Okay! So to start off with, Wow. I never anticipated this much feedback for this idea, so thank you guys! I was a little worried, but I'm glad everyone likes it so far. =)

As usual, greenyoda987 is amazing for helping me edit and dealing with the ten files I send her at a time for editing. Seriously, you're the best.


Shepard half threw herself out of the elevator, desperately needing to put as much distance between herself and the fear that threatened to engulf her. She stood up straighter, trying to will some confidence back into her posture, but failed miserably; she'd always been able to keep this under control, never letting it get in the way of duty, and she didn't intend to let that start today. Her body didn't want to cooperate though, the fear and defeat perfectly obvious in her posture: her shoulders slumped under the stripes of her command and a downtrodden expression took up residence on her face. She tried to mold her features into a stoic mask as she stared blankly at her terminal. She felt terrible—not physically, despite the way she'd awakened, but emotionally—and couldn't get Garrus's hurt expression out of her mind. Why did you have to go and do that to him? Deep inside herself, she knew it wasn't anything she had consciously done—her body had just reacted—but it didn't prevent her from feeling like the villain. And she didn't like the feeling. She hadn't done anything wrong. All of this had just happened to her and now it was turning her life upside down. That bothered her; sadness, frustration, and anger made their rounds through her emotions in equal parts, showing on her face briefly before she forced them behind her blank mask as best she could.

"Commander, you have new messages," Traynor chirped and Shepard nodded mutely, not really registering the words. Without touching her terminal, she trudged back toward the war room, earning a confused look from the technical specialist. But the younger woman said nothing, watching humanity's hero drag herself toward her duties with a look like a kicked varren.

Shepard trotted the two steps down to the holo display showing the Crucible's progress, coming up alongside Palaven's new and somewhat reluctant Primarch. He cast her a tired glance and nodded his greeting, folding his arms across his carapace.

"Primarch Victus," she greeted mildly, "I apologize for the delay, but you said you had something you wished to discuss in private. I thought with Urdnot Wrex seeing to Eve, we could discuss your little problem." She leaned forward onto the console, keeping track of the turian leader in her peripherals. She could see the twitch of his nose and then the subtle flare of his mandibles as if something had surprised him, but he turned his gaze away from her and stared at the Crucible's progress. There was a moment of silence and she waited for him to speak, but he seemed to have no intention to do so and she scowled. "Sir, we're en route to Tuchanka. Whatever it is you wanted to talk about, I suggest you tell me now."

"How long has it been going on?" The casualness of the remark caught Shepard off guard and she turned to face him, catching the smug look on the elder turian's face. "Indulge my curiosity, Commander. It's not often that… Actually, scratch that. I've never met a human who smells like a turian, let alone a highly ranked advisor to the Hierarchy," he drawled with a suggestive quirk of his browplates and Shepard guffawed at his bluntness. It took her a few moments to gather her wits, plastering a bemused smile on her face. Of course he knew; if everyone else on her ship did, why not the Primarch of fucking Palaven?

"I believe my personal life and… sexual exploits are not of concern," she finally said acerbically, settling into her hip and crossing her arms, "But your secret mission is. Now I'll ask again, Primarch, what do you need?"

Victus laughed lightly and mimicked her posture. "Vakarian said that you were… what's the word… feisty? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised he wasn't speaking strictly of your work relationship." When Shepard opened her mouth to snap a retort, Victus lifted a hand, "I know, I know, none of my business." He knotted his hands behind his back and Shepard grit her teeth. It wasn't so much that it was none of his business but that she had been called "feisty". Feisty was not badass, feisty was cute. Feisty was what men called a woman who was independent enough to speak out but not to physically resist. Feisty described a dependent, a victim…

She shook her head to dispel the thought before it could fully form and turned her attention back to the self-satisfied Primarch, eyes narrowing slightly. Bastard was trying to get a rise out of her, test her like a new recruit. This was not the morning to test her patience; she had already felt broken and exposed this morning, and that alone would have been more than enough to earn her ire, but bringing her personal life into it… After the events of the morning, bringing up Garrus felt like he was rubbing salt into the wound. She didn't like it.

"You're right, it's not," she stated, "Now, unless you're going to share your top secret mission with me, I have a crew to prepare for our trip to Tuchanka to cure the genophage." Summoning all the courage she could muster, she made as if to leave, shaping her expression into one of annoyance. As she turned her back to the turian general, a vice-like grip encircled her bicep and she had to suppress every fight or flight response in her, demanding that she bury her fist in his face and run. Get it together. It was one nightmare and one terrible, awkward morning. Stop acting like it all happened yesterday, she scolded herself, turning to face the turian holding her arm, eyebrow raised in a silent question.

"Please understand, Commander, this is very sensitive. As I mentioned, one of our ships has gone missing." Victus looked slightly uncomfortable as he released her and she crossed her arms, effectively closing herself off. It was the only thing she could put between them but it would have to be enough.

"Sounds simple enough."

"Well, 'missing' isn't the right word. It crashed, really. I didn't feel… comfortable saying so in front of your krogan friend since it went down on Tuchanka. Now the men are pinned by an advanced guard of Reaper forces scouting the planet."

Well damn. Shepard's brow furrowed slightly and she thought carefully over her next words. "Primarch Victus, we are on our way to carry out a very sensitive, very controversial mission on the homeworld of a species that is not a fan of your own, and for good reason." She paused and her gaze hardened. "You'd better have a damn good reason for putting this all in jeopardy by sending a secret platoon to Tuchanka while I'm trying to save Palaven."

"It's classified." The words were no sooner out of his mouth when he realized his mistake. Shepard's jaw tightened and she looked ready to kill him where he stood, Primarch or no. Those two words were a phrase that Shepard loathed more than most things in the galaxy, and the look on her face would have sent a lesser man cowering. "Regardless, it is vital that they complete their mission. It is a matter of galactic peace," Victus added quickly in an effort to avoid the tirade of vitriol that he could see building in the small human commander. Her ire abated only slightly, but her shoulders relaxed. Galactic peace… That always worked on her. Shepard muttered something the turian Primarch's translator didn't pick up, but the look on her face told him that it was not kind.

"I'll do what I can, but if your little stunt jeopardizes the treaty with the krogan, you can explain to Admirals Hackett and Anderson why Palaven is burning and Earth will not be receiving turian aid," she growled, stalking out of the war room before he could answer. She didn't like being lied to, she didn't like being deceived, and she definitely didn't like red tape. Scratch that, she hated red tape—loathed it, even—almost as much as Garrus. She shut her eyes, trying to stifle the headache that threatened to crop up at the thought of his name. Garrus… She'd have to deal with that can of worms eventually. Eventually… not now.

Victus watched her leave, mandibles slack. Well then… Maybe feisty wasn't the right word. Terrifying was probably a bit better. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the console he'd claimed as his workstation. Something besides the mission on Tuchanka was bothering her—she didn't need subharmonics to give that away—but it wasn't his job to pry. Vakarian however… Victus cued up his omnitool.

"Vakarian. Shepard looks ready to take on every Reaper, one on one, out of spite. Since she's your mate, I'm going to say that this is your problem," he said quickly, not even looking at the display, "Fix it." He cut the connection and went back to his station. Lover's quarrels were not something he felt like dealing with, but Shepard just so happened to be the one in charge of saving the galaxy; that meant that it affected everyone. And it was Vakarian's job to fix it. Victus let out a scoff, earning several glances from crew members around the room; he definitely didn't envy Garrus. That conversation would be anything but fun.

Garrus stared at his omnitool, though the message had long since ended, with a mix of confusion and frustration. How did Victus know? A quick shake of his head reoriented his thoughts back to the important part of the message. He didn't need someone else to tell him that Shepard was upset. Got that on my own when she started crying while we were fooling around in her shower, thanks. But he didn't know how to fix it, and that thought had clawed at him since Shepard had run from her cabin. His normal response would have been that she needed to blow off some steam but…Well, that hadn't gone as well as he would have anticipated. With a growl, he leaned over the worktable where his rifle lay, disassembled for upgrades and cleaning, and let his eyes slide closed. Why couldn't she just tell him what was bothering her? Didn't she want him to help?

Did she?

The way she dodged around his questions, refused to give him any sort of answer, and diverted his attention whenever he asked about that particular nightmare made him think that maybe she didn't. Did she not trust him? Everything they had been through… the war with Saren and the geth, working with Cerberus, the battle against the Collectors… Had that not been enough to prove how much she could trust him? He pushed back from the table and paced across the battery, mind churning. He knew how he felt about Shepard— he loved her, had for a long time—but no matter how often he felt that he told her, she didn't seem to realize that it wasn't merely physical; he wanted to be there for her in every aspect of her life. And yet she pushed him away whenever her hardened Commander-shell threatened to crack and fall away, like he was no more than another crewman. Like he wasn't the one sharing her bed, holding her every night when she trembled through her nightmares, comforting her when the stress became too much. So why in the name of the Spirits wouldn't she let him comfort her now?!

Garrus dragged his talons down his face with an exasperated sigh and went back to his console. Maybe calibrations would clear his head…


Shepard drummed her fingers against the back of Joker's chair, earning a less-that-pleased look from her pilot; she felt twitchy, her anxiety from the morning finally catching up to her, making her feel trapped with no way to redirect her agitation. She focused her attention on the stars flying past them, trying to suppress the irritation that was steadily building in her. But while her eyes were locked on the galaxy flying by, her mind was everywhere else. Joker cleared his throat, drawing her out of her thoughts and back to the cockpit.

"You know, Shepard, the Normandy won't fly any faster just because you glare hard enough," he quipped, trying to banish the look of murder from her face, but she didn't laugh. Was she mad that he had asked EDI to interrupt her… morning with Garrus? He hoped not, she had a habit of yelling when she was angry and the Commander yelling usually meant someone was going to regret being born. Of course, they usually deserved it, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried. From what EDI was overhearing, she had been like this all morning and he found that the old saying held true exceptionally well on the Normandy: if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

"Yeah… Yeah, you're right Joker." She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, drawing Joker's attention to the dark circles there. Well, he couldn't possibly make it worse…

"No offense Commander, but you look like shit. You feeling okay?"

Shepard laughed bitterly and he winced; the sound was sharp and mirthless, almost as if she'd never really been happy, and it scared him a little bit. She'd never sounded like that… not even after dealing with the Illusive Man, or even after Virmire.

"Fine. Never better," she replied tightly, turning to go, "Let me know when we're on approach to Tuchanka." She was gone before Joker could say any more and he sighed, mildly relieved to have dodged whatever punishment she seemed to be preparing to dish out on some unsuspecting fool. He'd hate to be that poor bastard…


James glanced toward the elevator as he finished reassembling his assault rifle, eyes finding the very attractive and very welcome form of Commander Shepard. The expression on her face, however, told him that she was not in the mood. Like that had ever stopped him before.

"Hey, Lola!" he called out, grinning when her body jerked and she glared at him. She kept saying she hated the nickname—that it sounded like a stripper, or an escort, or something—but never really made him stop. So he didn't. She started over and he shamelessly looked her up and down, noting that her eyes sparkled with promised wrath as he did it, but he couldn't bring himself to worry about it. He'd teased her that cutting her hair like that and wearing her officers fatigues made her look like a teenage boy and she'd snapped back good, that was what she wanted. But that didn't mean she wasn't cute.

"Vega, I need to punch something. You wanna dance?" she said as she drew closer, hands on her hips. Her hair was still damp, he could see, and her face bare of makeup; she never wore any, but he always noticed.

"Am I being volunteered for punching bag duty, now?" he teased, but she just grinned wolfishly.

"Yup." She was already moving into the center of the cargo bay, sliding off the shirt of her uniform before he registered her response and moved to join her. The muscles in her arms flexed under the skin exposed by her plain undershirt and Vega blatantly watched her loosen up.

"Alright, Lola, but I'm not going easy on you this time," he replied, mimicking her stretches.

She let out a bark of laughter. "You were going easy on me? If I remember correctly, you were the one who ended up on your ass, Lieutenant." She bounced on the balls of her feet and shook out her arms. "Now are you going to talk or are we going to get started?"

He fell into a ready stance, eyes locked on her as she gave her neck one last roll before sliding into her own. Her arms were hanging loose, finger half curled into fists but he'd learned the last time: she was more than ready to take him on.

"Careful what you wish for."

He surged forward, testing her guard before dropping back and she took a quick step to the side, bringing her arms up defensively. They stalked each other like prey, moving in a careful circle before she dove at him, throwing blow after blow that he blocked, moving steadily with her until she backpedalled away. Instead of staying where he was, he countered, following her retreat with blows of his own before breaking off and taking a long breath. They eyed each other again, but neither made a move to attack. Waiting. Shepard ran out of patience first, jumping toward him with a grunt and throwing a leg out to sweep his legs, but he caught her ankle, pinning it to the floor and threw out a kick toward her head. She dropped so the her shoulder blades touched the floor, watching his foot fly past her face and rolled, jerking her leg free and popping back to her feet a short distance away. Vega dashed some sweat from his brow and smirked. She was light and quick—agile and graceful, if he was being honest—and it made her hard to pin. But he was bigger and stronger. She took a few steps backward, panting lightly, but kept her arms up, shifting her weight between her feet.

"Tired, Lola?" he taunted, earning a scathing look.

"In your dreams, Vega," she retorted, but there was no strength behind it. She knew she looked like hell, looked like she hadn't slept in days—she really hadn't—but that didn't mean people needed to keep pointing it out. Why couldn't anyone just let her deal with things on her own anymore? She just wanted some peace. Everything pent up inside her was screaming to get out: all of the anger, frustration, fear, betrayal… She broke out of her thoughts as James dove toward her, faking left and then swinging right. She fell for the fake, dodging straight into a blow to her stomach. The air rushed from her lungs and she staggered, barely ducking another swing at her head. Dammit, he'd landed a hit on her while she was distracted. Her gut ached and she coughed, trying to catch her breath.

"You're getting soft, Lola. All that time up in your cabin with Scars is starting to show." He was joking, of course, but it only reminded Shepard of the morning's events and her expression visibly darkened. For Vega, it was a casual spar, but for Shepard, it was becoming a battle with the maelstrom of conflicting emotions inside of her and he just so happened to be very punchable. Vega grinned, bouncing on his toes just out of her reach and she huffed out a breath, blinking the spots from her eyes.

"Less talk, more action there Vega." She took a step forward and feinted toward his side, ducked down, and surged forward, intent on striking him head on. James managed to get a block between himself and Shepard, tangling his arm in hers and moving to sidestep her. Her balance faltered and she spun to move out of his reach, but he had a hold on her captive wrist, pressing it into her back. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she chanted in her head, trying to reach around with her other hand to break his hold on her; she felt the panic start to gather around her consciousness, threatening her clarity. She scrambled to find a pressure point—anything to release is grip—trying to collect what was left of her rational thought, but she was steadily losing control. She swore under her breath—there were too many muscles to get a grip on his tendons—and spread her feet, throwing her weight forward in an effort to break his hold, but Vega was a lot stronger than she. He countered her movement, using his weight to anchor them both, and wrestled for control of her shoulders. His arm curled around her neck in a lock and she tensed, struggling to keep her heart beat under control. Blood roared in her ears and she felt her chest tighten as she struggled, but her movements were severely limited. Don't panic, don't panic. It's just Vega. Just. Vega. But it wasn't working and the marine at her back was suddenly a faceless predator, laughing as he held her still, mocking her pitiful attempts to break free. She started to shake, blood draining from her face as a cold sweat broke out on her skin and the hair stood on the back of her neck, finally succumbing to adrenaline and instinct.

"You know, I think—"

She threw her head back, connecting hard with Vega's face and he let go of her with a yell, letting her scramble away.

"Shit! Fucking… Agh, dios mio…" James cradled his nose, blood seeping between his fingers, and bent forward slightly.

Shepard stood, trembling, on the other side of the cargo bay, eyes wide and ready to bolt as he continued to swear. James looked up at her and quirked a brow, still holding his broken nose. She didn't look like Commander Shepard anymore; she looked like a scared little girl. He straightened and drew his hand away from his face, blood painting his hand and face a grisly red and she took a step back. Her heart was pounding, drowning out all rational thought in her head as Vega took a few steps forward. His lips were moving, but she didn't hear the words, shaking her head and backing up, stumbling over the crates strewn around the cargo hold. She quickened her frantic retreat, trying desperately to put as much space between herself and the man she saw as her attacker.

Stay away from me. No. Stay back. Not again, you're not coming near me again.


"Garrus! Get down the cargo bay, now!"

Liara's shout jolted him out of his haze of technical modifications and drew his attention up toward the intercom. "What—"

"Now, Garrus!"

He didn't argue—something in the asari's voice told him that there wasn't time—and ran for the elevator, willing it to move faster as it descended the single floor to the fourth deck. Hundreds of scenarios ran through his head—none of which eased the worry bubbling in his chest—and he all but ripped the doors open when the elevator finally stopped moving, quickly trying to assess any threat.

Vega was bleeding, but the marine's eyes were locked on Shepard as he took careful steps toward her, but she was backing away from him with obvious fear. Garrus's first instinct was to rip the human's throat out, but Cortez put a restraining hand on his arm, earning a menacing growl. The man gave him a "don't even start" look and jerked his thumb at the scene unfolding.

"They were sparring and she just lost it. I didn't see what happened, but she looks pretty shaken up." The shuttle pilot cast a wary glance over his shoulder. "I asked Dr. T'Soni to get you down here to see what you can do for the Commander. She doesn't even seem to recognize him, but maybe if she knew you were here…?"

Garrus's growl turned to a trill of concern and he turned his attention to his lover as she backed away from their friend.

"Lola, it's me. Just take it easy... Lola!" Vega was getting desperate, but kept his arms raised in a non-threatening way. But Shepard didn't seem to acknowledge what he said, instead falling over a crate as she tried to move backwards. She scrambled back on the floor and Garrus took an instinctive step forward to go to her side.

"Stay away from me!" she cried, voice cracking as she tried to shield herself with one arm. Her words lacked the power and authority of her rank, sounding instead like a terrified plea as James moved as if to help her up. The Commander was gone, leaving a terrified woman in her wake.

"Vega!" Garrus's voice made the man freeze and he closed the distance between them, but cautiously left a few feet of space between himself and Shepard. Their gazes met and she stared back at him, fear making her eyes wide like she was scared he would hit her. He'd never seen her look so afraid and it broke his heart. Spirits, why won't you tell me what's going on? He tentatively knelt and held out a hand. "Kai, it's me. It's Garrus. Remember?" She blinked at him and a low keen built in his chest. "Please, Kai. We're your friends. No one is going to hurt you." He inched forward and, when she didn't retreat, took a long, steadying breath.

Shepard's gaze flicked between the two men trying to talk to her, fear thrumming in her veins and tried to look for an escape but found none. The human had already proven he was stronger by far, so she wouldn't be able to fight him off. The turian… Well, the fact that he was bigger than the human made that option even less likely. Her skull gave off a dull ache where she'd broken the man's nose on it, but she barely felt it, her body swimming in adrenaline. Maybe she could run past them—she was small and pretty quick—if she made it by, she could make a break for it and—

"Kai."

The sound of her name froze her thoughts and she found herself staring into the turian's eyes as he spoke to her. What he said was irrelevant, but the way he was looking at her… It sparked something in the back of her mind; he was gazing at her with such love and compassion and it made her wonder why he would look at her like that, why…

"Garrus," she finally whispered, understanding slowly beginning to return to her; she relaxed slightly, soothed by his gentle stance, and tentatively took his offered hand. His mandibles twitched into what she realized was a smile and he gave her hand a light squeeze.

Garrus felt relief flood over him and he scooted closer, gently touching her arm with his other hand. When she didn't bolt—she'd watched his hand almost fearfully, but she didn't run—he carefully lifted her to her feet and stood at a respectful distance. Whatever this was, whatever had happened, he didn't want to make it worse by alarming her with his close proximity. "Kai, why don't we go up to the medical bay? Doctor—"

"No, no doctors," she immediately took a step back, eyes wide and Garrus held up his hands. He could feel Vega's eyes burning into the back of his neck, but focused on the woman in front of him, the woman he loved. Each fearful glance felt like a knife driving deeper and deeper into his chest and he wanted nothing more than wrap her in his arms and make everything right.

"Alright, alright. No doctors. But how about we go talk to Karin?" he asked, trying another tactic. If she didn't recognize him—she didn't seem to—then maybe he could trick her into going to Dr. Chakwas. It was sneaky and he hated it, but even more than that, he hated the idea that she might hurt herself. Shepard eyed him warily but nodded, giving him a wide berth as she moved past him. In the elevator, she plastered herself to a corner, letting neither Garrus nor Vega out of her sight and Garrus deflated slightly at the look in her eye: like a caged animal. James remained silent, giving the Commander as much room as he could and exiting the elevator first when it stopped, finally piecing together that his presence was not helping. Careful to give her some space, Garrus lead her toward the medical bay, Dr. Chakwas waiting just inside with her worry written on her face. Something in the doctor's gaze made Garrus want to ask what she knew—it was clear she knew something he didn't—but the worry he saw etched into her face had him thinking better of it. Her eyes were moving rapidly over the Commander's form, taking in Shepard's posture and expression, and she didn't seem to like what she saw. Dr. Chakwas managed a small, sympathetic smile as she guided Shepard into the medical bay but said nothing. Garrus made as if to stop her—to demand answers—but before he could the doors slid closed, leaving him alone on the outside and a mournful keen escaped his chest.

How did this happen? What could possibly explain—

"Hey, Scars, what's wrong with Lola?" Vega's voice cut in to his thoughts and Garrus felt like a supernova had formed in his chest. He whirled on the human, growl tearing from his throat and pointed an accusing finger at his blood-stained face.

"You tell me, Vega, since she was with you when this happened!" His voice echoed in the Crew Deck as he shouted, but he didn't care. Shepard was in the med bay, didn't trust him, and he wanted to know why. What had caused the change in her? What could have set her off so quickly? In the back of his mind, he knew it was related to what had happened in her shower, but his body wanted someone to blame, and the marine in front of him was the best scapegoat he could find. "What did you do?!"

"Nothing!" James defended, "She came down to the cargo hold looking ready to kill someone and asked if I'd spar with her." He looked away from Garrus's seething form and rubbed the back of his neck. "Everything seemed normal, I thought. I'd almost pinned her and then she just lost it, head-butted my face and ran like she was scared of me. She could have just tapped out like normal, but…" When he looked back to Garrus, it was clear he was shaken up too—not as badly, but what had just transpired had clearly unnerved him—and the turian took a small step back in acquiescence. "I don't know what happened, I swear." He glanced over toward the viewing window into the med bay and Garrus's gaze followed his in time to see the privacy shade slide closed. "You think she'll be alright?"

Garrus desperately wanted to say yes, desperately wanted to laugh and say that nothing could stop Shepard, but the empty look in her eye, the fear and mistrust that defined her posture, stilled the reassurances on his tongue. He had no idea what could be wrong with Shepard, and it scared him. He liked problems he could shoot—they both did, he and Shepard—but this… This wasn't a problem that could be killed with bullets. In her cabin, she had shut down and pushed him away but now… She looked terrified and wary. What could he possibly do to fix this? What could anyone do to fix this?

"I don't know."


A warning, this will get worse before it gets better, but this is Garrus and Shepard we're talking about. They can't be anything but wonderful.