was an entire crew’s worth of dead bodies, a surprised group of pirates, and an unstable engine core. Otherwise known as just another day at the office for Commander Shepard.
They had just dug themselves out of the first hallway they slipped into when a hand pulled Shepard firmly back into cover. Seconds later a rocket exploded directly where her head had just been.
“I owe you one,” she said without sparing a glance his way.
“I think we’re probably even now, Shepard.” Garrus tilted his head to listen for activity and when he presumably heard nothing he motioned her forward. It was one of the things she had come to enjoy about having a turian on her team. His advanced hearing nearly always came in handy. She was glad to see his own little rendezvous with a rocket hadn’t impacted any of those senses. Or maybe it was the faint glow of cybernetics she could see peeking through his bandage she had to thank for that. Regardless Shepard didn’t really like to think about how close she had come to watching Garrus die that day. Some nights the choking sound he had made kept her up at night. Hands gripped tightly around her pistol she brushed the thoughts away and crept out to get a better view.
A flicker of motion in her periphery sent her sliding behind a crate for cover. Apparently luck wasn’t on her side that day. In an instant her shields dropped, her cover broke apart, and pain shot through her leg in an instant. Shepard barely registered the sound of someone calling out her name as she pulled herself upright to return fire. Three shots later, the nearest pirate was down, and she managed to crawl behind a low wall for cover, leaving a trail of blood streaked across the floor, bright red and shining in the glow of the emergency lights. It was almost satisfying to see, to know that despite everything Cerberus had done to her she could still bleed. A moment later, Garrus slid into place behind Shepard and fired two quick shots before turning toward her. He was practically vibrating with anxiety as he scanned her body and finally settled his gaze on her leg.
Shepard didn’t have time to worry about the way his mandible dropped or the pain coursing through her thigh. Instead she pushed herself up and returned fire on the pirates once more. The third member of their team, Jacob, whose invite that day had been a generous show of conciliatory teamwork on her part, was pinned down across the room. Last time she had laid eyes on him his biotics were at least helping to keep the advancing forces at bay.
“Turn around. You need medigel.” Garrus ducked down as a shot grazed the top of the short wall they were huddled behind. His words sounded like an order, the commanding tone somehow both frustrating and intriguing.
“Not now, Garrus,” she gritted out without even sparing him a glance. “If you want to help then put that rifle to good use.”
Garrus muttered some complaint under his breath, but did what Shepard ordered. By now the stab of pain in her leg had morphed into somewhat of a sharp, throbbing sting, and with it the faint realization that walking was going to be more than a little difficult. She reached down and pressed her hand against her thigh, but pulled away immediately with a yelp as if she had been burned. Garrus dropped back down in an instant, and she didn’t even need to understand subvocals to hear how worried he was now.
“What happened? You okay?”
Truthfully she had no idea what happened. Her hand had pressed into the wound and felt what she could only describe as an electric shock, as if a current were running through her exposed veins. The strange sensation hadn’t hurt exactly, but had managed to catch her completely by surprise. Not that she said any of that to Garrus. He looked concerned enough as is without her sharing the eccentricities of her new body.
“That’s a lot of blood,” Garrus said once the last pirate was disposed of. He wasn’t looking at the room though, which was covered in an array of red, blue, and green like some sort of grotesque, abstract art installation. His sharp blue eyes were situated firmly on Shepard.
She looked away, unable to sit still under the weight of his concern, and opened her comm channel. “Jacob, you still with us?” When he replied in the affirmative she ordered him to scout ahead. “Try not to engage until we meet up with you. I’ve got a minor suit malfunction to deal with, but we shouldn’t be long.”
“A suit malfunction?” Garrus muttered with amusement. “Is that what we’re calling being shot these days?”
“Just shut up and give me that medigel.”
Garrus had the audacity to swat her hand away. “Let me do it.”
With a sigh, Shepard shifted to give him space. She hated being tended to, especially in the field, but there was no hiding the tremble in her hand after feeling that unnatural current beneath her skin. It was jarring, to say the least. The reminder of what had been done to her body brought a surge of bile into her throat.
“Looks like some asshole on their side was using armor piercing rounds,” Garrus muttered. “Went straight through.”
A faint ripping sound reached her ears, and Shepard glanced down at Garrus kneeling beside her, his tall frame still practically towering over her. The shattered piece of her hardsuit lay discarded off to the side, and what had been a small tear in her undersuit was now a gaping hole, its edges frayed and coated with blood. Garrus noticed her gaze and stilled his hands. “Sorry I had to rip through your suit. The wound looks pretty deep, judging by the bleeding, but this should keep it under control until we’re back on the Normandy.”
“It’s fine. I’m sure Cerberus will be happy to buy me a brand new suit,” she replied with a slight grin. It was quickly wiped from her face by the sudden pressure of his fingers in her wound, followed by that deliciously cool feeling of the gel seeping deep into her muscles. Her body shuddered instinctively as the relief spread and began to numb the pain. Meanwhile Garrus’ ungloved fingers lingered just to the left of the tear in her suit, resting lightly against her thigh. Before she could get a good look at them he rocked backwards onto his feet and slid his glove smoothly back over his hand.
“Better?” Garrus asked. He was already moving toward the door on the far side of the room they were in, rifle gripped tightly between his talons. Right, they still had the rest of the ship to check out.
Shepard pushed herself to her feet to test her weight and was glad to find that the medigel had done its job to numb the pain. “Much. Thanks Garrus.” Shepard snapped her damaged thigh guard back into place and moved past him.
“Anytime,” he said from behind her. His voice was low and roiling with that underlying vibration she had always found so fascinating. It was deeper now, with added roughness that hadn’t been there when he was two years younger. He had been through so much in the time she was gone. It was written on his face, in the grief that seemed to always be just visible in his eyes if you knew where to look.
Shepard still couldn’t believe their paths had even managed to cross. Had she been even a day later arriving to Omega, she might have never found him. The thought sent a pang ricocheting through her chest. And because she was just so grateful to have him at her side again—someone she could actually trust on this insane mission—Shepard turned and shot him a quick smile. He seemed to return it, or at least, he flared out his un-bandaged mandible in the gesture she had always equated with a smile. The sight was so rare from him these days it tugged on some nostalgic part of her that yearned for those old, less complicated times when they chasing Saren through the stars.
Maybe she was crazy for calling that time in her life “less complicated,” but compared to the unbelievable reality her life had descended into after being reincarnated, it seemed a fitting description.
The moment stretched for a heartbeat, and then two, with both Garrus and Shepard staring at each other with grins on their mismatched faces. No doubt both of them were feeling a pull towards that old friendship that had transcended both rank and reason back when things were still relatively easy. It was nice. A brief respite in the midst of the confusion and uncertainty that filled most of Shepard’s days.
Then Jacob called her name from across the room and the moment was shattered. Shepard saw the instant Garrus’ face hardened, and the anguish that so rarely left his icy blue eyes lately, came rushing back.
Pistol in hand, she turned away and focused her attention back on the mission.
Three days later Shepard was in her cabin, leg having already healed from some combination of medigel, state-of-the-art Cerberus medical equipment, and Chakwas’ professional care. But Shepard couldn’t shake the thought that whatever Miranda had done to her body might have also included an ability to heal far more rapidly than the average human. The idea put her in a foul mood, as had the glimpse at the medical display when Chakwas was running a scan of the damage to her thigh. Not only were there threads of cybernetics woven throughout her body, as evidenced by the glowing red scars that stretched across her skin, there were also random other bits of tech. Her spine appeared to be grafted with some sort of metal components as did various other bones on her arm and leg. Random muscles were covered in an unusual criss-cross texture that suggested they too were likely synthetic.
Shepard sat up in bed and reached for the glass of water on her nightstand only to find it empty. With a groan of frustration, she set it back down. It was the middle of the night and instead of sleeping, she was occupied with a growing list of requests and assignments vying for her attention. The Illusive Man had been so kind as to provide pre-approved dossiers for the people they were picking up, but traversing across the galaxy took time. Time the Collectors were using to target more human colonies and yet, so far, Shepard hadn’t received a word of intel that brought her any closer to stopping them.
She continued scrolling through her datapad. There was the krogan reported to be on Korlus, two leads on potential recruits on Illium, and a handful of other requests Kelly had sent through to her inbox. Some were from the Illusive Man himself, mostly check-ins on some inept sector of Cerberus that had gone silent. She would have simply deleted those were it not for the plan she and Garrus had concocted. Strolling into some abandoned Cerberus lab would give them plenty of opportunity to collect data on the organization. And yet it still probably wouldn’t give them the info they really needed for the larger mission at hand.
A headache was beginning to form behind her left eye. Shepard pressed her palm against her brow, hoping to drown out the small flicker of pain, and flicked back to the dossiers.
Name: Dr. Okeer
Age: Unknown
Species: Krogan
Last Known Location: Imir System, Korlus, Rektakka Shipyard
Key Attributes:
- Millennia of combat and strategic experience
- Rumored familiarity with Collector technology
Background:
A brilliant and brutal krogan warlord who fought in the Krogan Rebellions, Dr. Okeer has become obsessed with saving the krogan people from the genophage and is believed to have contacted the Collectors in an attempt to gain technology to that end.
Critical Observations:
Our most recent scouting report placed him in a Blue Suns camp on Korlus. The nature of his relationship with the mercenary group is unknown.
If Okeer had really contacted the Collectors then he may be the best lead she currently had. Everything else could wait. Shepard notified Joker to alter course for the Eagle Nebula and felt only a little bad when she realized she had woken him from what must have been a deep sleep.
“Estimated time until we hit the relay is seven hours, thirty two minutes. I anticipate arrival in Korlus’ orbit approximately three hours, twenty eight minutes later.”
“Thanks EDI.” It would be well past the start of the day cycle by then so Shepard refrained from messaging her ground team, instead opting to take her empty glass into the bathroom and fill it at the sink. She drank deeply as her eyes focused on the empty fish tank and the display case, which looked suspiciously like it was designed for model ships. She’d had a handful of them on the original Normandy, still half put together when it was destroyed. Back then it had been a way of winding down after a long mission, of letting her mind focus on one small task instead of the hundreds of other thoughts required to command a team and captain a ship.
Not even a model ship would be enough to quell the storm of thoughts that stirred constantly in her head these days. She hated how dangerously close some of them veered into darker territory. After all it wouldn’t take much effort to fling herself back into that cold embrace outside the ship walls, to close her eyes and just be done with it all. There were times when it seemed far better than the strange and oppressive reality of living in a body that shouldn’t exist.
Despite the intrusive thoughts, Shepard had no plans to act on them. She had died a meaningless death once already, and she damn sure wasn’t going to go out like that a second time. No, her second death, whenever it came, would be earned in the fires of battle. The concept felt very turian, having known only what little Garrus had shared about their military doctrine. She hadn’t given much thought to those ideals then, but Die for the Cause suddenly had a certain appeal. At the very least this mission might give her the chance to die with some fucking bravado.
Below her bare feet, the metal floor hummed with energy. Joker must have engaged FTL since they spoke, which meant now was as good a time as any to try and get some rest. She returned to the bed, the dark expanse of space streaked with blue visible overhead. Once upon a time the sight had been a comforting one. The never-ending blackness dotted with that infinite array of stars and planets had been home for as long as Shepard could remember. As a child it had held all her hopes and dreams. What a cruel twist of fate that those fond memories of stargazing with her brother were replaced with ones of gasping uselessly for air.
With a deep sigh Shepard dropped back onto her pillow and tried to remember what it had felt like to look at that void of space and actually feel warmth.
Message Received. 02:048hrs GST 2185:06:05
_____
To: Vakarian, G.
From: Vakarian, C.
Garrus,
This message is long overdue. After our last talk, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from you again. I’ve been around long enough to know that call was meant to be a goodbye. But there was something else in your voice at the end. I’ve replayed that conversation in my head nearly every day since then, and each time I’m left foolishly hoping that you might walk through the front door.
I should have reached out sooner. There are a lot of things I should have done, but I can’t change the past. I know I haven’t been a perfect father, but I do care about you son. I never wanted to lose you. I just hope it’s not too late.
Your mother asks about you constantly, good days and bad. On the good days I think she can tell I’m not being fully honest with her. But without all the facts, without knowing for sure, I can’t bear the thought of burdening her. Especially when the good days are becoming increasingly rare.
I suppose I don’t even need the details. All that matters to me is knowing you’re alive. Please come home, son. The door is always open for you.
- Dad
Garrus had read through the message more times than he could count. It was there when he woke from a short, fitful sleep to the thick silence of the battery, already taunting him as checked the time. He could hardly remember that call with his dad on Omega, let alone ascertain what part of him had decided that Castis Vakarian should be the last voice he ever heard. Maybe his addled brain had wanted to make amends, to soothe some part of his spirit so he could fully rest in whatever afterlife awaited him. Garrus had almost begun to believe he had imagined the whole thing, including the worry in his father’s vocals seeping in over the connection.
In the chaos that had ensued afterward the phone call had slipped out of Garrus’ mind and he had fallen straight back into his self-imposed exile from his family. It wasn’t like there had been some big decision to remove them from his life. No, it had happened gradually. One missed call turned into five, delays and excuses piled up, and soon two months had passed by since he had spoken to any of them.
A pang of regret surged through him. Before Garrus left the Citadel he and his father were hardly on speaking terms, but his mother had always called to check in regularly. She knew he was hurting after Shepard’s death, but she was too far away to really do anything about it, and Garrus had been set on doing something drastic anyway. He was always distracted back then, so focused on his own loss and regret that he had missed what was right in front of him. Had things been different Garrus might not have seen the slightly unfocused look in his mother’s eyes during their calls, or the small pauses that punctuated the conversation. Instead he didn’t find out about her diagnosis until after he had already been living on Omega for weeks.
Days of messages from his sister filled his omni-tool, all with increasingly frustrated requests to call her back immediately. Like an asshole Garrus simply ignored her, swiping away the notifications because he was unable to take yet another dig at the decision to blow up his own life. He had blocked his father for the very same thing while he had still been on the transport cruiser. It wasn’t like he needed anyone to tell him how irresponsible he was being. He already knew, but at the time the sting of grief overwhelmed any form of rational thought. He simply needed to get away, to feel like he was doing something. Anything that might fill the gaping hole in his chest.
Solana’s call woke Garrus from a blacked-out sleep. He groaned into the thin mattress and fumbled to turn off the vibration. Instead his sister’s voice cut through the quiet and rattled around in his aching skull. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he rolled over and peered at the time. The numbers swam in his vision as he tried to grasp their meaning. It was far too early to talk to anyone, or maybe it was too late. Either way he was hungover and in no mood for anything that didn’t involve sleep or another bottle.
His eyes slowly drifted closed once more.
“Garrus!”
He shot up at the sound of his sister’s voice. With another groan he managed to lean over and turn on a lamp, though the harsh neon glow had him regretting that decision instantly. Meanwhile his sister was still talking. It took a considerable amount of effort to focus on what she was saying. Not that any of came as a surprise.
Garrus gritted his teeth. “You can tell dad I’m not coming back,” he responded with agitation. How many times did he have to tell them there was nothing left for him on the Citadel?
Solana huffed on the other end of the call, a desperation he hadn’t heard from her in years bleeding through her subvocals. “This isn’t about dad! It’s mom. She collapsed a few days ago, didn’t know where she was. They took her to the hospital, ran some tests…”
That bit of information managed to sober him up, as the ache in his head receded to a dull throb. “Is she okay?”
“No. She’s not. The doctors said she has Corpalis. Garrus, it’s…it’s really bad.”
He had heard of the disease, of course. Despite how rare it was, growing up on Palaven meant hearing the occasional story of someone’s grandparent or aunt who lost their memory. Their bodies would waste away until the person they once were simply ceased to exist. It was a horrifying disease, and one his mom, the sharpest person he knew, couldn’t possibly have.
“No,” Garrus responded, shaking his head even though his sister couldn’t see him. He clutched at his fringe, hoping to steady both his vision and his thoughts. “She can’t have Corpalis. You need to get a second opinion. Maybe go to one of the private hospitals on the Citadel?” Garrus was already looking up options when his sister cut him off.
“We already got a second opinion, and a third. And besides, you don’t know how she’s been. You haven’t been here to see it. The doctor said it’s already progressed and things are only going to get worse.”
“It looks like there’s new treatments, research…”Garrus scrolled through his omni-tool, ignoring the sad hum drifting through the speaker.
“I don’t need you to look up treatments Garrus! Spirits, I need you to come home!” His sister’s voice broke, fading from anger into quiet resignation. “This would all be so much easier with you here.”
She didn’t understand. He couldn’t go home, not now. The hollow ache inside him was only made wider by the vision of his mom wasting away. Garrus didn’t want to see her like that. He didn’t think he was strong enough to face yet another loss. Besides it wasn’t like his presence would bring any sort of calm to the situation, despite what Sol said. Putting him and his dad in the same room was just asking for a volatile situation, one that might even shatter his already broken family.
“I can’t, Sol. I’m—”
“You’re what? Don’t you dare tell me you’re too busy! You may not have bothered to reach out to me about it, but I know all about how you quit C-Sec and just disappeared.”
Garrus huffed and rubbed at a sore spot in his neck, wincing against the loud voice of his sister. “Sol, look, I’ve got some contract work I have to finish up. It might take a while before I can get there.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“So what now? With mom, I mean. What’s the plan?”
“They’re doing what they can at the hospital, but it’s not much. The treatments that are actually promising are experimental and pretty expensive. There’s a trial we heard about that the Salarians are doing, but the doctors said it’s almost impossible to get into. Anyway, dad’s been thinking about picking up work on Palaven to help pay for some of the treatments.” Solana was quiet for a moment, but the steady buzz of her subvocals came through the connection with a disappointed thrum. “He’s sorry for how things went down by the way.”
Garrus let out a frustrated growl in response. “Then he should have told me that himself.”
After a few more short exchanges they had ended the call, and over the next year and a half the number of times Garrus spoke with his sister could be counted on two hands. He had left behind more than just his career when he disappeared after Shepard’s death. His relationship with his family had been just another casualty in his foolish quest for justice.
Yet there was something about this message from his father that caught Garrus’ attention. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was one of the first times he could ever remember Castis Vakarian admitting his own folly when it came to their broken relationship.
It was for that reason alone he managed to muster up a short response.
To: Vakarian, C.
From: Vakarian, G.
Hey dad,
Sorry to worry you, but I’m okay. Ended up running into an old friend who helped with those targets. I’ve got a few things to wrap up out here before I can make it back to Palaven and I’ll probably be in and out of comm range for a while.
Be in touch when I can. Say hi to mom and Sol for me.
- Garrus
He pressed send and collapsed back onto his cot only for his tool to immediately start buzzing with an incoming call. The suddenness of it caused him to flinch. There was no way his father could have even received his response yet, let alone getting a call to connect from Palaven to whatever part of space he was currently moving through. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet Garrus wouldn’t put it past Castis to defy the laws of galactic communications just to berate his disappointment of an only son. He breathed in deep through his nose and slowly lifted his arm to peer at the small orange screen with one eye still closed.
It wasn’t his dad. Garrus scrambled to answer before the call ended, and in his haste managed to knock his crest against the metal wall with a loud clang.
“Garrus? Everything all right down there?”
“Yeah,” he said as he rubbed at his crest and sat up. “It’s, uh, fine. Did you need me for something?”
“Got another recruitment mission. We’re enroute to Korlus, ever heard of it?”
“Uh, sure. Not much there other than crime and a massive ship graveyard. I’m almost afraid to ask who we could possibly be picking up from a place like that.”
“Believe it or not, a krogan scientist.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. And guess who else is reportedly going to be joining the party? The fucking Blue Suns. I swear those sons of bitches are like rats scurrying all over the galaxy. Anyway I want you on ground team. Thoughts on a third?”
The conversation served as the perfect distraction from the guilt souring his stomach. Garrus had never thought himself a particularly good turian, or even a halfway decent son, but he dreaded the disappointment in his mom’s subvocals if she ever found out how he spent the last two years. Truthfully Garrus was more than happy for the chance to spend the rest of the day behind his scope. It was certainly better than dwelling on his failures.
It was cold in the shuttle bay, a fact Garrus had plenty of time to think about since he was the first to arrive. It seemed that humanity’s inability to properly heat a spacefaring vessel was a universal truth. He settled onto a bench in the open Kodiak and crossed his arms, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait too long. As another shiver racked his carapace, Garrus finally gave in and adjusted the heating in his suit just as the lift arrived.
Much to his dismay it wasn’t Shepard on the other side of the doors, but instead the old merc who had been with her on Omega. Garrus didn’t remember much from that fight, but Shepard insisted the man was both extremely capable and had significant knowledge of the Blue Suns. The fact that he wasn’t Cerberus was another point in his favor.
The man climbed into the shuttle and stopped short, giving Garrus what he thought might be an appraising look. “Well I’ll be damned… Last time I saw you, you were bleeding out all over the goddamn floor. Figured you were dead.”
Garrus looked up, assessing the man and his weapons as he settled his own rifle across his knees. He let out a low hum and let his eyes drift back toward the elevator, silently willing Shepard to appear and save him from the horrors of small talk. “What can I say? I’m hard to kill,” he rumbled, his voice nearly void of emotion.
Zaeed barked a laugh and tilted his head toward the doorway. “Guess we all have that in common here, eh?”
Garrus didn’t reply and thankfully Zaeed seemed to get the message that he wasn’t particularly interested in filling the silence. Thankfully it wasn’t long until Shepard stomped onto the shuttle, grabbed a handhold and banged roughly on the pilot’s door. As the doors closed and the shuttle lifted off she turned toward Zaeed. “You read the briefing?”
“Yeah,” Zaeed replied. He was sprawled out on his own bench and taking up far more than his fair share of room with his legs practically spread out across the floor. “We’re supposed to dig through this junk heap to find some old krogan so you can talk to him. In case you didn’t know, sweetheart, krogan ain’t much for talking.”
Garrus snapped his head up and eyed the man. “Never underestimate Shepard’s talent for persuasion.” They weren’t even in atmo yet and already Garrus was beginning to regret bringing Zaeed along as their third for this mission. Something about the merc just rubbed him the wrong way.
The man ignored him and kept his eyes on Shepard instead. “So, you got more intel or we just going in blind?”
Shepard herself seemed mostly unfazed by Zaeed’s comments. She stood against the wall, one hand gripping the overhead hold as the shuttle began to tilt down toward the planet’s surface. “We have coordinates, and data that shows Blue Suns presence near the target. Other than that we’ll be making it up as we go,” she said with an air of calm that Garrus found admirable.
“Goddamn great.”
“Look Massani, I would love to have more information, but we’re working with what we’ve got here. So either cut the attitude and get in line, or get the hell off my ship. I have zero patience for anyone that’s not fully committed to this mission. Got it?”
The atmosphere in the shuttle suddenly grew thick with tension as Zaeed slowly sat up. He glared at Shepard for a moment and, of course, she glared right back. Garrus watched the exchange with rapt attention. Part of him always liked when Shepard got like this. Small as she was in stature, she carried an air of authority that painted an imposing figure. Not once had he ever seen her back down from a confrontation or be afraid to assert her rank. After a tense couple of minutes, Zaeed finally broke eye contact and barked out a laugh.
“You got guts, kid. I’ll give you that. But don’t worry about me, I know how to do my job.” He glanced away and began inspecting his gun as if he hadn’t just been put in his place. Meanwhile Garrus let out a quiet trill as a slow, triumphant smirk spread across Shepard’s lips. She straightened up and faced forward, her eyes on the monitor display as the shuttle rocketed through the lower atmosphere.
Chapter 9
Notes:
Oops, didn't mean to ghost this story for a whole entire year (wtf), but here we are! Since I originally posted the last chapter I started a second job in a new industry, began outlining and writing a novel, started three new Shakarian WIPs, and fell into a Dragon Age hole followed by Baldur's Gate for a bit.
I won't lie, I also got really burnt out with my life and things in general. And while I've still been writing, and creating, I wasn't happy with where I left this story. I actually just recently went through, read it and ended up tweaking the last chapter. I thought it worked better to break it up and edit the flow so apologies if the beginning of this chapter is familiar to some of you. I've also been organizing my later chapters and changing up some of what I had planned, which doesn't help my posting schedule, but it should help the overall story.
I also hope to someday post some of those other WIPs, though I'll be finishing and editing them completely before they ever reach your screens.
Anyway I'm (kind of) back and here's a new chapter. And apologies in advance; I won't pretend to know when the next one will be ready, but hopefully it won't be a full year!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
An echoing crack of a rifle report overhead sent yet another merc dropping dead at the far end of the wreckage. Shepard knelt and put her back to the rusted out hull she and Zaeed were currently using for cover so she could catch her breath. They had already been fighting through this god-forsaken ship graveyard for hours, and despite the strength coiled in her new muscles, she was starting to run low on both energy and patience alike. Between the mercenaries, the insane krogan combatants, and the bitch getting off to the sound of her own voice through the loudspeaker, Shepard was beyond done with this place.
Up and to her right, she caught a glimpse of Garrus’ crest as he ducked back into the sniper nest he had claimed. One more deep breath in and Shepard pushed to her knees to send several pistol rounds into the shield of a batarian who was advancing on their position. The second it fizzled and disappeared, another rifle shot sent him sprawling across the ground in a spray of red.
“Damn.” Zaeed let out a whistle beside her. “Kid's got a stick up his arse, but he’s a hell of a shot, eh?”
“Is that a compliment I just heard, Zaeed?” The man didn’t answer, just grumbled as he unholstered his own sniper to scope out the end of the platform.
“Heads up, movement on your left. I don’t have a clear shot.” Garrus’ voice came through the comm link, clear and focused. Shepard went into immediate action and shifted her gaze toward the left, where she could just barely spot the blue glow of tech armor seeping out from behind a piece of debris.
“I see them,” she replied before engaging her cloak. “Garrus, go on and scout ahead while we finish up here.”
“Copy that.”
Shepard vaulted over her cover and skirted along the outside of the wreckage until she was able to spot a lone turian in Suns armor taking refuge. Still invisible to anyone without a high-tech visor, Shepard reached back and pulled out her rifle—a Cerberus-issued Mantis without the fancy paint job or the multiple mods Garrus had on his—and propped it up against a crate. After seeing what he could do with that gun she really wanted a chance to take it for a spin herself, but the guy never seemed to let the damn thing out of his sight. She figured he probably even slept with it under his cot, or maybe in it.
The remaining Blue Suns merc shifted into a kneeling position and aimed his assault rifle at the very spot Shepard had just vacated. Before he could notice she was no longer there, Shepard shot him square in the chest to drop his shield. Quickly she reloaded and fired two more rounds into his unarmored neck and waist. That did the trick. He slumped back against a rusted piece of metal, hands quickly clutching at his wounds as he bled out.
“Target neutralized,” she announced over the comm channel.
Garrus’ voice crackled in her ear soon after. “Shepard, the way ahead looks clear. If I had to guess I’d say we’re getting close to the lab.”
“Let’s get this over with then. Come on, Zaeed.”
The two of them picked their way through the carnage towards a door with a working holo-lock. Shepard stopped and looked around for their third squad member.
“Garrus, you joining us down here or what?”
A flash of dark blue in her periphery was followed by a quiet thud as Garrus dropped down from the upper level with an obscene amount of grace for someone who was seven feet tall. He flared out his mandible in some facsimile of a crooked grin, straightened up and stepped to her side.
“You always manage to find the nicest places, Shepard.”
“Only the best for you,” she quipped.
“Oi, you two gonna stand there flirting all bloody day, or are we going through the fucking door?”
“What’s wrong Massani? Feeling left out?” she asked as she gestured for Garrus to take care of the hololock. She still needed him to share his hacking protocol with her. God, how she missed the days when she could just crack open a fucking door like this herself. Of course but just like everything else, technology had passed her by in the last two years. She’d have to remedy that soon; she hated feeling useless at something she used to excel at.
With a slight electronic buzz the lock turned green, the door slid open, and Garrus took a step back. “After you,” he said with that almost goofy grin still plastered on his alien face.
A witty response sat ready on the tip of Shepard’s tongue, but she never had the chance to say it.
“About time,” Zaeed said as he trudged past and practically shoved Garrus into the door frame in the process. His grin was replaced with surprise as he righted himself and sent a low growl in the old merc’s direction. Shepard simply patted him on the shoulder, but she couldn’t hide the laugh that slipped out as she she readied her pistol and gestured for him to follow.
Garrys had never been so glad to see the inside of a shuttle in his twenty nine years of life. He carefully lowered himself into the seat and propped his rifle up between his knees. Eight hours on Korlus’ surface had left his muscles aching, even before the effects of his last stim had worn off. With a stretch he slipped his hands behind his neck in an attempt to hide the shaking that had begun toward the end of their fight with Jedore. Thankfully by then they had moved into close quarters combat, which meant no more need for finesse. His assault rifle was far more forgiving than his Mantis, otherwise he would have been in trouble. Not only did he have to deal with his hands shaking, but his entire body had also begun to slow and his muscles seemed to grow heavier with each minute that passed.
It wasn’t all that difficult to pass off his sluggish movements as exhaustion, though Garrus didn’t miss the look of concern that flashed in Shepard’s eyes when they finally sat down in the lab to wait for pickup. He waved her off with a half-hearted comment and took a few bites of stale ration bar, but Shepard never strayed too far after that. Normally he loved having her around, but her constant attention left Garrus without a single moment in which to take another hit.
In the end they hadn’t even managed to fulfill their original objective on Korlus. Thanks to Jedore losing her mind, the old krogan they were after had died before he could even give them any useful intel on the Collectors. To say it was a disappointing finale to the day was a vast understatement. Garrus knew Shepard had been trying to salvage the mission any way she could by insisting they take the tank with Okeer’s “perfect krogan” back to the Normandy. Which of course then brought along a whole new set of problems centering around the issue of how to get the tank out of the lab and up to the ship.
It took two hover lifts, and both Garrus and Zaeed, to push the tank into place on said lifts. And while they managed to get it done, the act also succeeded in draining Garrus of the minuscule amount of energy he had remaining in his body. Now he was practically counting down the seconds until they docked with the Normandy. It was all he could do to stare at a spot on the ceiling and concentrate on breathing just to keep from ripping the armor off his body. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into the battery so he could finally get some relief from the jittery sensation crawling up his spine and across his plates.
“I have to say, Shepard, it’s almost impressive. What’s your record now? Three for three on missions going tits up?” Zaeed’s voice cut through Garrus’ intense focus. He lowered his eyes and let out a low, chittering growl at the intrusion before he could think to stop himself.
Directly across from him was Shepard, who sat perfectly still with her head leaned all the way back against the wall. In lieu of asking Zaeed not-so-kindly to shut the hell up, Garrus gritted his teeth together and turned his attention to the human he actually enjoyed looking at. He studied the lines of her face, the angular jut of her chin and the subtle curve of her cheeks, cut through with cracked, red lines. She hadn’t said as much, but Garrus got the distinct impression she hated those scars. He had wondered more than a few times if they ached or felt hot to the touch like the ones hidden beneath his own bandages, or if she could hear the buzzing under her smooth skin same as he could at night when the ship was dead quiet.
Without a response Zaeed continued on. “Reminds me of the time I spent on Anhur. Or maybe it was after that. Anyway, I was working with this batarian on a job. Crazy son of a bitch, but damn good with explosives…”
The shuttle hit a sudden pocket of air, causing Garrus to hiss as his armor shifted against his already uncomfortable body. Across the way Shepard stirred with a stretch of her arms up and over her head. As Zaeed kept up his tangent in the corner, Garrus flexed his talons and took a deep, shuddering breath in. It was only a matter of minutes until they finally hit the cargo bay.
The elevator ride to the crew deck had been excruciatingly slow, but finally the doors opened and Garrus stumbled out. He had slipped away almost as soon as the shuttle touched the floor, leaving Shepard and Zaeed behind to deal with the tank. A few crew members stopped to watch him march past the mess hall, but Garrus didn’t have it in him to care about the facade of composure. He practically fell into the battery and slammed his hand hard on the door lock as his fingers tried to find purchase on the edge of the console. His body felt as cold as ice and yet his armor was simultaneously suffocating him with the way it pressed against his carapace. Each labored breath was a warning sign to rid himself of the hard suit just so he could freely draw air again.
With talons clenched so tightly he thought he might dent the metal, Garrus struggled to push himself upright. He fumbled at the small clasp separating him from the pocket that contained his dwindling supply of stims. Soon he would need to lift another handful from the supply closet, but for now he focused on closing his shaking fingers around the tiny glass vial. The blue liquid sloshed around inside as Garrus worked to remove the cap, his heart feeling like it might explode right out of his chest and his body wracked with shivers. And then his finger slipped and the stim tumbled out of his grasp, hitting the floor with a soft tink.
Garrus practically fell to his knees after it, hands searching wildly until his fingers grazed the edge of the curved glass. He backed up against the console, chest heaving and roughly tugged his undersuit down his neck as far as he could could before jamming the needle through his thick hide. The relief he felt was almost instantaneous and he let himself relax back into the hard edge of the console base. The vial fell out of his fingers and rolled across the floor as Garrus let out a breath and awareness of more than just the discomfort of withdrawal came back to him. This was bad, but what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t let Shepard down.
Slowly Garrus began unlatching the rest of his armor. Already his hands felt steadier, showing no sign of the shaking that had plagued him earlier. He glanced at his omni-tool once he had shed his hardsuit and was relieved to see that the night shift had just begun. In that moment he wanted nothing more than a hot Palaveni steam shower to wash the entire day away, but he would settle for the mediocre version the Normandy was equipped with. Garrus grabbed the hygiene kit that had apparently been requisitioned for him at some point and slipped out of the room.
The bathroom completely empty, a sight Garrus was happy to see. Not that he particularly cared about the privacy, having been conditioned to use shared, cramped showers back in his military days. On turian ships, though, at least his size was accounted for. That wasn’t the case here, or on the original Normand, but Garrus didn’t typically spend long enough in the shower for it to matter anyway.
The crew, however, had made it clear they didn’t appreciate sharing the space with a turian. He’d heard the whispers and noticed the quick exits, even when he remembered to schedule his shower time in the ship log. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was turian or if it had to do with the fact that the room clearly wasn’t laid out to accommodate his height nor his wingspan. All things considered Garrus found it easier for everyone involved if he had the entire room to himself when it came time to use it.
As soon as he stepped into the stall he adjusted the water as hot as the controls would allow, reveling in the steam that filled the space and soothed his battered hide. It had been a long, stressful day in a dry wasteland and his muscles still held the tension of both the mission and the shame of his withdrawal symptoms. Now the water was doing a decent job of washing both away. Still, Garrus would have preferred it hotter. If he was ever granted a a real shore leave the first thing he’d do would be booking a hotel room to indulge himself in a real steam. Of course that would require credits, which he was unfortunately all out of.
Garrus grabbed his brush and scrubbed vigorously at his plates, wincing as the course bristles caught on a crack in his cowl. According to Chakwas his face was healing nicely, but his neck and cowl, which were without cybernetics, were still extremely sore. He hadn’t even realized just how much until now. A sharp beep echoed in the stall, a warning that his allotted time was almost up. Garrus finished scrubbing his chest, rinsed himself, and flipped the water off with a click.
He stepped into the quiet room, plates dripping onto the rubber mat on the floor and pointedly ignored the mirrors above the sinks as he moved to grab his suit from the sanitizer. Then Garrus carefully slid his feet into the bottoms, taking his time to fasten the sleeves around his spurs before zipping it up to his waist. Only a small handful of crewmen would be up and about at this time, and since they rarely lingered on the crew deck while on shift, Garrus decided to take the opportunity to allow his upper body to air dry completely. It already felt much nicer not to have the tight material rubbing against his still-healing plates for once.
The distinct smell of freshly cooked levo food hit his nostrils before he had even turned the corner into the mess. Shepard sat at the end of one table with a steaming bowl of noodles in front of her and a fork full lifted halfway to her mouth. They both froze and Garrus watched her face grow red as she stared back at him. She cleared her throat and lowered the fork.
“Hey,” was all she said, her expression frustratingly neutral.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Garrus replied.
She shrugged one shoulder and peered down into her bowl. “I could say the same. You disappeared pretty quickly when we got back. Everything okay?” As she lifted her green eyes up to meet his, Garrus had the terrible thought that she knew exactly what he had been up to. His shoulders tensed under her stare as he silently berated himself. How could he truly believe he could keep something like this from Shepard? But then her lip quirked up into a barely-there smile and he was able to relax, albeit just slightly. There was no hint of accusation in her tone or her facial expression, only concern. It didn’t make him feel better.
He scratched at his neck and shifted his weight, trying to come off as nonchalant as possible. “Sorry about that,” he said. “It was a long day and…” He gestured vaguely to his face and watched Shepard’s brow knit together. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
“Right, you’re still healing.” Shepard lowered her fork and straightened up. “You’d let me know if you needed a break from the next field mission, right? I know Chakwas cleared you, but I need you at your best.”
“No need for a break, Shepard. I’m good. Just need to plan better next time, that’s all.”
Shepard nodded and took a bite of noodles while Garrus just stood there, unsure where to take the conversation from there. Just as he was about to say goodnight and continue on to the battery, Shepard lifted her head and spoke again.
“Care to join me? Or are you calling it a night?” Her voice was suddenly softer than before. This wasn’t an order from the Commander, it was an offering from a friend.
A feeling of familiarity tugged at him. Humans had a word for it, that strange sense that you’d already lived through the same moment once before. Garrus could never remember how to say it, but seeing Shepard alone in the low light of the mess hall was a distinctive type of nostalgia that made his heart squeeze a little in his chest.
There had been times on Omega when he would daydream about those conversations shared aboard the SR-1. They would pop into his head when he was alone at night laying in his bed, or trying to stay awake during a long stakeout. Those private moments had been the beginning of the transition from officer and subordinate into actual friendship. The conversation back then had been easy, spanning everything from gun mods to childhood stories during their nightly chats. And somewhere along the way Garrus had unknowingly opened his heart to this human. The feelings had only grown from there.
Two years had done little to stifle how he felt. The feelings were still there, buried under a mountain of grief and guilt, but present nonetheless. That bittersweet ache of infatuation and admiration. In his life he had only ever experienced it with two people. The first he had simply grown out of; young love destined to be shattered by distance through no fault of their own. And the second, well Shepard had died before Garrus had even had a chance to come to terms with his attraction.
He swallowed thickly and edged forward, eyes on Shepard as she took a long drink and then dropped her chin in her hand. Her shoulders were slumped forward, hair a mess, and her clothing practically hung off her too thin frame. Even still, she was a sight for his weary eyes—a miracle in the flesh.
“Not yet,” he whispered, suddenly feeling famished. “Food first. I just have to put my things away.”
She nodded again and returned to her dinner, but Garrus could have sworn he caught her eyes trailing slowly across his bare chest. She had probably never seen a turian without some sort of covering before. He doubted many humans had, barring those who worked at C-Sec. The showers, steam rooms, and locker rooms there had been shared amongst everyone without prejudice or room for modesty. And so Garrus had already seen his share of human, salarian, and asari bodies. Not that he paid them much mind. It was, of course, a professional matter of keeping your eyes and hands to yourself. Which wasn’t all that difficult. He’d never really been one to find his alien coworkers attractive, with one glaring exception of course.
When Garrus returned to the mess after dropping off his hygiene kit he made sure to reaffix his visor but didn’t bother zipping his suit, feeling content to let it hang around his waist. It wasn’t uncommon on turian ships to show your plates, nor had it been unusual among his team. Besides, no one else was around and the ship was no longer an Alliance military vessel, so Garrus reasoned that being comfortable was allowed. There was also the practical matter that he currently owned no other pieces of clothing and his sore plates still ached from the exertion of the day. And maybe, just maybe, there was a small part of him that enjoyed being somewhat exposed under Shepard’s gaze. It was probably nothing more than simple curiosity on her part, but he liked it. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.
He could feel her eyes on him now as he quietly rummaged through the cabinet that had been set aside for him. Once he found what he was looking for Garrus dumped the dehydrated meal packet of what was supposedly tapiz lok—a thick, Palaveni stew from the southern continent—into a bowl and added water from the boiler. Stirring it with a human spoon that was far too small for his hands, he finally joined Shepard at the table.
“You know, I’ve been wondering when I’d run into you out here,” she said, voice low and breathy as if letting him in on a secret. Garrus caught her eyes flicker back down to her bowl.
“Well, you know where to find me.”
He knew what she was insinuating. It was true Garrus had hardly spent any time out and about since coming onboard. He much preferred the red-hued isolation of the battery and the strange comfort it brought. Without realizing it, he had become accustomed to the neon glow of Omega and living his life tucked away in its shadows.
Shepard must have sensed his sudden unease. She dropped her fork and placed her palm on the table, a hand’s width away from his. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked with a tap of her fingers, forcing him to look into the full force of her green eyes. “You’re usually not this quiet. At least not when it’s just the two of us.”
“I’m just thinking,” Garrus replied softly. Beneath his spoon his food had started to thicken and the broth was turning a deep red. He never noticed before how close it was to the color of human blood.
“Care to share?”
How could he even begin to share all that was tumbling through his head? Shame, guilt, grief, among other complicated emotions. He didn’t want to get into it, couldn’t get into it. Talking about feelings wasn’t really something he had much experience in. So instead Garrus settled for an easy topic, one that wouldn’t cause Shepard to probe into wounds better left untouched.
“Just about my days at C-Sec,” he replied with a hum. “As much as I hated working there, it was a pretty good introduction to interspecies cooperation.”
Shepard pointed at him with her fork. “And yet you still managed to butt heads with everyone on the SR-1.”
“Yeah, well, I was young and hot-headed, and I hadn’t yet been shown the error of my ways by an infuriating human Commander.”
She was grinning now and Garrus felt like his chest had been ripped open at the sight. “Any other random shower thoughts this evening?” Shepard asked.
Garrus hummed and tapped his talon against his lower jaw in thought. “I was thinking I should probably get some new clothes…or just any clothes.” He finished with a short, and surprising, trill of laughter. “I didn’t exactly have time to pack when you picked me up.”
“Is that why you’re sitting in my mess half-naked, Vakarian?” Her eyes dropped once more to his chest and flickered back immediately, as if she had caught herself. A bloom of color spread across her face.
Garrus saw it all, the flush deepening over her cheeks, the direction her eyes wandered, and he had to stop himself from preening under the attention. He dipped his head and stirred his stew to distract himself from the woman in front of him. “That’s part of the reason, yeah. Also…” He pointed to his cowl where the edge was chipped and a jagged crack ran down the side of his chest, parallel with his keel bone. In time the plating would fuse together again, but he would likely always have a weak spot there. “Um, yeah. Like you said; I’m still healing. The pressure of my suit and armor causes some soreness after a while. And today was a very long day.”
“Right, that makes sense.” Shepard’s eyes lingered on his bare chest for a moment longer before she finished off the last bite from her bowl. After she swallowed, she lifted her gaze to his and held it steady. “How’s the face?”
Garrus was glad for a change in subject, but he wasn’t sure this one was much better. “Holding together, best I can tell. I haven’t really looked at the damage.”
“Really? You haven’t gotten curious?”
“What’s the point? What’s done is done. Best to let it heal before I let it bother me.” Garrus let out a nervous trill he hoped Shepard didn’t understand. If he kept acting as if having half his face blown off and replaced with cybernetics wasn’t a big deal, eventually he might actually believe it. “Besides, scars aren’t the worst thing, right? Some people like them.”
“Ah, those old krogan proverbs again.”
Garrus shrugged and tucked back into his stew as Shepard pushed her almost empty bowl aside. She leaned forward, elbows on the table. It was still strange, yet somehow fascinating, to watch her hands twist together with all those extra fingers. Garrus couldn’t help but stare.
“Speaking of krogan,” he said after managing to tear his eyes away. “Did you decide what you’re going to do with that tank?”
“Not yet. EDI still has to run some more scans, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.” And there it was, that mischievous twinkle in her eye that Garrus knew all too well.
“You’re going to open it aren’t you?”
Shepard laughed. “Like I said, no decision has been made. Why? Planning to talk me out of it, big guy?”
“I know better than to try,” Garrus replied. “But I will say this; the krogan is a wildcard. If you do decide to let it out, just let me know and I’ll be there.” He hoped she understood his sincerity. Sure he had been recruited to hunt the Collectors, but he’d only stayed because of her. If she was going to do something reckless, Garrus wanted to be right at her side when she did it.
Shepard tilted her head and ran a hand through her short fringe. “There’s a good chance he won’t take kindly to seeing a turian, Garrus.”
“Maybe, maybe not. We don’t really know what to expect, do we? That’s why you should have backup. Come on, Shepard. I’ll keep my distance, but let me be there just in case.”
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes searching his face until she finally let out a tired breath. “Fine. If I do decide to open it, which I haven’t yet, it’ll be next time we dock. Last thing I want to do is take a risk like this while we’re out in the middle of open space.”
Before Shepard could even finish her sentence Garrus detected the faint sound of steps coming from behind him. Then came the soft fizz of a tactical cloak dissipating accompanied by an unfamiliar voice. “So, where are we heading next Shep?”
He was out of his seat in an instant, hands at the ready as he stepped between the sudden intruder and Shepard.
“Woah! Easy there, big guy,” Shepard warned with a soft pat on his arm. Her tone was calm, but brokered no argument. It very clearly meant “stand down”.
Garrus put his arms down, but his guard remained firmly up. The unknown woman in front of him wore all black and her face was shadowed by a low hood; not exactly the outfit of someone with nothing to hide. Add in the tactical cloak and it was enough to set off warning bells in his head.
As he took her in, the woman returned the favor, eyes raking up his body from spurs to crest. Apparently finding him wanting, she lifted her head, cocked out a hip, and had the audacity to grin. Garrus’ eyes snagged on the purple line painted on her bottom lip—so similar to the color Shepard had worn when they first met. “So the broody turian does leave his cave for more than just missions,” she said. “How interesting.”
Her comment ripped Garrus out of his memory and straight back to the offensive. “Broody?” he rumbled.
“Sorry. Would you prefer mysterious, Archangel?”
Garrus let out a deep chitter of displeasure and crossed his arms at his waist, suddenly wishing he hadn’t left his undersuit peeled halfway off. “What I would prefer is to finish eating my dinner in peace, thank you. Who are you anyway?”
Shepard took this as her opportunity to intervene in the rapidly devolving situation. “Garrus, this is Kasumi Goto. She’s part of the team. I picked her up on the Citadel a couple weeks ago, just before my meeting with the Council. ”
He grunted some form of greeting that admittedly sounded more like a growl than a hello. Shepard just rolled her eyes at him and focused on the other human instead. Meanwhile Garrus began running through the software on his visor as he attempted to get an ID. Strangely enough he was coming up empty. He’d just have to see what information he could dig up on her later when he had time and a stable extranet connection.
To Kasumi’s credit, she seemed to know exactly what he was doing. She flashed him another big grin, winked, and stepped around him to move closer to Shepard, who seemed completely comfortable in the woman’s presence. Maybe he could relax after all. But why would someone be sneaking around the ship cloaked if they were supposed to be onboard? No, she had to be up to something.
Shepard continued on in her conversation, oblivious to Garrus’ paranoid inner thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that cloak of yours. From what I’ve already seen it’s much better than the one Cerberus supplied me with. Mind helping me out with an upgrade?”
“Not a problem, Shep. Plus a little girl time sounds nice. I hope you like gossip,” Kasumi leaned in and whispered.
“I’d rather call it intel,” Shepard replied with a smirk before downing the rest of the water in her cup. “Meet me in my cabin tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, please. It’s one of the only places on this ship I haven’t managed to sneak into yet.”
Shepard shook her head, then nodded at Garrus to sit back down. He did so, but with a low rumble of discontent in Kasumi’s direction. “You know you don’t have to sneak around, right? You’re welcome pretty much anywhere onboard.”
Kasumi glanced over at Garrus. “Is that so? Then why is it the main battery always seems to be locked?”
“Don’t you dare,” he growled before he caught Shepard’s own look of displeasure aimed direct at him. “So you’re part of the team. What’s your specialty, Kasumi?”
Shepard answered first. “She’s an infiltration specialist and hacker.”
“No need to sugar coat it Shep. I’m a thief,” Kasumi said proudly.
Garrus scoffed. A thief? As if they didn’t already have to watch their backs enough. He shot Shepard a questioning look, but she responded with an imploring one that seemed to say, "trust me." It wasn’t quite enough to ease Garrus’ concerns, but he did trust Shepard, implicitly, so he relented and went back to his sad excuse for dinner. And just his luck, it was now cold.
The women continued to chat for a bit longer before Kasumi excused herself. Once she was gone, which Garrus confirmed with his visor, he settled his attention back onto his friend.
“Quite the assortment you’re putting together, Shepard,” he said with a flick of his mandible.
“Yeah, it’s like our own little band of misfits,” she replied, chin in hand as she looked toward the direction Kasumi had gone. “Now I just have to figure out how to get everyone to actually work together as a unit.”
“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Regardless, I’m just glad to have made the cut,” Garrus said. Shepard didn’t respond this time, simply grinned and pushed back from the table. As she passed his chair, her hand landed on his bare shoulder, fingers lingering for a fraction of a second. The touch came unexpected, but not unwelcome, but by the time Garrus thought to say anything Shepard was gone.
Notes:
Comments are always welcome and appreciated. 💜
Lorroeyn (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 27 Dec 2023 01:47AM UTC
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