"Is the Commander still down there?" Jacob asked, his footsteps on the gangway and loud voice breaking the heavy, expectant silence of the cockpit, "How long's it been?"

"Two hours and thirty seven minutes." Garrus and Joker answered in unison, neither of them particularly surprised to learn the other had also been clock watching.

"Damn." Jacob whistled,

"Not that we're counting or anything." Joker muttered with his usual brand of sarcasm, though his follow-up laugh sounded flat to Garrus' ear.

Two hours and thirty seven minutes since EDI had confirmed Shepard's shuttle had landed on the planets surface.

Two hours and thirty seven minutes of Garrus trying very hard not to think about what had happened the last time the Normandy been over Alchera. He'd failed. Miserably.

"Nothing on the comm?" Jacob frowned,

"Not a word." Joker shook his head, "No music. Nothing."

"Alchera doesn't have a breathable atmosphere, right?" Jacob asked, completely oblivious to Joker's and Garrus' collective wince. Way to read the room, Jacob. Garrus thought, "So she'll be wearing her helmet, just check the cam." Jacob continued, reaching toward the monitor.

Garrus had switched that monitor off as soon as he'd arrived on the bridge. Joker hadn't commented, just nodded at him from under the bridge of his cap. The pilot's shoulders had lowered a fraction, just a fraction, from where they'd been bunched up around his ears. Garrus wasn't as accustomed to reading Joker as he was Shepard, wasn't as familiar with the various head tilts, raising of the eyebrows and shifting of the shoulders, but it didn't take an expert in human body language to see the pain and guilt Joker was trying to hide behind his usual snarky comments. Hiding behind humour, however, that was something Garrus was accustomed to; he, Joker and Shepard all had that in common.

Garrus wouldn't have blamed Joker in the least if he'd let EDI take the helm while they were still sat in orbit, if he'd escaped to a room without windows until Alchera was nothing more than another blip on the galaxy map. Hell, even some small, shameful part of Garrus had been sorely tempted to hit the button that would close the shutters and block the view. But Joker had remained where he was. He'd sat in that chair and stared at that icy world – that crypt, Garrus thought with a shudder - for two hours and thirty seven minutes. For every single one of those one hundred and fifty seven minutes. Eight thousand five hundred and thirty two seconds.

Garrus respected the hell out of him for it.

"Leave it." Garrus snapped before Jacob's hand was even halfway to the switch, "If she needs us, she'll open a comm line."

"But -"

Garrus turned his head slightly to look Jacob in the eye. Garrus might be no expert on human body language, but Jacob was light years behind Shepard in deciphering turian sub-harmonics. The bitter edge to his voice was like broken glass, in the peripheries of his vision he saw Joker sit a little straighter in his chair,

"Let her mourn in peace." He finished, tapering down the edge a little for Joker's sake. Jacob swallowed, for a moment Garrus thought he was going to argue with him further, after a tense few seconds the man's eyes skipped away from Garrus' and he nodded then stepped up to the other side of the pilot's chair and joined them in looking out over Alchera.

"Damn, this sucks." Joker muttered to no one in particular.

Garrus agreed wholeheartedly.

He completely understood why Shepard had wanted to visit the planet alone, didn't like it, of course, but understood.

She'd probably have wanted to visit the SR-1's wreckage even if Hackett hadn't asked her to go, but that didn't change the fact that Hackett had asked.

Garrus wasn't Hacketts biggest fan, hadn't been for quite some time. The amount of pressure he put on Shepard coupled with the lack of support pretty much made it impossible.

More than two years later and he hadn't forgotten the military funeral they'd held for her at The Citadel. Hadn't forgotten the white roses that he knew she'd have hated. Such a small thing really, he knew it was a small thing, but it galled him nonetheless. It just showed how little they'd actually known her. The real her, not just what you read in her
(admittedly impressive) military file.

He hadn't forgotten how quickly the Council and Alliance had covered up the Reaper threat; burying it under stories about the geth. It hadn't taken long before Anderson was the only voice on the Council still talking about Sovereign. He'd wondered, more than a few times over the years, if The Normandy was only over Alchera in the first place because they'd wanted her out of the way while they white-washed everything she'd told them.

Garrus also hadn't forgotten the missions Hackett had sent them on during his time on the SR-1. There had been far too many times the admiral had sent them several systems in the opposite direction to clear mercs from a certain site, or rescue hostages, or stop rogue A.I's. One could fairly assume that Shepard was the only marine under his command. Garrus could almost hear him;

"I know you're trying to stop the invasion of a Reaper; a being who's sole purpose is to wipe out galactic life as we know it, but would you mind crossing a few light years to take care of some pirates?"

It still made him grind his teeth until his jaw ached. It was doubly frustrating because he knew Shepard would do it, whatever the "it" happened to be. Every single time, never a complaint, not so much as a batted eyelid. It was only his respect for her that had allowed him to hold his tongue. Even his strict military upbringing was tested when it came to the subject of Steven Hackett and his never-ending list of things only Shepard could fix.

But this? This was a step too far.

To ask (or more likely order) her to re-visit the planet she'd died on to retrieve the dog-tags of people she'd died to try and save? That was more than a step too far, it was a damn marathon.

"Shepard's shuttle has left the planet's surface." EDI said, dragging Garrus out of his silent tirade,

"About damn time." Joker muttered on a long exhale, sounding about as relieved as Garrus felt. Still, Garrus remained where he was. With very few exceptions, Shepard hit the CIC first after a mission: the constant call of her message terminal drew her there like a damn beacon. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on his work until he'd seen she was alright for himself.

Shepard was still in her hard-suit when she arrived on the bridge. Skin a little paler - eyes a lot more haunted - than when she'd left. The bio-feedback on his visor scrolled her vitals; heightened heart rate, heightened blood pressure, low body temperature.

A bunch of dog-tags dangled from one clenched fist, jangling together with every step she made toward them. Garrus felt a swooping sensation in his stomach at the sight of them, akin to missing a step when walking downstairs. A low note escaped his chest before he could stop it. Shepard heard, her chin jerking up, and the dog-tags vanished discreetly behind one leg.

"Am I interrupting a meeting?" She asked, looking around at the three of them with one copper eyebrow cocked in a rather impressive attempt at her usual tone. Garrus knew her well enough not to be fooled, even if he didn't have his visor to call her tone a lie.

"No, Commander. I'll – I'll get back to work." Jacob snapped to attention and saluted before heading back through the CIC to the armoury. The fact that Jacob hadn't received his cursory eye roll in response to his salute said almost as much about her state of mind as his visor did. Garrus wasn't planning on going anywhere, he crossed his arms and leant into one hip,

"Joker, plot a course for The Citadel. I've got a drop off to make for the Alliance."

"Aye, aye Commander." The pilots fingers flew over the controls, charting their course. Shepard, Garrus noticed, hadn't met his eyes yet. She was looking anywhere else except directly at him; over his shoulder, at his chest, anywhere but his face.

"I'll be taking requisition requests, get your lists to me an hour before we arrive and I'll see what I can do."

"Will do, I'll see that Kelly gets the word around."

"Thanks." She turned to leave before Joker cleared his throat,

"You OK, Shepard?" He asked quietly,

She pretended not to hear him, they pretended to fall for it,

"I'll be down in the hanger if anyone needs me."

Joker had been on the comm moments after Shepard had left the cockpit and advised the crew to give the hanger a wide berth. Live weapons testing was the excuse he'd given them.

Garrus had given her thirty minutes to work through the worst of it before following her down. As he'd expected, she was beating the crap out of a punching bag. He hung back by the elevator doors for a moment, watching her work. It was odd; human, turian, asari, salarian, it didn't seem to matter, workout gear was universal. Tight pants and a sleeveless t-shirt seemed to be the unspoken, universally agreed upon rule. He and Shepard were, apparently, no exception.

Garrus could remember perfectly the first time he'd seen a human; he'd been on a trip to The Citadel to visit his father. He'd only been five or six at the time, Solana had just started to learn how to walk. She hadn't understood the awe he felt when he saw it all, at her age everything was new and exciting. He, on the other hand, had been counting down the days to this trip for months. When they'd arrived he hadn't been prepared for just how huge and intimidating the place really was. And the aliens? There were aliens everywhere; graceful asari, hulking krogan, and the humans. He recalled thinking how weak the humans looked, no natural plating, small feet and even smaller hands. How skinny their wrists were and how fragile looking their skin. Now, watching Shepard beat the stuffing out of their one, and only, punching bag, her muscles working under that thin skin, he wondered how he could ever have been so mistaken.

The only sound in the hanger was the steady beat of her knuckles on the bag, it sounded strangely lonely when not accompanied by music. There had been a running joke on the SR-1: when Shepard worked out, people three systems over knew about it. She liked her music loud, so loud that you could feel the bass rumble the deck beneath your feet. That music, according to Joker, was something called "classic rock." Popular opinion ruled that it was terrible, and Garrus had been inclined to agree. She'd played it in the mako once, and only once; funnily enough something had happened to the music player and it was offline every time it was Shepard's turn to choose the music. One of the others had bought his first round after that particular incident. Coincidence, he'd told Shepard at the time, trying not to grin at her rolled eyes and playful elbow in the ribs.

As he watched she brought her foot up and span, her entire leg flared violet with biotics, she yelled out loud when her foot connected with the bag and the fabric split, sand spilled out onto a small pile on the hanger floor.

He scoffed a sudden bark of laughter, "You need stronger punching bags."

"Jesus, Garrus!" She jumped, biotics flashed in her fists for the space of a heartbeat before vanishing as though they'd never been there to start with, "Lurking in shadows now?"

"You OK?" He asked with a slight frown. It wasn't like Shepard to let someone get the drop on her, it was even less like her to let the surprise show. The spike in her heart-rate flashed a warning on his visor,

"Are you and Joker in cahoots? One of you always seem to be asking me that."

"We have a system."

"I'd gathered."

"And you didn't answer the question."

She waved a flippant hand at him, "I'm fine."

"Uh huh. You'd be a lot more convincing if you hadn't just destroyed our only punching bag."

"Put it on your requisition list." She said dryly, her accompanying grin was forced and certainly for the sole purpose of putting his mind at ease, he wasn't buying it.

"Maybe you'd have more luck with a punching bag that hits back?" He stepped into the hanger properly, pulling his sparring gloves from his pocket and tugging them on. Aside from the obvious fact that they were made for three fingers instead of five, they were the same design as Shepard's, another universally agreed upon rule; slight padding on the knuckles with fabric that ended at the middle knuckle.

Shepard took a step backwards and shook her head, "That's not a good idea. I'm not in a very controlled place right now."

"You assume you can take me? That's almost cute."

The chuckle he got in response was tired, but a chuckle nonetheless, he was calling that one a win.

He and Shepard had sparred often on the old ship, usually in the hanger bay once everyone else was asleep. Even back then Shepard hadn't slept much, and from what Garrus had been able to glean, she was sleeping even less now. He wasn't sure if it was due to the Cerberus implants or something else entirely.

It had been strange at first, when he'd discovered that the Alliance soldiers didn't spar, it was expected on a turian ship, encouraged even. It was a great way to work out tension between team-mates before a mission. Maybe if Ashley had taken him up on the offer of sorting out their differences in the ring, there might have been less awkwardness between them, but she never had. Occasionally Wrex would come to watch, usually just throwing friendly jibes or advice from the sidelines. Garrus was also fairly sure that Joker had made a small fortune circling the vid footage throughout the ship, carefully hidden from Shepard of course.

Sparring with a human had been even stranger. They just seemed so damn unprotected with their squishy skin. The first time they'd fought, Garrus had been determined to go easy on her, until she'd almost taken his head clean off his shoulders with a snappy little upper-cut. She'd raised an eyebrow at him, a lopsided smile pulling at her mouth. That smile held too much of a knowing edge to it, her brow too wry to be misunderstood; she'd known he was holding back. He'd learned his lesson quickly: anyone that underestimated Commander Shepard was likely to end up minus one head.

That was fine, he wasn't planning to win this bout either, he didn't need to. All he had to do was wear her down enough to become too tired to maintain the "I'm fine" rhetoric and actually talk to him. To let out whatever was drowning her behind the smirks and smart-ass remarks.

"We both know I'm just as stubborn as you are," He said when she continued to hesitate, "And you do owe me for wrecking the punching bag. Unless you don't think you're up to the challenge?"

"Reverse psychology?" She leant into one hip and crossed her arms over her chest, "Please, I invented that."

"Hey, if you're too tired, that's fine." He spread his arms wide, letting a little of his swagger drop into his steps as he continued to walk toward her, "Maybe Gardener will make you some of that vile smelling chamomile tea, or you could get Joker to read you a story over the comm. His stories aren't as good as mine, but still..."

"Alright big guy, you want your ass beaten this badly, then I guess I can oblige."

Out of habit Shepard's hand went to her chest, searching for her dog tags. It was an old ritual they'd started the first time they'd sparred; no ranks in the ring. Not that Shepard had ever had to pull rank on him outside the ring either. On a mission was one thing; there, she was a professional – creative, albeit occasionally suicidal, plans aside – and he knew his place as her second. He respected the chain of command without question or comment, because (and he would never tell her this, he'd throw himself out of the airlock first), the woman was always right. On the ship was a different matter, ship Shepard was more relaxed on formalities. She'd pull people up if she had to, but generally speaking she simply didn't need to. Shepard was an easy person to respect, and an even easier one to like. She was one of those rare leaders that didn't need to bark orders for her people to do their jobs; she'd proven herself to them, then knew who, and what, she was. They did their jobs because to disappoint her was unacceptable.

Her hand patted her chest a few more times before she remembered she had no dog tags to remove. Garrus spotted the beginning of a wince before she changed the expression to a frown to try and hide it. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet a little, and suddenly feeling slightly awkward at the sudden flash of pain he'd seen in that wince. His mandibles fluttered a little and he opened his mouth to say something when Shepard beat him to it,

"Ready?" She asked hurriedly, with a cocked eyebrow as she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet,

"Show me what you've got."

He expected her to circle him, to test him like she used to. But not this time. She lunged at him so fast she was almost a blur. Before he could react she was under his defences, delivering three quick hits to his chest then she was away again, darting under his arm and back out of reach.

"You're getting slow in your old age, Vakarian." She grinned, though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

He'd forgotten just how quick and nimble she was, her feet seemed to barely touch the floor.

He'd seen Shepard dance when they'd celebrated the defeat of Sovereign, but Shepard dancing and Shepard fighting were two very different things. Getting her feet to move in time to music was a seemingly impossible task, but no dancer could equal her grace when she fought. Every movement flowed into the next so you couldn't tell where one attack ended and the next began; a miniature cyclone of destruction.

Garrus, on the other hand, was the steady silent reflection to her chaos. He was a sniper, he knew how to bide his time, to wait for the perfect head-shot, and hit with brutal, deadly, accuracy. She was the storm, but he was the lightning; striking hard and fast. Utterly unpredictable. She might be able to drown him in a barrage of attacks, but each hit she took in return was devastating.

She feigned to his left before switching her balance to her right foot, trying to come in low under his guard. Garrus traded the peppering of punches to his ribs for one good, clean hit to her shoulder. She flung herself away from him, twisting as she went, but he still managed to graze her with a follow up. No turian could compete with her agility and flexibility, but his reach was a hell of a lot longer.

It only took a few minutes for Garrus to realise exactly why she hadn't wanted to spar with him, to realise just how close to the edge she was. She was still in control, still holding herself in check, but it was hanging by a thread thinner than Garrus had ever seen.

She threw a snappy little jab towards his head, but he managed to side-step out of the way and tried to catch her arm in a lock. She flowed out of it like water, slipping out of his grip and around his back. He turned the opposite way, the way she wasn't expecting, and caught her with a winding punch the ribs.

As time passed her bright green eyes began to narrow, and her jaw started to clench. The jokes and banter fell away until the only sounds were their feet on the deck and the sounds of punches connecting. She wasn't sparring any longer, she was fighting. Garrus was getting a brief insight into what their enemies saw on the battlefield; she was serious and calculating, memorising his attack patterns and countering them almost faster than he could think them up. This was Shepard the hunter, Shepard the warrior.

He pushed her for nearly an hour before she started to tire. Her attacks slowed, her steps not quite as precise as they had been. He wasn't faring any better, his arms had been feeling heavy for a while and he was aching in a few spots where Shepard had caught him harder than she'd intended. He could tell by the way she moved that he'd given as good as he'd gotten, neither of them could keep it up for much longer. He decided to push his luck,

"You did everything you could, Shepard." He said gently. He hadn't been there when the Normandy went down but he knew it to be true, she couldn't have done any less than everything,

She scowled at him over her clenched fists, "I know. And it still wasn't good enough." Her voice was no less bitter for it's breathlessness. She quick-stepped in and turned, her back foot lifting as she did and the sole of her foot was suddenly inches from his face, he leant back and let it sail harmlessly past him, moving back in before she could regain her balance, "Twenty people we lost. Good people, my people."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Fault? No. Responsibility? Yes." He lunged at her, she twisted back away from him in a way that he couldn't have imitated if he tried, almost doubling over backwards, her fingers brushing the floor of the hanger, "I have a responsibility to the people under my command. They need to be able to trust my judgement."

Garrus blinked, "And you don't think they do?"

"Hell, I'm not sure if they can." Each word was punctuated with movement, she seemed to barely be aware she was talking at all, she was too focused on avoiding Garrus' attacks while making her own,"Half the people I have left in the galaxy that I care about are on this damn ship; you, Joker, Chakwas, Zaeed. And now we've got Kasumi, Jack, Mordin, shit, even Miranda and Jacob are starting to grow on me. And it's a fucking suicide mission, and I don't know -"

She cut herself off abruptly, brows furrowing down into a frown. Irritation, at herself rather than him, flashed across her face,

"What?"

She shook her head, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, "It's nothing. Forget it."

She threw a hay-maker that had no chance of connecting, Garrus caught her wrist easily and held it, lifting it out of the way so he could see her face,

"You don't know what?" He pressed,

"I said forget it." She snapped, instead of trying to twist out of his hold, she turned into it, catching him under the ribs with her elbow and yanking her wrist out of his hand. Before she could spring away Garrus dropped, sweeping her legs out from under her. He caught her upper arm, breaking her fall and turning her at the same time so she landed on her back. He followed her down, using his superior weight and strength to firmly, but carefully, pin her to the hanger floor,

"What don't you know?" He panted, blowing loose strands of red hair from her face. He was suddenly very grateful for their little no-ranks-in-the-ring rule, anywhere else and he'd be dangerously close to insubordination for pushing her this hard for an answer, regardless of how relaxed Shepard was on formalities.

Her eyes, just a few inches from his, snapped fire at him. His hands held her wrists high over her head, he could feel her fingers flexing, clenching impotently into fists and releasing again. He'd incapacitated her hands, but he'd forgotten about those ridiculously flexible human legs. She wrapped them around his waist and with a twist she flipped their positions. Before Garrus could blink he was looking up at her. For a few moments - that would drag out into hours in his memory - they just stared at each other, the only sound was their panting breaths, impossibly loud in the otherwise silent hanger. Garrus didn't think he could retaliated even if he tried; he might have had the weight and height advantage, but her gaze was pinning him as surely as his strength had pinned her. Garrus tried to count the emotions that flashed in those green eyes; he saw anger, a sprinkling of fear and something else, an unrecognisable something that he couldn't name, something stronger than the other two emotions combined. Something tempestuous and heated. Then she blinked and it was gone, and she was climbing off him and wordlessly offering a hand to help him up. As soon as he was on his feet she tried to turn away, but Garrus kept hold of her hand,

He tugged on her hand until she faced him, "Shepard -" He pleaded gently.

That odd combination of anger and fear flashed across her face again, until she met his eyes then the fight seemed to fall out of her all at once.

Her forehead fell forward to rest against his chest, her small hands fisted tight on either side of her head. Garrus propped his chin on top of her hair, his arms coming up to wrap around her back. The angry, red scars that had very recently split the skin had almost vanished entirely. Only a few of the deeper ones remained, and they'd been reduced to nothing more than cracks, the red glow barely visible underneath.

"Did I ever tell you that I had a tattoo?" She asked after a few long moments, her voice was quiet, small.

"Really? You?"

"Hmm. Thirty five of us went into N-school, only three of us finished. The day after training we went together and got the N tattooed, the idea was to get the 7 when we finally got the N7 designation. Cheesy as hell, but it was a souvenir, a rite of passage. I didn't have many of those growing up. And a reminder; the mission wasn't over yet, we still had to get that 7 at the end." She moved one of his hands to her ribs. "It was right here."

Garrus found himself rubbing his thumb in small circles, feeling the rise and fall of her breath under his hand. It took a few seconds of her choice of words to register,

"Was?" He asked, a sharp trill to his sub-harmonics,

"It's not there any more." She lifted her head from his chest to look up to him, "It's gone."

"Gone?" He shook his head, "I don't -"

She stepped out of his arms, reached down into the shadows next to the shuttle and put something in his hands. He turned it over, a blackened, twisted, unrecognisable mess . He brushed some soot away to reveal clear plastic, cracks like spiderwebs covered the entire thing, tiny splinters came away with his fingers. A visor.

Realisation hit him like a punch to the gut, and felt about the same. It hit a lot harder than any punch he'd taken during their fight, and hurt a hell of a lot more. It forced the air from his lungs and twisted his stomach; he was holding her old helmet. He heard a low keening sound, it took a few thick beats of his heart for Garrus to realise it was coming from him,

"I remember -" Her voice was barely over a whisper, and when Garrus glanced up she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at the charred mess in his hands. He wasn't entirely sure if she was talking more to herself than to him, he also wasn't entirely sure if it mattered either way, "I remember it, every single second."

A chill worked it's way down his spine, settling in the small of his back. He hadn't known – hadn't even thought to ask – if she remembered. Maybe he hadn't wanted to know. Maybe he'd been a little too eager to forget. To only think about the two states - she had been gone, now she was back - and not think about the passage, the transition, from one to the other, the actual dying part of being dead. Gone was the word he'd used in his head since her return, not dead, never dead. Dead had too much finality to it. Maybe he'd been a little too focused on being angry; at Hackett, the Council, Sidonis, every merc in the terminus system. Hell, at himself.

"Shepard..."

She shook her head and looked up from her old helmet to meet his eyes, he imagined he could see Alchera reflected in the bright green before they flitted quickly away. Her hands moving to rub self-consciously at her arms, her lips twisting into a smile that was half a sneer. Her muscles in the line of her shoulders and neck were bunched as though she were ready to flee at any moment. In contrast, Garrus didn't think he could move if his life had depended on it. His feet were as pinned to the deck by her words as his body had been by her eyes just a few minutes ago.

"People aren't supposed to know what it's like to die, Garrus." Her brows were pulled down as she addressed the wall, refusing to look at him, "People don't survive getting spaced. They don't come back from the dead. What if – what if I didn't, what if I'm not –" She shook her head again, helplessness – and, spirits, it hurt to even think the words Shepard and helpless in the same sentence – flattened her features, "If I was a clone or a V.I, would I even know?"

Garrus sucked in a breath, his mandibles flared briefly before pulling in tight to his cheeks. This was what was hiding behind the jokes? The easy quips about the shit-ton of credits she'd cost Cerberus? About scars that were hideous even by krogan standards? Her words, of course, her jokes, not his. With just the right level of self-deprecating humour to hide...this? To hide would I even know?

His twisted stomach turned into a solid, heavy mass.

In that moment any anger he'd felt toward Hackett was dwarfed by his sudden, visceral, hatred for the The Illusive Man. If he'd been stood in front of them, Garrus was certain he'd tear him limb from limb before he had time to utter a single syllable of complaint.

To let her think, even for a second that she was -

His hands itched to do something, anything.

They were hunters. Warriors. What does a warrior do when they fear the enemy is themselves?

Garrus glanced back down at the broken helmet that still sat harmlessly in his hands, the physical embodiment of would I even know? He launched it as hard as he could at the far corner of the hanger, the echo of metal on metal rang in the sudden silence.

"You're you." He said firmly, with all the surety he could muster. Garrus had questioned everything that had happened in the last two and a bit years, hell, he'd questioned most things before then too. But this? This he didn't need to question. About this one thing he was sure. "You're Shepard."

"I don't know what I am."

"What's Tali's favourite drink?" He asked suddenly. She blinked, her surprise shifting her gaze back to him again, but she answered without hesitation, seemingly without having to think about it,

"Triple filtered turian brandy."

"Benezia's nickname for Liara?"

"Little Wing."

"What did Ashley call the hanar preacher we met on the Citadel?"

"A big, stupid, jellyfish." That last answer was accompanied by an, albeit tiny and sad, twitch of her lips,

"If Cerberus had – if they'd done what you think they've done, you wouldn't know us, not like you do. None of that is in a dossier, they can't find it in a file somewhere and, I don't know, programme it into you. You know because you're you."

"Then why don't I -" She shrugged, her fingers twisted around themselves until Garrus was tempted to take her hands just to keep them still, "I don't feel like me."

"Shepard, you spent two years dead, half your body has either been grown, grafted or cybernetically enhanced. You're on a ship built by a known enemy going against odds that no broker in the galaxy would give you even half-way decent odds on. Of course you have doubts. And that's OK. I'd be more concerned if you didn't have doubts, that makes you human."

"But -"

"There are no buts here, Shepard." Her eyes tried to skip away from his again so he caught her face between his palms, nudging gently until she looked at him again. His sparring gloves only came to the middle knuckle, leaving most of his fingers and thumbs exposed. He'd never touched her with bare skin before, he realised. He'd always expected human skin to feel squishy, spongy even, but it wasn't. Her skin was soft; silky and warm under the leathery pads of his fingers. He could feel the sharp, delicate line of her jaw laying just beneath. Just for a second, Garrus regretted the fact that he was wearing gloves at all, "You're you. You're real. A little crazy maybe, but real. Hell, so maybe you wouldn't know if you were a –" He swallowed, his throat didn't want to form the words, he forced it to, "A clone or a V.I, but I'd know."

"How?"

"Because I know you, they can't recreate or fake that, it just is. When you turned up on Omega – you remember the concussive round I hit you with? It wasn't to stop the mercs from getting suspicious or to hurry you up, it was because I thought you were a hallucination. I questioned everything, right down to my own sanity, but never that you were you. I knew. It was impossible, but that didn't matter. I just knew."

She didn't say a word, didn't object or try to argue. She just watched him, green eyes that never missed anything searched his. He held eye contact, let her look. Allowed her check for doubt, for lies - well meaning, but lies nonetheless – for platitudes (spirits, how they both hated platitudes) where he knew none existed.

She blinked and a tear escaped her lower lases, he brushed it away carefully with a thumb and, with an odd twinge of regret that he refused to acknowledge, released the gentle hold he had on her face and took a small step back to give her a little space.

"I need to ask you to do something." She cleared her throat and pushed some loose hair from her face. When she looked back up at him he could see some of the unwavering confidence he was so used to seeing peak through, "TIM's going to send us through the Omega 4 relay, he hasn't said it yet, but that's what I would do if I was him. If I was a betting woman, and I am, then I'd bet he's pouring all his resources into finding us a way through."

"Agreed." Garrus nodded, she was right, it's what he would do too, but he didn't see where she was going with this,

"You remember what I said when you first arrived after Omega? That I think there's something more in this for TIM than just helping the colonists? If I'm right, then it's something on the other side of that relay, and it's something very dangerous." Garrus nodded again, "If we get through and I'm...off. If I do something that's Cerberus, that's not me, then I need you take take me down."

"What?!" Garrus blurted. How have we gone from "you're you" to, "Garrus you might need to shoot me!" He wondered, "Damn, sorry, what?!"

"OK, let's say you're right, let's say that I am me, that Cerberus spent two years and millions of credits to bring me back. Are you telling me there's not the slightest chance they installed a fail-safe with the rest of their upgrades?"

Garrus felt his mandible flutter as he tried to think of an argument against what she was saying, some reasonable explanation as to why they wouldn't,

Come on, Vakarian, he ordered himself, something, anything. But his mind came up blank.

"Miranda said -"

"Miranda said she wanted to put in a control chip but TIM wouldn't allow it, apparently he wanted to bring me back exactly as I was. But I can't get the thought out of my head. If we go through the Omega 4 relay and TIM flips a switch, I'd be their puppet. I wouldn't be able to stop myself, but you would."

"I can't -" He started to back away, but Shepard caught his hands before he could take more than half a step backwards,

"You can. You know me better than anyone, you know how I work, the lines that I don't cross. I'm a dangerous person, Garrus. A valuable asset. One of the best soldiers the Alliance has ever produced, even before the Cerberus enhancements. In the wrong hands I could do a lot of damage. If TIM has put a control chip in my head and tries to make me do something I wouldn't do, then you'll know."

Garrus swallowed hard, he could feel his heart beating thickly in his throat, white noise filled his ears.

That unwavering confidence you saw? That wasn't in her, it was in you. She might not totally believe in herself, but she believes in you.

This wasn't what I meant! I – He argued with himself.

Time to put your money where your mouth is, Vakarian. That time it was Shepard's voice in his head.

His heart skipped a beat, just the thought of it was enough to hollow his chest into something painful.

"This is insane! You realise you're quite literally staking your life on how well I know you?" Incredulity choked his sub-harmonics, the words seemed to catch in his throat,

"Yeah," Her smile was crooked, sad but warm at the same time, "That's kinda the point. You know me well enough to know that I'd rather be dead than be his puppet." She gave his hand a squeeze, "If you believe that I'm me – really believe it – then you know this is right."

"Crap." He muttered. Dammit, he thought. She's right. He knew he'd be asking her the same damn thing if their roles were reversed. He ground his teeth together, feeling a muscle jump in his jaw, "I do. I know you're you. So alright. If it comes to it - it won't - but if it does, I've got your back. Just do me a favour and be wrong on this one, OK?"

"I'll do my best." Her laugh was a little wet sounding, but she looked lighter than she had since she'd turned up on Omega, as though a colossal weight had been lifted from her shoulders. I did that, he thought with a little pang of pride, "Thank you, for this. For making me talk about it."

"Kinda regretting it a little now, if I'm honest." Garrus huffed, fully aware he'd only been able to agree to her plea because he was sure he'd never have to follow through. If he'd had any doubts he'd never be able to make that kind of promise.

"Seriously, I don't know how you knew I needed this, but thank you."

"Because I know you, remember?"

She rolled her eyes but when she smiled up at him there was something unguarded about it, almost sweet, "You're smarter than you look."

"Yeah, yeah," He faked a long suffering sigh, "I know how this goes: good job, or else I'd never find my way out of the battery in the mornings, right?"

"I dunno, you look pretty good too." She playfully bumped her hip into his and Garrus felt something swoop in his stomach, before he could examine what, exactly, it was, Shepard threw an arm around his waist and steered them towards the elevator, "Requisition lists should be starting to come in. Want to see how much contraband we can sneak past EDI and Miranda?"

"Sure, Shepard." He said, oddly aware of her hand on his waist, "You still owe me a punching bag."