((Disclaimer: Mass Effect™ is the property of Bioware™. This short fiction borrows on and slightly alters their creation, and I do not claim any ownership of the creative and intellectual properties of the setting and characters.

I originally wrote this story for a contest on deviantArt so Kate Shepard is efleck's Commander Shepard.))

Priority: Alternate Ending

by Michelle Kohler

I remember... me.

"Kate! Katie!"

Frantic voices. Ghosts... voices that are gone, voices that are phantoms in the dark corners of my mind. More real than the others, though. Conjured memories that are almost tangible. These have weight. These have dimension. Scent, touch, taste. The rain in Mindoir is heavy and humid, it churns up red-clay soil and lichen rich peat. The harvest is - was - ripe. Battered now. Broken. Atmosphere sliced through and sirens screaming in the air. Throat raw screams; falsetto. Unceasing.

[Hard rubble stabs up against battered armor. Rain falls, but not the same. London is a wet place. It always rains in London.]

"Katie, you stay here, you understand me? Keep Caleb close, now. Don't make a sound; quiet as can be. Don't you come out for anything, babies, not until Papa or-and- I come back, you understand?"

My mother's face is lovely, in the way that mothers are always lovely to children who adore them. No. My mother's face is ruined. Exposure to harsh elements have left their mark; staked their claim. No. My mother's face is crimson, sluiced and sprayed with blood not her own. Whose? Caleb [Caleb is the youngest. Caleb is the baby of the family and I must protect him, must always protect him; that's what family does.] whimpers, trying to cling to Hannah Shepard with desperation and wet words, heavier than the rain, more poignant than the screaming outside [Too close].

"Don't go, Momma! Please! Please don't-"

"Hush!" Sharper. Harder. She must be hard; she must be harder now. Stronger now. [And I'll learn this. This is the first lesson: Strong enough to love. Hard enough to fight.] "Do as I say. Katie, you hold on to him and you hide, y'hear?"

"Y-yes... yes, Momma." Too young. Too fragile. I haven't called her 'momma' in years. "I won't let go, Mom. We'll hide."

"Good girl. I-" A baritone wail from just beyond the walls of the farmstead. It cuts through Hannah's words, blanches the skin beneath the death mask of blood and gore. She grips the shotgun in her hand [old fashioned, it still uses birdshot for crying out loud] and tears herself away. Back a step. To the door and away. "I love you! Hush now... I'll... I'll be back..."

[The sound – that sound - reverberates through my skull. Painful. Too goddamned painful. The roots of my molars ache with it; the marrow in my bones. The bass growl of the Reaper scourge seizes my spine; arches my back. Breathe. Breathe, Kate.]

"Shit, is he-"

"-took the slaving bastards out with a goddamned e-tool."

"-boy's flat lined."

"Miss? … Honey... you've got to let go of him now. It's alright. You're safe now."

Unknown voices. Male and female. Concerned. Strained. Horrified. Impressed.

"Girl's got some cojones-"

"-shut up, man, can't you see she's in shock?"

"Honey, you're gonna be fine now, but I need you to let go..."

Mindoir's rain is a heavy thing. It fills the senses. It lulls you to sleep and melts life into the bones. It washes-out dances and moistens first kisses stolen under alien moonlight. But it isn't rain splattered on eyelashes and sticking clothing to flesh. Caleb's sun-kissed hair now a muddy [not mud. not mud. oh god, it's not mud] ocher, resting against my chest, rising and falling not of its own accord but from the panting breathing I only vaguely register as my own. Let go, the voice says. Let go.

And I do.

Because I'm strong. Strong enough to love. Hard enough to fight. And I knows it's Hannah Shepard's older [knowing, loving, terrified, grieving] stronger eyes staring back at the unknown man crouched close, dressed in his Alliance utilities, bearing the insignia of a corpsman.

"-got a scan. Katherine Shepard. Sixteen. Boys her brother, Ca-"

"Got it. Katherine-"

"Kate."

"Kate... right... Can you stand now, Kate? Can you get up?"

I can. I do. And I'll leave Mindoir behind. But not really. Not truly. Not forever. It doesn't ruin me. It shapes me. Shapes me enough to see a boy like Caleb again later; years later. On Earth and in my dreams. In the Citadel. The Catalyst... not Caleb. Not really. That hologram, that dream, that thing, spewing its lies and defying logic. Defying what I knew in my bones to be true. It isn't Mindoir's rain. It isn't Caleb's blood or Batarian ichor. It's London and the rubble that makes this makeshift bed is jabbing and breaking and suffocating. I feel my chest heave and I know I've got to-

"-got to get up now, Kate."

I must-

"BREATHE, Shepard."

Breathe. Yes. Breathe, damn it. I'm Commander Shepard and I have to bloody well breathe.

"C'mon, Shepard. Damn it, Kate!"

The deep, flanging voice is an immediate shot of adrenaline to my heart. It jolts and sears through me, purer than any electrical current, truer than the rubble, the rain, the ruin around me and within.

"Garrus, she needs medi-gel, let me-"

The turian's snarl serrates itself through the asari's words [Liara? Yes. Liara. I remember.]. Turian hands, claws sheathed in flexible armor weave, tighten around my shoulder, lifting, raising. It hurts like all hell and I gasp; a ragged sound juxtaposed between protest, profanity and gratitude.

"Alright," says Liara, the strain under her voice belying the cool exterior of her experience as scientist, Adept and Shadow Broker. She always was surprisingly collected and over the years she's gotten downright formidable. "I'll work around you."

"That would be best." Garrus' words are still a low snarl, but I can hear him regaining his control, his battle composure. His grip eases but doesn't let go, merely shifts itself until I can feel the rough texture of scarred facial plates and mandibles pressed against the clammy feel of my temple, brow and cheek. He speaks again, softer now. Speaks for me, though undoubtedly it carries to at least Liara, kneeling beside them. But I think he's well past caring who hears. "C'mon, Kate. I thought I was the one supposed to get all new scars, not you. I like you fine soft and whole." His next intake of breath is ragged edged; worn to the limit and my heart breaks for him. His next words just about do me in. "Come back to me, beautiful."

There's plenty of reason to do as he commands. All of them excellent in their own right. There's too much at stake. Too much to do. Lives - an entire galaxy - on the balance, on the brink. And the certain knowledge that if I don't say something - clearly - soon, Garrus Vakarian may have a bloody heart attack. So I will my lips to move, cracked and chapped though they are; will my jaw to work though it resists; stiff and unruly. Even my damned tongue seems hell bent on making this difficult for me; dry and slightly swollen. My first attempt is a garbled mess of mumbling, but it's enough to give Garrus and Liara pause. I can feel a half-ruined mandible flex against my aching cheek; the softer, cooler touch of Liara's smaller, certain hands on my midriff. I shouldn't be able to feel how cool her hands are... which means I'm probably missing certain key elements of my armor. Nice.

"What was that, Shepard?" Liara asks, hesitantly hopeful.

Again. I try again. Because when it comes down to it I'm more brutally stubborn, tenacious and unforgiving with myself than I ever demanded of anyone else. It was always that way. Too much to see set right. Too much to solve. This time, this time I manage to form words that make sense.

"...this bar... sucks."

It sounds croaked and raw, but it must be understandable because Liara makes a small sound of surprise and relief and Garrus stiffens against me before a dry chuckle, gruff and somehow [like only he can manage] sarcastic.

"Seriously, Shepard? I know I'm not rich, but I've got some standards."

Feeling is coming back to my outer extremities; limbs tingling and then throbbing. It's painful as hell but any veted marine knows pain is a good thing. It's the wounds that go numb; the blows that seep drowsy, dumbing peace heavy through your system; those are the ones you really have to worry about. Liara's back in action, doing god knows what and I'm fairly certain it's a good thing I'm still too out of it to tell. It's enough now just to press my cheek against his, smooth against rough, neither of us in any condition to be picky about whatever happenstance managed to keep us both alive.

"You had me worried," he whispers, the susurration heavy with emotion without the need for too many words.

"I'm hard to kill," I answer, turning his one of his own past retorts back at him. My voice sounds somewhat more human now, at least to my own ears, though it's hard to tell over the slow receding sound of my own pulse throbbing against my eardrums. "You know that."

My senses finally come back into focus, enough to become annoyed at the incessant drops of rain that keep pinging down on me. Enough to be grateful of some cool wetness to wash away what feels like a lifetime of grime and sullied disillusions. Arms feeling not quite as weighted as before, I'm able to shakily cup the mandible and jawline not pressed to my cheek. To shift my face and weakly nudge his; able to settle my eyes on his, a distinctive cerulean I never take for granted.

"You were gone," the words are shaky now, numbness and disorientation giving way to shaking. "You left... with the crew. Joker... he outran the blast and... the Mass Relays blew up... all of them... how..." A hot wave of nausea swept over me, a remembrance of droning humming in my skull and oily streaks befouling my vision. Scrunching up my eyes tight and blinking several times helps dispel the freakish nightmare memories and I force my eyes to focus again, demanding [begging] answers from him.

He looks goddamned confused, that's for sure.

Confused and not-a-little nervous, those striking eyes darting towards what I presume to be Liara's direction before they settle firmly back on my own and this close I can make out the faint reflection of my green irises deepening the cobalt there. "Kate, the Mass Relays... that would kill us all. And in what reality would we abandon you?" An edge of frustration - consternation, almost accusation - creeps into his voice, lacing growl into humming reverberation. "What the hell are you talking about, Shepard?"

Lord knows I didn't fall in love with the turian for his gentle tact.

As much as I hated to break the eye contact [lifeline] I let my eyes close, testing my lungs as I drew and released several deep breathes. It hurt. It hurt like a bitch, to be more precise, speaking of fractured ribs. Some analytical part of my mind reasoned that Liara's ministrations were probably prioritizing healing more critical wounds, logic given credence when the asari spoke up, half chastising, half apologetic, "I've dealt with the worse of it, Shepard, but you really should be seen by an actual medic."

"Well, Dr. Chakwas isn't here," I groused - mildly. I was too banged up and too distracted for more than a little grousing, truth be told. So the next words are softer, meant to ease some of the anxiety I can hear in her voice. "You've got a doctorate anyway, that's gotta count for something."

Then, before she can interject matter-of-fact protests about her field of study I force my eyes open, make myself look in her direction, soaking in her delicate features, disquieted with concern for me. "Liara. I trust you. It's alright, okay?" I try to smile at her, but I'm pretty sure it comes out more like a grimace. It'll have to do.

Struggling to sit up - Garrus shifts against me, at first like he might try to restrain me, but then, thinking better of it, helping me - I swipe back sodden blonde locks from my vision and force some semblance of authority into my tone. "What's going on? What happened while I-" was in that nightmare of a despoiled Citadel, "-while I was out of it. Did anyone make it to the conduit?"

Over my head Garrus and Liara share a look, then his eyes level on my own, visor lens crackling from damage taken during the hell we fought through to get this far. "Anderson got close but... I'm sorry, Kate, he didn't make it."

It takes a moment for me to realize the steady fall of rain feels suddenly warmer, tastes suddenly more saline because it's not rain, but tears. My own tears. It's useless to hope Garrus and Liara won't be able to tell the difference, but at least there is the relief of knowing these are two of the few people I could risk seeing me like this. Because I have to be strong. [Strong enough to love. Hard enough to fight.]

I allow myself one moment of letting my forehead rest against the bulwark of his armor-clad shoulder, the soft weight of his hand at the back of my head a greater comfort than any words he could conjure; likewise Liara's smaller, lighter hand between my shoulder blades.

I'm proud of you, child.

I don't think any of that happened. It seems it was some twisted machinations of my own mind, tainted by... indoctrination? The very word made me shudder; dry swallow heavily to force back an upsurge of acrid bile. I don't think any of that freakish experience happened but, god... spirits... I hope he really was as proud of me as I of him.

Enough.

Pressing softly but insistently back against Garrus's hand I sat erect on my own again - mostly, at least - and cleared my throat harshly, tasting the metallic tang of blood mixed with recirculating saliva. "What happened? We charged the field to get to the conduit and..."

Liara stands, "Fill her in, Garrus. I'll make sure we're still clear here and try to reestablish our comms."

Part of me didn't want her to go, but I knew it was for the best. Already the sound of the continuing war around us was droning in on my clarifying senses, setting off alarms that were second nature to me. Part of me acknowledged her wise appraisal that Garrus wouldn't be easily coaxed from my side just now. So the soft sound of her footfall moved away, leaving me to take in my bearings.

We seemed to be holed up in a room of some kind. Or what was left of a room if two barely-there walls and the bare edges of a roof could be quantified as such. A shop front, though so severely wrecked as to be near indiscernible. A kiosk overturned there. Ravaged bodies of dead husks and foul smelling cannibals. Something that looked like 20th century furniture...

Despite myself I felt laughter scratch its way up my throat, broken on my lips. For the second time in the last few minutes Garrus looks at me with unease... until his eyes follow the line of my own gaze. His mandibles flex; the more pliant plates of his mouth shifting.

"Antique shop," he confirms.

"Classy," I quip.

My hand finds one of his and quickly, briefly, he spares the time to raise my palm to the smooth strength of his mouth, not quite supple, not quite rigid. There's a fierce possessiveness in his countenance; a defiant claim. Mine, it says. I press my palm there, accepting the touch of the tip of a warm, supine tongue, possessive in my own right. Mine, my response.

Ours.

He's just as well trained a soldier as I am, though [if not more so in his own way. Turians, like bloody ancient Spartans, waste no time with tender thoughts of youthful fancies] and while he keeps his grip of my hand, his tone becomes precise and clipped.

"You're right. We charged the conduit, like you said, but that's when an old friend decided to show up."

"Harbinger?"

"Yes, but at least this time he decided to spare us his one-liners. Nothing like a villain who likes to monologue. Anyway, it got nasty then. We didn't have any way to shield ourselves from its damned beams. It was a slaughter house, Kate. If Liara and I hadn't been blasted back by a strike several yards ahead I doubt we'd be talking now.

"What about me? What... where was I?"

He hesitates, an uncommon occurrence when Garrus is immersed in his element. Adorably awkward as he might be in matters of relationships, there was never a doubt as to his finesse and capability as a fighter, a soldier, a lover. As indomitably passionate a turian - person - as I've ever met. My hand presses his, urging him on.

We haven't much time.

"It's hard to describe and there was so much damned chaos. But... you... you were knocked back away from us. And... something... something from Harbinger tangled itself around you. Filled you up with bright light, like there was a sun flaring inside of you, but not steady... like with..." He didn't want to finish the words. He didn't want to dwell on the implications. Frankly, I didn't care to voice it myself, but I did, releasing a breath in a huff, the words spoken in chagrin.

"The collectors. Or Saren... yeah?"

"Yeah."

For a moment - an instant, pregnant with disastrous possibilities - his eyes searched mine, with a gaze so intense it threatened to peel away layers of me, right down to my soul. And I let him. Fearing what he might find. Defiant against the possibility. Knowing we couldn't risk—

He shook his head, brisk and firm. "No. Similar but not the same. It couldn't hold you. But it tried. Spirits, it tried, Kate, and I couldn't get to you." The break in his voice tugs at my heart, bringing back memories of its own [I just want something to go right...] and now it's my turn to comfort him, sibilant sounds to soothe him as best I can.

"It's alright, Garrus. You did get to me, remember?"

"Yeah," he breathes, turmoil released in exhalation. Some of it, at least. "But not as fast as I'd have liked," he finishes, almost a growl. Chastising himself just as much as relieving his fury at feeling so momentarily helpless. Garrus was one of the few people I knew truly understood what it was to risk everything for those closest to you. Focus reasserts itself, though, and he continues, rising to his feet now, a sense of urgency encroaching upon us both. "Something happened though. It went on for minutes - but hell feels like forever when you're there-"

"-Don't I know it."

With a grunt - wry acknowledgement - he helps me to my feet, steadying me while surveying our parameters and finishing the reprisal. "-It was like a shockwave. Maybe backlash is a better term. No explosion or anything,"

"Thank god for small mercies."

His arm tightened around my shoulders, byrl scrutiny sliding over my form with the dual purpose of drinking in the simple relief of seeing me on my feet and a more clinical assessment of my battle readiness. There was, however; no mistaking the lingering concern in his eyes, the quizzical glint, questioning what he'd witnessed. What it meant. How it affected me. "Harbinger faltered. Not long enough for our guys to do much damage, but only because it bugged out. Mechanical bastard. Liara and I got to you and brought you here. We aren't far from the Conduit still, but Reaper forces are crawling all over and we don't know how much longer Hackett can hold out with the Crucible."

About a click away the spine-chilling scream of a Banshee pierced through the general discord, echoed in twine by one of its decrepit sisters. Reaper forces gaining ground and pushing forward in their ceaseless, brutal assault. Answering fire zinged through the heavy air, the rain settling now into a characteristic London miasma, heavy munitions lighting up phantom halos in the distance. We had to move. We had to act, that much was clear. The same thoughts seemed to echo through Garrus beside me, astriction drawing him to his full height, the minute plates of his nose shifting as he absorbed details of scent lost to my weaker human olfactory senses.

"Garrus," my voice faltered despite my resolve and I swallowed hard, trying again, stretching up to make up for the differences in height between us; to force his gaze onto mine. I willed mine to galvanize. "You have to leave me."

Surprise rippled over his features, subtle shifts in expression I'd come to know as well as the beat and thrum of my own heart. Surprise and then defiant denial. "Like hell I-"

"Listen to me, dammit!" My hands dropped from his face and even my fingers betrayed me in lingering beyond my command until I balled them up in fists clenched tight and pressed hard against my hips.

"Harbinger was trying to indoctrinate me. I don't think it worked but... if he could get in once..."

"It won't happen again-"

"You don't know that, Garrus!" My voice rose to nearly a shout. A stupid, rookie move and ripe for giving away our tenuous position, so I lowered it to a hiss between the grating clench of my jaws. "I could cost us everything. I won't allow it. I won't. You've got to leave me."

"No!" his own heated sibilation and I had to hand it to him: His snarl was by far more intimidating than mine.

Not that it backed me down a hair.

"That's an order, Vakarian!"

Ducking his head, shoulder slightly hunched to do so, he grasped my upper arms in a resolute grip with only the barest modicum of attentiveness to my wounds. Face bare inches of mine, close enough that I could make out the faint glisten of saliva on sharp teeth before only his eyes captured my field of vision. "And you know damned well," he rumbled, "just how likely I am to obey one so idiotic."

Fear tinted the outright, pigheaded defiance in his eyes. And there went my heart, pounding maddeningly in my ears again, roaring with frustration and despair both. Before I could steel myself to push my case, a voice cut in; Liara returned from her brief reconnaissance.

"What's going on?" She asked in that voice that somehow managed to sound sensuously delicate even in the midst of this hellhole, even ripe with suspicion and unease.

I turned - or I tried to. A basso reverberation thrummed in Garrus' throat and his hands clenched, hard enough to dig talons into flesh in his anger if it wasn't for the still functional status of my shoulder guards. Fine. I answered Liara side long, keeping my voice as steady as possible. "Harbinger tried to indoctrinate me, Liara." No gasp of surprise from her - was I surprised? A stranger juxtaposition of guilessness and willful intelligence existed in few people as it did in T'Soni. At least she wasn't trying to argue with me. "I'm a liability. You have to leave me behind and get to the damned conduit. Now."

"Garrus-"

"-don't even, T'Soni. She-" Flustered and aggravated – downright pissed, maybe – he returned his attention to me, "you broke its grip on you, Shepard. You bought us some time. You're coming with us and that's final."

"Shepar-"

"-Liara, you know he's wrong! We have to-"

"Enough!"

A biotic pulse rippled around and from the asari, jolting over us hard enough that Garrus and I were forced to shift our stances to supporting one another rather than the awful, heated face off of moments before. It sure as hell got our attention and Liara found herself the recipient to conjoined baleful glares. To her credit she didn't even flinch. Tears streaked fresh wet tracks down azure skin, but otherwise her composure held in check. Despite myself sympathy and pride surged in my chest. "They're all dying out there. Waiting for us to do something. Anything. We don't have time for this. Shepard... Kate... do you think for an instant I'd hesitate to finish you myself," all credit to her, she audaciously spared no attention to Garrus's guttural response to those words, "if I thought you were truly a danger? I? Who helped you take down my own mother?"

Momentarily dumbstruck, I could feel myself gaping at her. Then my mouth shut with an almost audible click and I could feel my resolve [my fears] begin to waver. My knees - traitorous joints - threatened to buckle as I swayed precariously, literally and figuratively both. "EDI. The Geth... I saw them all destroyed. I saw it all destroyed and all of you stranded, abandoned..." A raw, keening whistle seemed to creep into the space around us; a sound I only belatedly recognized as my own labored breathing. This time Garrus didn't limit his hold to my shoulders, his presence was solid and whole, pressed close to my back, arms engulfing me, mandibles and plates shifting my sullied, tangled hair, brushing over the scraped sensitivity of my left ear. If anything his sudden tenderness - protectiveness - served to further undo me. He and I did not have a relationship one would call prone to 'PDA', saving our intimacies for private moments; safe moments. Whatever he saw after Harbingers attack, whatever hell he went through thinking me taken from him [again], it had loosened something in him, as well.

"I couldn't save you," I groaned into bare, battered hands. "I have to... I can't... I won't..."

Garrus's arms tightened around me, sheltering, like he might hold together the fragments of myself finally threatening to fall all to pieces, to utter shambles. Cobalt hands rose to my own, pulling them away from my face with gentle insistence. "You broke its hold, Shepard. Kate," her voice demanded my recognition, called my attention to focus on eyes the colour of sapphires. "You are not indoctrinated. Harbinger tried. And failed."

"How can you be so sure?" Was that my voice? So small? Uncertain? What few, rare, dangerous, fragile moments had I ever allowed myself to be the one needing reassurances? The one needing saved. "What if I'm just deluding myself like Saren or the Illusive Man or...

"Kate," Garrus interrupted, his voice a heat beside my ear, a life preserver keeping my head just barely above water. "Do you think we wouldn't make sure ourselves?" The admission is tinged with guilt, laced with vexation at voicing the words aloud and I watch as Liara meets his gaze up and over my shoulder, her eyes apologetic but firm.

Confused, I let hand hands slip from Liara's loose, softly rubbing hold, allowing them to rest over the smooth lines of Garrus's armor clad forearms. "What do you mean?" I can feel my eyes narrowing with the words spoken, but it is hope more than suspicion that syncopates my pulse.

"Vendetta, Shepard," Liara intones, activating her omni-tool, from which a spherical hologram forms, its lighting green-lit as malachite phosphorescence. "The Prothean VI from the Temple of Athame - remember? It can detect the Indoctrinated. I checked, while Garrus was, ah... waking you up."

For the barest moment I could call myself nothing less than confounded. Disconcerted. I must have started gapping again, mouth open and generally uncouth [further testimony of how shaken I was by all of this] because Garrus shifted his hold again, turning me about now, one thin-gloved hand slipping to cup my chin, lifting it slightly. "I'd have told you as much if you stopped to listen," his words tenderly spoken, though interwoven with hints of his usual wryness and the last vestiges of his recent flare of temper.

A thousand questions - and half as many doubts - ran rampant in my mind; a shell-shocked and abused mind, so recently violated in a struggle with a being beyond my comprehension. But I hadn't gotten this far - I hadn't accomplished this much - from being given to bending knee to a torrent of inner demons.

Strong enough to love.

Hard enough to fight.

"Well," dry-mouthed, but audible and gaining strength, I looked up into turian eyes and then sidelong towards the asari's, "What the hell are we standing around here for?"

Turian mouths are not built for grinning the way humans' are. But once you get used to them [once you find the reason to learn all you can about reading those facial expressions and one in particular] it's easy to tell when a close approximation washes over their features. Easier still when it lightens the very tenor of their distinctive voices. "That's my girl. Let's move."

It's like someone flicked a switch inside of me, revving up my exhausted, rather broken body [mind. soul.] with a renewed resurgence of purpose. Energy coming from reserves still [even now, after all these years] untapped. I stand back, on my own, without support, my fingertips pausing only to hook momentarily against his hand and then release.

"I need my gun."

"Right here," he announces, unstrapping my M-55 Argus from his back and holding it out, then taking up his own M-98 Widow.

"Liara, did you make contact?"

"No, but there was a rendezvous point settled ahead of time, not far from here. It won't be easy to get there, but it's our best shot, unless you want to go straight for the conduit?"

"Will the RZ deviate us away from the conduit by far?"

"No, it's close, just further South from here."

Garrus has already moved away, climbing and boosting his way up to the ledge of the broken down ceiling, peering through his scope with eyes sharper than even my Lazarus enhanced vision can manage [and he loves to point that out]. "We're definitely gonna hit some trouble if we go groundside."

"Rooftop access?"

"Unstable, but there."

"Well, hell, it wouldn't be a good fight if they made it easy on us."

"Feeling a little reckless, Shepard? That's unlike you."

"Feeling a lot pissed off, Vakarian."

"Now that I like. So long as it's not at me."

The chuckle from my raw throat sounds wretched, but the smile would suffice, even if stung like hell on lips cracked and chaffed. "Liara," I start, looking back her way as she readies her N7 Eagle. She casts a glance towards me, her lips quirking, "I'll be careful, Shepard."

On impulse I clasp my hand to her shoulder and duck my head to hers affectionately. Gratefully.

"Let's move."

"Dammit! They're flanking the RZ!"

"They're in trouble, Shepard!"

"No shit, Vakarain! Think you can-"

"—You do remember who you're talking to, right?"

"Yeah, less gloating! More Cannibals rotting! Liara, that alley on the RZs three: Choke it with a Singularity!"

The sound of the heat clip ejecting from the Argus's chamber was all but lost amidst the growing pandemonium as Reaper forces continued their encroaching assault on the makeshift RZ below our precarious perch atop early 20th century architecture. With a grunt of effort I hurled a biotic field heavy enough to launch a Marauder from a ledge, catching the blasphemy that was once a turian right as it was sending out ropes of reinforcing armor to the Cannibals feasting on their own fallen. Jaw clenched, I took a running leap from one decrepit ledge to the other, thankful for a surge of adrenaline pumping in fatigued muscles, about the only thing letting me ignore the fact I'm probably doing a fine job undoing what Liara was able to patch up earlier. If it wasn't for modern medicine I'd probably look like Frankenstein's fucked up cyborg cousin, anyway.

"Frag Out!" Warning shouted, I ignored the vocal protest of my left shoulder as I lobbed the lift grenades at Liara's fresh planted singularity field. Just enough time for Liara to dodge down to cover behind what was left of an old-fashioned chimney before the resulting biotic explosion sent aftershock jolts rippling through our sinew.

I let my eyes focus on the welcome sight of continued fire from the ramshackle RZ, its inhabitants fighting off the forward wave of mingled husks, cannibals and marauders. Sure of that flank at least, I sprinted to the far end of this last rooftop where, below, distracted once-Batarian beasts tore chunks out of the fresh and the old dead. The kick of my rifle was something I barely registered anymore, compensating for it naturally as I sprayed preliminary fire below me before taking the plunge.

Somewhere behind me I heard Garrus swear an oath my translator couldn't quite handle.

The stench of these monstrosities is an overwhelming thing, incapable of describing adequately. Imagine the worst blend of sewage, rotten raw meat and acrid vomit and you might – might – come close. It's only real advantage was rendering it next to impossible for these things to ambush you. Not that they were quiet, anyway. In the midst of them as I was as I let my knees flex with my landing it was all I could do to choke back bile between the reek and the protests of battered abdominal muscles. Never mind. My focus is on one thing: Triggering the detonator on my Tech Armor while the staggered freaks are still close, grabbing and tearing. A fresh gush of unspeakable fluids splatters over my damaged armor, but mercifully none of it gets on my face or – ugh – in my mouth. A risky move, sure, but a job well done, I reason, surveying the remains of this group or what can be identified amidst the gore.

Zzzzzzzz-CRACK

The bullet flies what feels like a hair away from my right ear and I pivot in time to see a marauder crumble behind me, the little that's left of its head hanging by viscous strings.

With a heavy thud, Garrus drops down from the rooftop, his expression a smirk though his eyes register with more than a little annoyance.

"One of these days, Shepard, you're gonna pull crap like that and I'm not going to be at liberty to save your ass."

Snorting – a good means of covering a nagging sense of vertigo that wants to squelch my equilibrium – I rolled my shoulders, "What? I had to leave something for you." Trying to will away the urge to hunch over the growing pain in my lower left side, I turned my head again. "Liara?"

"Here, Shepard." Sheathed in the glowing cerulean of biotic tendrils, she eased her own form down from the dilapidated roof, drifting to her feet with maddening ease. One of these days I was really, really going to have to learn that trick, dammit.

From the periphery of my vision I accessed their state: Both were in better shape than I was, but that wasn't really saying much. Liara was developing a limp and, among other things, if Garrus's visor fritzed anymore it could bloody well damage an eye. I happened to like both of those eyes intact, but I knew better than to suggest he lose the visor. The named burned into its surface were his own reminder of past burdens to bear and I was the last person to question it.

"Sounds like they're mopping up in there," Garrus broke in, cocking his head towards the tumble-down building being used as an RZ.

"Let's get in. If we're lucky there'll be a break between waves. We can gather some intel and keep on moving."

Trudging through the rubble of war – broken terrain, jagged concrete and corpses – I took point, leading us to the near wall of the RZ, back pressed against it as we eased parallel along the walls length to the blown out opening where bay windows once stood.

"Commander Shepard with the Alliance!" I bellowed ahead of myself, letting the battle savaged inhabitants of the building know we were friendlies. "It'd be just about awesome if you didn't shoot me!"

For a moment there's a break in noise from within. A pause in the sound of men and women coughing, reloading heat sinks, shuffling and all the other myriad things that go on between waves of an ongoing assault. Then two voices broke through, one male and British, the other female and underscored by the synthetic reverberation of air filters.

"Farkin' 'ell, it's bout bloody time we got some damned luck our way."

"Keelah! Shepard! You're alive!"

I eased myself over the busted windowsill, mindful of the remnants of jagged plate glass still protruding from a few locations. Garrus was silent as he used a hand to steady me at elbow, back, and then hip while I managed the maneuver, making sure I was well clear before lending a hand to Liara's progress. Safely on the other side I had just enough time to tag the British voice to the face of Major Coats – haggard with fatigue and ground battle - before several pounds of quarian relief nearly bowled me over in Tali's exuberance at seeing me alive. My body screamed its protest and I couldn't help but groan at the impact, though I did manage to raise an arm around her slender shoulders, squeezing weakly as ligaments and muscle trembled with lassitude.

"You're alive! Oh, Keelah, Shepard I thought… I was afraid…"

"Tali, shhh," I grimaced, patting the hooded, suited back of her head before trying to work my way out of what was becoming an increasingly painful grasp. "I'm fine, Tali, but I kind of need to breathe…"

"Oh! Right! Right… sorry," she backed off, her embrace becoming less confining and more supportive, the faintly glowing orbs behind her iridescent purple mask shifting as she surveyed my state and that of our companions. "What happened? We saw…"

"Another time, Tali," Garrus cuts in, taking his accustomed position at my right flank, close enough to murmur sotto voice near my ear. "You should sit down, Kate."

Barely letting my eyes touch his, I shake my head fractionally. The brief contact is enough between us, though, and he nods: slight and curt, but with acquiescence. If I sat down now I might not get back up. He may not like it, but he knew better than to argue.

"Major Coats," I turned my attention towards the marine, famous among London forces for his three-day hold out in Big Ben, "Status report."

Wiping sweat and grime from his brow, he jerked his head in the direction of a – functioning, thank god! – comms holo. It blinked and fritzed, but it was still working, highlighting the layout of the dead-man's zone south of us. "Conduit is still operational, Commander, but it's all dahn the Karzai from there. More Reaper vermin crawling down there now than nits on a whore. That big bastard Reaper did one, but that's the only good news I've got for yer."

"Hackett and the Crucible?"

"Yeh, we've got weak comm-link back running and they're holding out with blockade support from Sword n' Shield, but there's no tellin' how long they'll manage."

"Has anyone made it to the Conduit?"

"Some o'yer troops left ten mike's back, hell bent for a run," his tone begrudgingly dismissive of their chances.

"Who?" I asked, looking towards Tali now, who was furiously working her omni-tool, obviously the one to thank for any working holos and comms at all. God bless quarian engineers.

"Javik, James, Kaidan and EDI."

"Thank the Goddess they've made it this far," Liara breathed from where she studied the glitching map.

"Heh," a sonorous sound of dry respect rippled from Garrus's throat, "nothing like a fifty-thousand-year-old vendetta to motivate you."

"And frag-grenades," I snorted, distracted in my smirk, "Vega has lots of grenades."

For as long a moment as I could spare, I surveyed the screen before me, willing some likely opening to manifest itself in that hell-hole of writhing enemy masses. Ever uncannily in tune with my thoughts, Garrus hovered a gloved fingertip over the far right flank, "Staring at it won't make it any better,"

"I don't know," I interjected under my breath, "Staring at you makes me get all sorts of creative."

There's a startled sound, nearly a guffaw, then he clears his throat gruffly, regaining his composure and shooting me a look both bemused and shushing. "But we might be able to move up the flank here, using the out buildings as a defilade-"

"Or," interrupts a new voice entirely, a female voice, underscored with pain, but steady. "You could do it the smart way." An impressive amount of firepower – held in the hands of soldiers nerve-shot and drained – swiveled in the direction of the voice. With the characteristic flicker-waver-distortion of a cloaking shield coming down, I found myself looking down the barrel at none other than Kasumi Goto. Kasumi Goto with a hand pressed to her right side, the fabric there darker than the rest of her sleek outfit. Even more unsettling: Kasumi Goto with her hood down. I've never seen her without that hood in place and for a moment that's more startling to me than her sudden appearance [after all, you get used to that kind of thing from Kasumi] or her wounded state. Some part of my mind registers that her hair is long, not cropped short as I always imagined it would be, styled in a myriad of braids in various sizes and twisted up with complex eccentricity that somehow managed to be remarkably graceful.

Utterly unfazed by the myriad muzzles pointed her way, she shrugs gingerly, a ghost of her usual saucy smile crossing her lips and finishes her suggestion, "The Kasumi way. Really, Shep, didn't I teach you anything?"

"It's alright," Garrus informs the others as he and I holster our weapons. "She's with us."

"Kasumi, you're hurt!" Tali exclaims, moving towards the petite Japanese woman. It's just as well: Tali got to her just as Kasumi started to collapse. "Get some med-packs and a field-kit! Stat," I call out while I quick-step close on Liara's heels with Garrus lingering not far behind, shadowing my movements with all the air of a bodyguard. Tali proceeds to help support Kasumi, helping her hobble to a nearby crate, before Liara interrupts, "It's an abdominal wound, Tali… she needs to be laid out."

A spell broken – a collectively held breath, fat with tension – people begin to move again. Field-kits are extracted, poncho liners and metallic-sheened thermal blankets making a makeshift bed while Liara gets to work inspecting Goto's wounds. After barking some orders I'm soon kneeling across from Liara, finding and grasping one of Kasumi's hands, barely cognizant of how its slick with blood. You get used to that kind of thing real quick in my line of work, after all. The blood, the gore: You become desensitized to it. You work through it. But my heart still tightens.

My heart never quite learned to be a marine like the rest of me.

Giving her hand a squeeze I drag my eyes away from the strange marvel of actually seeing the whole of her head for the first time and try to summon up a smile for her, "Hell of a time to decide you missed suicide runs, Kasumi."

"You know me, Shep: Always looking to surprise." With a pained chortle and a scowl at her situation – and no doubt Liara's ministrations with omni-tool and medi-gel at Kasumi's waist – the Japanese woman let dark eyes [Striking and almond shaped: the things your mind picks up on even in the most stressful situations is beyond me] – settle on my own. "I had something important to give you and the normal courier routes just aren't what they used to be, you know, giant reaper invasion and all."

"Damned reapers always cramping your style."

"You got that right," she quipped back. Some of the tight, clenching feeling in my heart eased a bit to hear it. She wasn't in great shape, but I'd seen a lot worse. A glance to Liara to check the asari's composure further assured me Kasumi's situation wasn't grave. Not yet at least. "Took me long enough to find you, too. Sorry about that."

"Better late than never," Tali consoled. [Another quirky thought, let free from coming down of the telescope vision of the heat of battle: Why did Tali's voice sound somewhat Slavic in its accent? Why would translators pick up on that kind of thing? Weird. Focus, Kate.]

"Well, Garrus is easier to track than Shep."

"I am?" the turian spoke up from his rather stiff-seeming crouch to my right and a little back.

"Sure are, big guy. Armored, two-big-toed foot prints. Bad guys missing heads… or most of their heads."

"Well if you were following a path of destruction, Shepard leaves more of a mess than I do."

"She does, doesn't she? But your style is easier to distinguish."

"It's a talent."

As much as their banter did my erratic heart some good, time was not on our side. There were any number of questions I'd love to ask, but only one that got to the point. "You said you had something for me?"

"Yeah," she nodded slightly, wincing a bit. "Just in time, too. Sounds like you guys were about to validate Einstein's definition of insanity."

"Who's that?"

"What's that?" Tali and Garrus respectively asked on each other's heels.

"'Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results,'" Liara quoted, then blinked at four sets of eyes set on her direction, some more quizzical than others. "I read a lot," she explained, with asperity and a touch of defensiveness.

The asari would never cease to surprise me, but that wasn't getting us any closer to the Citadel. "Kasumi, explain?"

"Charging the Conduit… again. Out in the open. And expecting a different result."

"Comms verify that Harbinger is still out of Earth's atmosphere and not on the scene," Coats broke in, his tone a bit testy.

"But that doesn't mean the area around the conduit is any safer-" I backed Kasumi up.

"—Or that another reaper might not decide to throw back in," she agreed.

"What have you got for us, Goto?" Garrus asked while the rest of us leaned in slightly to hear.

"A late birthday present for you, Shep," she slipped her hand from mine – aided by the slickness of blood there, slowly growing tacky as it coagulated. Activating her omni-tool as she continued, "Improved cloaking. Way better duration and software capable of tracking and maintaining multiple synched units. With any luck – and if you play it smart – a small group of you should be able to make it to the Conduit undetected. Just, you know, don't bump into anyone."

Already Tali had her own omni-tool activated, synching with Kasumi's as my two tech-geniuses fell to softly spoken queries and direction.

"I'm feeling better already," Garrus murmured in an aside to Liara and me.

"Really? It's hard to tell," Liara replayed, a rare venture into teasing.

"It's a warm feeling on the inside."

"He's a ball of sunshine on the inside," I said, with wryness and affection. My attention soon turned back to Kasumi, though, and I raised an eyebrow at her. "Where'd you get this?"

"Well, Shep," the mischievous smile I knew so well lit up slowly; dimmer than usual, but still wonderful to see. "It's like you said: All that advanced tech just lying around and no one checked my pockets."

"I could kiss you," I laughed – sort of. It sounded more like a low hacking noise, really.

"I'll settle for your saving the galaxy in my name."

"Done," I took and squeezed her hand again. Releasing it I got back to my feet with a grunt. "Alright, we need to get going. Liara, I want you to stay here. Tend to wounds and help them hold this position: We need our comms intact."

"Understood," she responded, after only a brief hesitation. I could tell she'd rather be part of the team going in, but she didn't question me here, thank god. The truth was that – for all her capabilities and amazing helpfulness – part of me still couldn't help but worry about what the kind of madness we were about to go into would do to her sensibilities. Something I'd probably spare Tali from as well, if I had my druthers, but I needed her skills as one of the most brilliant engineers I knew.

"Tali, you're with me-"

"—and me," chimed in Garrus. Not a question but a statement of fact and I sure as hell wasn't going to argue it. [Though that softer part – that place in my heart – it wanted to.]

"It's going to take some time to upload and synch the software," Kasumi spoke, regretfully.

"Actually," Tali said, her attention focused on whatever her quick, clever fingers where working out on her omni-tool, "I'm almost done."

"What," Kasumi asked, her surprise clear, surprise strong enough to get her to prop herself up on an elbow; driven by professional competitiveness and curiosity, no doubt. "How are you managing that?"

"Upgrades," explained Tali, with a touch of chagrin. "Geth upgrades. There's a geth downloaded into my suit."

"How is that…. What… oh, never mind. I miss all the fun," Kasumi groused quietly, laying herself back down.

Despite the unexpected boon of this newfound collaboration between geth and quarians, I couldn't help but look at Tali with concern, "Are you alright with that?"

Snorting behind her mask, Tali waved a hand dismissively before going back to work, "It's strange, but not unbearable. And I've never had better processing times. It's like having EDI around… without the bad jokes or mooning over Joker."

Somewhere off near the comm display, Major Coats was shaking his head, grumbling near indistinguishably, though I think I caught something along the lines of 'Geth uploaded into Quarian suits – bloody madness. Now I've seen it all.'

He didn't know the half of it.

"Done," Tali declared, motioning for Garrus and me to go ahead and deactivate our own omni-tools.

"Alright, restock on heat sinks and grenades. No amount of cloaking is likely to help us much once we get up to the processing center the conduit probably leads to," I could feel my mouth set at a grim line. Our only real hope there was that-

"If they made it up the conduit, Javik and the others have probably dealt with some of it," Garrus spoke up, with a cheerlessness to match the set of my lips, echoing my thoughts precisely. "Maybe cut us a swath; provided a diversion."

Maybe dead. Maybe dying right now.

Despite all his warnings and caution, I could never easily accept Garrus's 'ruthless calculus of war.' And I refused to turn my squad mates into numbers; into nothing more than combat tactics, like pawns on a board.

"Then it's high time we go lend them a hand," I asserted, packing spare clips and refreshed grenade capsules, ready to charge them with biotic fields. A shadow crossed close: Liara, holding out stims. I made a moue of distaste, but nodded. I needed the boost, plain and simple. First me, then Garrus – both of us got our own little custom cocktail from T'Soni and I felt the rush of chemically enhanced clarity and vigor course through my veins. Tugging my armor back in place, I looked around to the others in the RZ: Friends. Fellow marines.

"Hold. Whatever you do, do not lose this post." I made myself look them in the eyes, as many as I could, turning a small half circuit as they paused in their activities, even the sentries cocking an ear in my direction. "Never worked with finer." My words were simple: I could only hope they conveyed even a measure of my sincerity. "I'm proud of you. All of you."

With bone-deep precision, Major Coats snapped to attention; full salute. "Been a bloody honor, Commander."

Along the line, around the room, others snapped salutes, grime on their faces and fervor in their eyes. Fear and hope twin lights in their chests. 'Commander!' some called. 'Shepard!' others. I returned their salutes smartly, holding for as long as I dared before the stinging in my eyes might become tears on my cheeks. Breaking the salute, they followed in kind and I turned to Tali and Garrus.

"Ready?"

"You need to ask?" said Garrus, the question rhetorical.

"Give 'em hell, Shep!" chirped Kasumi from her makeshift bed, "Snipe some for me, Garrus."

"We'll see you soon," Liara spoke, velvet promises... or maybe a prayer.

One last look… then I jerked my chin towards the Eastern exit.

"Move out!"