A/N: Hey everyone, all Mass Effect people/places/etc belong to Bioware, not me.
I know there are some of you who would rather this was a chapter to Heed the Call. Sorry about that, and about falling off the map.
I wrote this...because I felt like my Shepard deserved it. I feel a much stronger attachment to her than I did to any of my Wardens, or my Hawke.
Warning: ME3 end game spoilers, and references to romanced Garrus end-game speech.
Hope you enjoy it.
"But when those trumpets sound
When the good Lord calls my name
Oh, I'm gonna be with you, oh I'm gonna be with you."
~ Parachute, American Secrets
A flash of iridescent color caught her eye, drawing her gaze down to her bare feet. A wave came in, rushing chilly saltwater over her toes and sending the object that had attracted her attention tumbling. She bent quickly to pick it up, before it could be stolen by the receding water. She flipped it over and over, alternating the gorgeously shining underside with the bland outer side.
"Here," she said with a smile, offering the shell to her companion, "what about this one?"
The salarian took it from her decisively. "Ahh, very good, Shepard. Excellent colors. Haven't seen one with quite so much green. Very good." With a quick gesture, he deposited to shell into the bag on his hip. Even over the sound of the waves, she could hear it fall against the others already inside with a gentle clink.
She was about to answer him when she felt it. A tangible change to the air, brisk and different. Her breath caught in her throat as her heart started pounding. Goosebumps raced over every inch of her skin. Whatever reply she'd had would forever be unsaid. "Mordin," she whispered, her body rigid.
"Ahh," he answered, blinking his eyes quickly. "Go. We'll find more shells later."
"But…" She was suddenly apprehensive, almost terrified. "What do I-?"
Mordin's lips stretched in a grin. "Possibilities are limitless. Only thing stopping you…is you." He reached over and tapped a slender finger against her temple.
Her breath left her lungs in a rush. "Right." She squared her shoulders and clenched her hands into fists to try to stop their shaking. "I…I'll see you later."
The salarian waved her off, already preoccupied with a shell half-buried in the sand.
She turned and ran.
As she did, the sandy landscape grew thinner, becoming more and more transparent until there was nothing beneath her feet but millions of stars. The horizon did the same, until it too was nothing but stars. In what seemed like only a few moments, she was surrounded by the vastness of space, running on what appeared to be nothingness.
She'd never been particularly religious, never having much time for it. Who had time for prayer, or faith? Well, except faith in her gun, her eye, her aim. Faith in the biotics trickling through her veins. Faith in her team. That she'd had plenty of.
To her, her current surroundings proved nothing. Perhaps some would argue that she was being ridiculous. She didn't think so. After all, it wasn't as if she'd met some Great Presence since she'd been here. Or even sensed one. This place just simply was.
All that being said…she wasn't sure what she was supposed to call this place, if not Heaven.
She hauled herself to a stop, standing amid the stars. For the first time, she was at a loss as to what to do. Mordin had galvanized her a bit, but now she felt totally bewildered as to how to handle this situation. She had no concept of how much time had passed, if it even still mattered-
She shook her head vigorously, trying to shake off the sour thought.
Meet me at the bar.
A grin broke out across her face, followed by rueful laughter that she'd become so flustered by this that she'd completely forgotten how simple this would be. She gathered her concentration and pushed at the stars, just like Mordin had shown her.
The stars retreated from the pressure she exerted, fading away. A floor reappeared underneath her, and walls grew up from the edges, forming a room. Chairs and tables materialized from nowhere as lights descended from the ceiling. The bar seemed to rise out of the floor, and the stools sprang up like mushrooms. Dingy smoke filled the air, clinging around the lights like smoggy halos.
She clapped her hands across her mouth to keep in the giggle. This sure wasn't the bar in Afterlife. It was terribly empty, though. Not like any of the bars she remembered.
She pushed at her surroundings again, and suddenly the place wasn't so empty. Different people were now scattered around. Turians argued over a pool table while a quarian and a human debated at the jukebox. There was a poker game going on the corner with two salarians, a batarian, and a human. A human bartender was drying glasses with a rag. The low drone of dozens of conversations blended together in a comforting background noise.
Unable to help herself, she threw back her head and laughed. While it might have looked like a bar from any old Earth vid before, the clientele had certainly updated it a bit.
And now to make sure her guest arrived.
Gathering her concentration once more, this time she pulled instead of pushed.
The feeling she'd first sensed on the beach with Mordin intensified, deepening and widened like a swelling river, until it was like a physical rope of emotion and charged air. It was coming right towards her now, following the connection, shortening the "rope" between them.
She had another surge of apprehension. Glancing down at her self, she had sudden doubts about what she was wearing. Should she dress up? Or maybe be in her uniform?
"Look like you always do," said the bartender, not looking up from his glass-cleaning.
Smiling again, she smoothed her hands down the front of her N7 hoodie, fussing at imaginary wrinkles and invisible bits of thread and fuzz. Of course, this was perfect. There was no need for anything else. Anymore glitz or glamour would feel false. That hadn't been their lives. Not even for an instant.
The crowd of people in the bar seemed to surge closer together for a few seconds, blocking her view of the entrance. When they parted again, as naturally as they'd come together, there he was.
He was dressed casually, like he'd looked whenever he'd come to her cabin. Around the ship it had seemed like he was perpetually in his armor, but their times together, alone, he'd always been dressed this way. He always seemed so much smaller without his armor on, so slender. No less powerful, though, no less deliciously dangerous.
His piercing eyes scanned the room, a bemused look on his face. A krogan called his name, shook his hand vigorously and clapped him on the back. The bemused look grew as he nodded at whatever the hulking krogan was saying. She bit her lip to keep from giggling.
He turned away, and then he saw her. His eyes widened, and his alien hands which had felt anything but alien when they'd caressed her body clenched tightly.
A smile stretched her lips, even as tears clouded her eyes. Just like the last time she'd seen him. If this were indeed Heaven, it wasn't like people thought it was. Though she'd promised him he'd never be alone, that she'd always be looking down on him, she'd been unable to do so. It wasn't like that here. She hadn't been able to see him, hadn't been able to look out for him, and her heart twisted painfully at that broken promise.
But her heart thumped right passed the pain. It had no other choice. This was the first time she'd seen him since….
She moved her arm in wide arc, gesturing to the bar behind her. "What took you so long? I've been holding your seat for a long damn time, Vakarian."
His jaw worked for a second, but no words came out. After a few more seconds, his clawed feet managed to shuffle forward. His steps steadied, and his hands unclenched. By the time he reached her, he had his old swagger back. The one that had driven Chambers, and herself, to distraction.
"Well, I imagine that seat was in high demand," he rumbled in reply, "what with it being next to the famous Commander Shepard and all."
"It was," she agreed solemnly, even though the sound of his voice reverberating against her chest was enough to churn her stomach with giddy excitement and desperate longing. So long…she knew it in her heart, but just how long was probably better left unanswered. "I had to bust a few skulls." She cracked her knuckles for effect.
He laughed, mandibles spreading wide, stretching the scars on the side of his face. That day on Omega had been the scariest of her life, watching his blood pool beneath him. She had known he was Archangel the instant she'd found out it was a turian. Known it the way a mother knows her child is hurt somewhere, the way lovers sense it before their partner actually enters a room. Known it in her bones.
"Hope the riffraff didn't give you too much trouble," he said, glancing around them.
"Nah," she responded dismissively with a wave of her hand. "I mean once they heard it was the Garrus Vakarian I was waiting for, they all backed off." She turned, tilting her head toward the bar. "Come on, you owe me a drink, last time I checked."
His hand shot out, catching her arm. "Shepard-"
When she turned back, she saw a tear flash down his scarred cheek. "Oh," she said, swallowing hard. "I thought we'd have some more witty banter first. You know, we do that. Lots of cocky, hard-ass banter before we actually-" Her words died, strangled by the sob trying to rise out of her throat.
"Sorcha," he whispered, his grip on her arm tightening. It bordered on the edge of painful, just barely. She didn't mind.
"Uh oh, my first name," she said, still gamely trying for banter. "It must be serious." She hadn't wanted tears, at least not right away. She'd wanted him to feel normal here, not to have to face the honesty of what had happened to the future they'd wanted. To the beach and the adopted krogan babies. To what would've been their life. A life they'd damned well earned.
"I'm…" he started, his grip easing a little bit. "I just…" The pressure on her arm tightened abruptly, and he dragged her against his chest, enfolding her in his arms. "I'm so happy to see you," he whispered against her hair.
She squeezed him back, unable to speak.
"I don't want to know what happened up there, I don't care," he continued. "I know that you did whatever you thought was best. It was hell without you, but I believed it."
"I thought you were dead," she managed to say, tears rolling down her cheeks only to get absorbed by the cloth of his shirt. "It made…what happened…easier. It made my choice…easier. Then I got here," she gestured vaguely at their surroundings with one of her hands that was around his back, "and you weren't here. And I was so happy, but then I felt…cheated, too."
His arms around her tightened, and she could feel him nodding against her head.
"And I don't care what happened…down there, either," she added. "I don't want to hear about what happened after, or anything." She pulled away from him to look up into his face. "I'm sorry if that sounds mean, but it just…doesn't matter."
He nodded again, and the dingy bar lights still managed to find the tear trails down his textured skin and reflect off them in bright flashes. "No need to apologize, I understand." Reaching out, he stroked her hair. "I cried in your hair," he said apologetically, pulling at the deep red strands as if he could pluck his tears out.
She let out a watery laugh. "I cried on your shirt, we're even." Wiping at her eyes stubbornly, she took a deep breath. "Now, I'm about ready for my drink."
"One more thing," he said. Slinging his arm around her waist, he pulled her against his chest again. This time there was nothing sad about it. He bent his head and pressed his lips against hers.
She'd thought it was probably Heaven before. She'd been wrong.
It was Heaven now.
When he finally let her breathe again, she couldn't do much but blink dazedly at him. Nothing mattered. Not the unfair hand they'd been dealt. Not the choice she'd been forced to make. All that mattered was her lover before her, restored to her, with her.
"How about that drink now?" he purred.
"You bet your ass," she answered, "and after that, we'll pick seashells."
"Seashells?" he echoed in confusion.
"Seashells," she confirmed with a nod.