Lost and Found:

Two

…

The Alliance thought Commander Shepard was gone. They were right. They expected to find a corpse. They were wrong. Do our memories make us who we are? Shepard/Garrus, post ME3.

…

Disclaimer: This author in no way profits from the writing of this story. All characters, dialogue, or other referenced material from the Mass Effect trilogy belong to Bioware.

…

Garrus Vakarian had only been on Earth a matter of hours when he received the message.

Archangel,

I've got something important to you. Something you'll want to take off my hands.

No signature, just a set of coordinates.

He'd used his limited hacking skills to discover that the coordinates matched up with the sender's location, and then he mulled over his options. Who would have called him Archangel—and were they friend or foe?

If it was a trap, it was badly laid. There were no instructions to come alone, no threats, no real lure. No reason to go but to satisfy his own curiosity. Shepard would have reamed him out for taking the bait—for going in without backup—for not asking Liara for a thorough threat assessment.

But Shepard wasn't here.

He booked the skycar as soon as he could, and disappeared unnoticed into the wastes of the English countryside.

…

She didn't look up as the skycar flew over. Another supply run, she assumed, and of little interest to her. Shepard's focus was on her garden. She pushed the trowel into the dirt, ignoring the small tremble that went through her hands. Fresh vegetables for dinner tonight. Finally. She was so sick of MREs that she was considering a hunger strike.

The sound of footsteps caught her attention. Slow and uneven, the hint of a limp. Heavy with the weight of armor. A soldier… Someone new.

She raised her eyes, squinting into the sunlight, and wiped her dirty hands on her jeans.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

Garrus had stopped and stared when he came around the corner to see Shepard kneeling in the dirt beside an old-fashioned front door. She looked different—her hair was unevenly shorn, her skin was marred with scars and bruises, and her clothes hung off an oddly gaunt frame—but it was undoubtedly her.

The woman he loved.

The woman the Alliance declared dead—alive. Alive and planting a garden.

But any pleasure he'd taken from that discovery was stolen in an instant as her words cut right to his core.

…

Shattered. That's what she saw in the turian's eyes the moment she spoke.

She didn't know how to piece him back together, and she was shocked by how badly she wanted to. Something inside her told her to trust him. It told her that he mattered. She clawed into the darkness of her mind for answers, but she returned from that void with nothing but a dizzying headache.

They stood in silence. She stared at him. He looked anywhere but her eyes. She had no idea how to fix this, and she hated the not knowing most of all. Her hands formed frustrated fists at her sides, and for a fleeting, surprising moment, she wished desperately for something worthy of being punched. Instead she looked down at her feet, trying to calm the tumult of emotions the turian had raised within her.

She looked up to find him watching her. She met his keen blue eyes, blown away by the world of pain she saw inside. It was something she could never know. Not now, not when she had no lifetime of sorrow and joy to draw from. She didn't remember enough to know loss.

The turian took a deep breath, building a wall around himself with the remnants of what she'd broken, and took a step closer, careful not to tread on her garden. He reached out a hand hesitantly, as if she were some skittish animal he feared he might spook. She stayed still as he laid a gloved hand on her arm, finding the weight of it strangely comforting. She stared down at that hand for a long moment before turning her eyes upward, wondering what had changed.

He was close to her now, towering over her. She ought to step back. This was a dangerous person, every instinct knew it. Another instinct told her, despite all logic, that this turian would never, ever harm her. She stayed where she was, unable to tear her gaze away from his compelling blue eyes.

"Don't go anywhere, okay?" he said gently, the dual tones of his voice vibrating warmly within her.

Before she could vocalize her agreement, he was squeezing her arm and moving past as if he already knew her answer. She stared blankly after him, blindsided by this turn of events. She raised her fingers to her arm and shivered, feeling strangely cold.

The sound of raised voices pulled her from her reverie. She followed the sound through the open door, crossing the darkened living room to listen at the kitchen archway.

"—some kind of sick joke? What did you do to her?"

"I rescued her, Archangel. I healed her. I kept her safe. You're welcome, by the way."

"Her memory…"

Silence reigned a moment before the asari answered, "Some things can't be fixed."

The turian sighed. "Why did you do it, Aria? What do you want?" he asked wearily.

The asari's laugh was chilling. "You think you have anything I want?" She paused. "I owed her a debt," she said softly. "I don't like being indebted to anyone."

"Why did you call me here?" he asked.

The asari scoffed. "I thought the note was clear."

"Not clear enough."

"I've paid my debt," the asari said scornfully. "She belongs with your little band of heroes, not here with me. I'm sure the Alliance will be happy to know their precious hero is alive."

His voice was strangely quiet. "She doesn't know me. What if she doesn't want to go?"

Of their own accord, Shepard's footsteps drew her into the room. Both asari and turian turned to look at her, one set of eyes nervous, the other piercing. She settled her gaze on the turian. "Where will you take me?"

He reached up to rub the back of his neck, a surprisingly awkward action for someone so formidable. "Before all of this, you wanted to retire from the military. Somewhere tropical, we said."

"What about that ship?" she asked. "The one from the news vids. It was my ship, wasn't it?"

He shrugged, his hand falling to his side. "That's also an option."

"I can choose?"

His mandibles moved briefly into something she knew was a smile. "Yeah. You can choose."

She turned to the asari. "Did I really know him?" she asked, trying to ignore the wounded look the turian couldn't hide.

Aria snorted. "He was your boyfriend."

Shepard blinked at the strange new information, turning to look at the turian again. She eyed him up and down, taking in the details with renewed interest. He looked like he'd been through hell and back, with his scarred face and damaged hardsuit, and he carried a whole armory on his back like it was nothing. The visor he wore over one eye, even now scrolling with information, bore the evidence of several repair jobs, and from behind it his bright blue eyes gazed at her with a sadness she couldn't fathom.

Even if the asari was lying, she felt in her bones that she could trust him. She had trusted him once, she was sure of it.

She took a deep breath. "I want to see my ship."

…

Before the turian came, Shepard's biggest concern was having something for dinner that didn't come out of a packet. Now the garden lay untended, the tools dropped haphazardly over upturned dirt.

Now Shepard stood in her bedroom packing her meager things to leave with a stranger—not a stranger—for a life she didn't remember living. The suitcase from the closet, a remnant of previous occupants, lay open and empty on the bed. As she turned to it, carrying her odd assortment of possessions, she heard him enter behind her.

"Am I really the woman from the vids?" she asked softly, hands busy folding the few pieces of clothing that Aria had given her.

Armored steps brought him close behind her. "You have doubts?"

She turned around, resting her weight on the edge of the bed. "I don't look much like her," she admitted. "Don't feel much like a hero either."

He gave her that reassuring smile again, but his eyes remained sad. "They've been using an old picture in the vids, Shepard. You've been through a lot since then."

She paused to take that in, eyes on her turian stranger. She bit her lip. "I hate to ask this, but… I don't even know your name. Archangel is a nickname of some sort, isn't it?"

"Garrus Vakarian," he said, his tone measured. "I haven't gone by Archangel in a long time."

She looked at him cautiously. "May I call you Garrus?"

He let slip a sigh. "You always have."

She looked downward, her guilt too heavy to hold his gaze. "Were you there with me?" she asked. "The whole time?"

She could see his mandibles flutter at the edge of her vision. "Yeah. The whole time."

She glanced up cautiously. "You came looking for me."

"Aria sent me a message," he deflected. "But I would have searched anyway." He shifted slightly, as if he wanted to reach out for her but thought better of it. "I'll always have your six, Shepard."

A knot tightened painfully in her chest.

She turned abruptly to finish packing, feeling for the first time just how much she'd forgotten.

…

A/N: Hi readers, I just wanted to let you know that no matter how painful this part is to get through, Shepard and Garrus will get their happy ending. There's a light at the end of this tunnel! Thanks again for reading (and following and favoriting!) and please review.