No sexuality in this chapter. Mature content of a different sort... big hugs to anybody that needs one.


There was no mistaking it: he'd come up with every reason he could think of to excuse her behavior, but as Garrus sat alone at the empty mess table he could no longer delude himself. Shepard was avoiding him, had been for a few days now. Of all people, she'd taken the damned drell with her on the latest sortie. She needed biotics, she'd said. It meant she didn't need him. Not that he didn't trust Thane, but knowing she was off on a mission without him was eating him alive. Garrus poked at his half-eaten supper, trying to decide whether to confront her with guns blazing or to take a more strategic approach. He shook his head in disbelief: her human ways were rubbing off on him. If she was angry with him, he could handle it. It was the silence that was killing him.


The mission was all too easy: the nest of Eclipse sisters was no match for the raw biotic power of Shepard, Jack and Thane. Shepard wished that for once the mercs would just surrender, lay down their weapons and let her carry out her business in peace. The asari were older than she'd ever be, but they were inevitably emboldened by a youthful sense of invincibility, oblivious to the futility of their attacks. She took no pleasure in slaughtering them: there was no challenge, no honor here. When Jack wanted to make one more sweep through the Eclipse base to look for loot, she didn't protest, just sat down on the nearest crate and grunted her assent. Shepard was tired, wearier than she had a right to be.

"Siha. Your mind is troubled." It wasn't a question.

"It's nothing."

The drell stood behind her and put one hand on her shoulder, the reassuring weight palpable through her armor. He said nothing: he simply waited. It didn't take an assassin's trained eye to see the commander's strain. Thane was worried: even aboard the Collector base she was the epitome of calm under pressure. He'd seen the gleam in Jack's eye, calculated how long her treasure hunt would take. Long enough, he hoped, for Shepard to share her burden.

"Thane… tell me about Kolyat."

"What is it you wish to know?"

"What was it like, becoming a father?"

He closed his inner lids, lost in the memory. "Irikah bleeds, she suffers, but she has never been stronger. At last my son is born: the urgency of his tiny cry pierces my soul. Wriggling in my arms, he looks at me with his mother's eyes: everything I know of love is but a shadow."

"You don't have any regrets, after the life you lived, after all you've been through?" Kolyat was still willing to speak with Thane, but the bitterness left by years of neglect wouldn't be so soon erased.

"I have many regrets, Siha. My son is not among them. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Just wondering how you're doing, that's all." She smiled up at him, giving the hand on her shoulder a friendly squeeze. Tenderness shone through in her gaze, and for a moment she reminded him of Irikah, smiling sweetly as she held their newborn child. And then her commander's mask took over, coolly confident, obscuring any trace of what lay beneath.

He wanted to ask her more, but Jack's prompt and boisterous return cut short the opportunity. Grinning from ear to ear, the biotic clutched a stack of datapads, scavenged assault rifles dangling from her forearms like jewelry.

"You don't have a care in the world, do you?" said Shepard.

"You mean I don't give a fuck," retorted Jack, giving an exaggerated curtsy as she doffed an imaginary pirate hat. "Let's get the hell out of here," she said, before launching into an off-key musical description of what she planned to do with her share of the credits. Even Thane blushed.


As if the last few days weren't bad enough, Shepard hadn't even come to him after the mission. She was supposed to return to her quarters, their quarters, and debrief him. She'd promised. Garrus paced, wondering whether the fish tank was made of glass or of modern materials. Whether it would shatter with a satisfying crunch into a thousand razor-edged shards, or break apart into twinkling Platonic solids if he hit it as hard as he could.

He thought back to the other night, to the discussion they'd been having before Shepard started acting so strangely. It couldn't possibly have been a fight. Fights were loud and raucous, teeth bared and tempers hot, tension rising to the surface so that all could be brought to light and promptly resolved. Heated arguments would ensue, steam blown off with a little combat, and in the end both parties came away with a better understanding of one another. And then they'd reinforce their bond, fast and furious if there was residual stress to burn, sweet and slow otherwise. The entire process could last for days. Garrus sighed. Whole days alone with Shepard were not a luxury he could afford.

But this… this human thing, he didn't know what to make of. It had started innocently enough, with the news that one of Shepard's old Alliance buddies was expecting a child. She'd always been tough as nails, as hardcore a soldier as Shep had ever known. They met in basic training long ago, catching heat from the drill sergeant for trying to outdo one another in hand-to-hand combat, distracting the other recruits from the training exercise. Hours of KP and a few good bruises later, they were friends for life. Not the motherly type, and the last person she'd ever expect to start a family.

"I guess people can change. Don't you think so?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." Curled up in bed, he'd been reviewing the latest tactical reports as Shepard read her mail. She put her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arm clumsily around his waist and knocking the datapad out of his hand in the process. He grunted, then thought the better of it and pulled her closer.

"Have you ever thought about having a family someday?" That was unexpected.

"You're, uh, you're levo. And a different species, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Right." Her voice was soft, disappointed. Garrus decided this wasn't the answer she wanted, and felt the immediate need to fix the situation through further explanation.

"I'm not even sure why you're asking. We've made suicide missions a part of our everyday life. You've already died, once. With the Reapers coming, there might not even be a civilization to bring children into."

"It was just a question, Garrus." And with that, she turned over and her silence began. Confused, he poked her gently in the shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about this some more?"

"No. I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep."

"Okay."

The next morning she rose out of bed, groomed herself, and went about her day just as she always did. But something was different, as though she wasn't his Shepard anymore, but a facsimile. Her smiles seemed hollow, her mind distracted while her body went through the motions of normal life. Only once did she let on she might be hiding something from him. In the shower, he'd reached down to caress her lovely waist, letting his fingertips glide across her belly. She looked up at him with eyes that radiated deep hurt, that wanted to weep but simply couldn't. She brushed his hand away and smiled apologetically. Garrus remembered her pained expression, and felt sick.


Shepard found Samara lost in meditation, and for a while she sat wordlessly next to her, trying to find meaning in the peaceful moment beneath the abyssal starscape. Surely the justicar would be able to comfort her, if indirectly. Three daughters, three Ardat-Yakshi, three deaths at the hands of the one who gave them life. Childbearing wasn't all love and happiness. Shepard was sorely in need of a balanced view.

"Samara, do you have a moment?"

"Of course, Shepard."

"Please… tell me if I'm being too intrusive. I wanted to know how you were feeling, about Morinth."

"The circle is complete. I have atoned for my mistakes. It was a task carried out with a heavy heart, and the end of a long journey." Samara turned to face the commander with a knowing look. "That is not why you're here."

Shepard opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat. Quietly, she spoke. "I'm trying to talk myself out of wanting a family."

The justicar's eyes crinkled, a guttural sound escaping her lips in a distinctly grandmotherly laugh. "You speak as though it is a decision to be made. It is simple, Shepard: you have children, or you do not. It is out of your hands."

"I'm not a doctor, Samara, but I'm pretty sure that's not how it works."

"If I could have spared the galaxy the havoc wreaked by my daughters, I would not have hesitated to do so. When I was younger, I tried to imagine a world in which I did not love my partner, or resisted the need to bond with her to create new life. It was unthinkable. My daughters' existence was at the behest of the Goddess. I would be foolish to believe otherwise."

"I see," said Shepard, but she didn't understand at all. Of all people, she was surprised that Samara espoused the philosophy of theological determinism, of fate's inevitability. Her choices mattered: they had to matter. The justicar's logic seemed to her like a convenient way to escape the painful truth.

"Garrus loves you. You love him. Accept this, and embrace the path the Goddess has chosen for you."

"Thanks, Samara. I'll try."


She really should go talk to Garrus. Shepard knew he'd be worried, knew that he was waiting anxiously for her report, but as her finger hovered over the elevator's control panel she just couldn't bring herself to key in the command for her quarters. Mashing her fist against the console, she felt momentarily claustrophobic until the elevator door reopened. Moving hurriedly through the ship, she was unaware of her destination until she reached it. The main battery was empty: Garrus came here only to work, now. Yet the space was infused with his presence, the faintest scent of turian musk, the talon marks on the workstation designed for human hands, the memories of long hours spent together. She needed to be with him. She needed to be away from him. This would do.

Sliding her hand underneath her tunic, Shepard felt the hard ripples of her abdominal muscles. No softness here, no femininity. Long ago, she'd awoken after dreaming of a belly swollen with child, delightfully round and heavy as she walked through a crowded marketplace, strangers' faces lighting up as she passed. It felt wonderful. She'd spent the whole day secretly smiling to herself with the thought that someday it would be more than a dream.

Shepard locked the door behind her and sank to the ground. Tucking her knees into her chest, she turned off all thoughts but for the one she'd been trying helplessly to ignore. It wasn't as though she wanted a child now: her life was far too complicated and too dangerous. But in the back of her mind, she realized, she'd always hoped there would be an end to this phase of her life. An ever after, devoid of enemies and suffering and battle. A time of peace, of family. But this was not her path.

She let it all sink in, gave herself permission to embrace her sorrow. Shepard mourned the loss of the children she'd never have, of the quiet peaceful life she'd always dreamt awaited her. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she let go of the woman she could never be, and began to accept the woman she was.

Eyes red and vision blurry, lungs raw from ragged breaths, Shepard felt empty. A Pyrrhic victory perhaps, but she'd found some measure of peace. Catharsis complete, her thoughts turned to her beloved. She knew he didn't mean to hurt her, and that every word he said was true, but that only made the sting all the more painful. It was just Garrus being practical, oblivious to the tempest of emotions and implications that lay beneath the surface of their innocent discussion. Typical turian. He probably had no idea what he'd said. And it hit her: he had no idea why she was so upset. Hell, he might not even realize she was upset. She picked herself up, dried her eyes, and rushed up to her quarters.


Garrus sat at her desk, holding a holo they'd taken on their last shore leave. Shepard wasn't sure what to expect: on her way up, Kelly had stopped her in the mess hall with worrisome news. Apparently Garrus had singlehandedly torn apart every sparring mech in the cargo hold while she was planetside. She approached cautiously: his shoulders were slumped, his clothing wrinkled. He looked up at her with deadened eyes.

"I know what you're going to say, Shepard. Why you've been avoiding me. I think I finally understand."

"Garrus?" Something was horribly wrong.

"You're breaking our bond. Because I can't give you children."

"What? No!" She flew to his side, taking his hands in hers and pressing her lips to his palms. Garrus looked shocked, confused, overwhelmed… but she saw a glint of hope and relief.

"Then why, Shepard?" He stared at her accusingly, softening his expression as he took in the redness of her eyes, the subtle traces left on her cheeks. "I never knew you wanted a family."

"I do. But with you, only with you. And I realize that's something I can never have. It's okay."

He pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her so tightly she could barely manage to squeeze him back. "There are other ways of having a family, my love. Millions of orphans who need a home. But not right now, not with Reapers on the horizon."

"No… I never meant that." She smiled weakly. "Besides, we have our hands full with our bouncing baby krogan."

Pressing his forehead to hers, Garrus purred, and Shepard knew all was right in the world once again.

"I'm sorry I overreacted. I know you didn't mean to hurt me with what you said. I just felt like… like you didn't even want to think about the possibility. Like I wasn't good enough to have your babies because I'm not turian."

And he began to shake, first his shoulders, then his arms, and soon his whole body was trembling with unstoppable force as he extended his throat to release a deep belly laugh. "You really have no idea, do you?"

She stared at him, perplexed.

"Turian sex is one thing. Turian mating is quite another. Just because my brain knows it's impossible to impregnate you doesn't mean my body is any wiser." Shepard's mouth fell open in a delicate 'o'. "I've been trying to sire a child with you ever since we first made love."

If she had asked herself, before that night, whether it was possible to love him more than she already did, the answer would have been a resounding no. But life was a neverending string of surprises and impossibilities, and love no less so. Wordlessly, she led him over to their bed, their sanctuary, desperately needing the touch of his skin on hers, the reaffirmation of their bond. There was so much more to discuss, so much about him she had yet to understand. She decided to start with an apology, and all else would follow in time. And she knew without question now, that if somehow they managed to survive the battles ahead, that they would find a way to be together as a family. Eventually, Shepard and Garrus would come to realize they already were.