Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing of Mass Effect. Just pouring out my buckets of feels again.
Author's Notes: Once again I thank each and every one of you who has decided to follow this thing! I appreciate it every time I see a new follower. I can't promise that the updates will continue to come as often as they have been, seeing as this thing is developing some actual plot beyond my original plans for it, but I will continue working on it diligently as I can since I'm excited about getting to all the good parts as well. :3 This chapter is not quite filler-y but more of what I hope to be some idea of what my Shepard is like, since they're all unique! We touch on some choice topics here. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did to write!
A warning of some slight artistic liberty taken in the form of name choice somewhere in here, but I am forced to make due where BioWare has left questions. XD
The next several weeks had been a flurry of activity. Work hadn't ceased to exist just because the war had been won. Shepard was still a Commander, after all. There was paper work yet to be filed, debriefings to cover, awards ceremonies to attend. It was all rather exhausting. Thankfully, the Normandy was still home, though she was currently docked with the Citadel.
Shepard set a finely carved wooden case down on the desk in her quarters, just beside her terminal. It contained her latest commendation, presented to her by Admiral Hackett himself. The entire thing was more for the press than anything else. Shepard was no stranger to this sort of treatment; it had happened right after the business with Sovereign as well. People loved a hero. People enjoyed having a face they could trust, a physical individual onto which to pin their hopes. That was fine then. She could live with being the poster child for humanity's potential. She'd heard that Alliance recruitment numbers had soared immediately following that. Everyone wanted to be like her. Ultimately she didn't care as long as she had a job to do. Her reputation always came second to her work; she left things like PR and politicking to others. She missed Udina for that and that reason alone. Watching the little man squirm in the midst of "political shit storms" as he put them were only too amusing not to watch. She had on at least a few occasions done something just to piss him off. The ultimate payback.
Well. Short of putting a bullet in him.
Shepard had heard that when she'd been presumed dead that her likeness had disappeared just about everywhere. She was replaced by some generic model of an ideal soldier. It eventually was leaked that Shepard was dead, but that was the thing about heroes. They aren't supposed to die. What point would there be then in ever hoping for one if they were just as vulnerable to the scary things lurking in the darkness as anyone else?
She looked over at her extensive collection of model crafts, eyes roaming over each in turn before finally coming to rest on the miniature replica of the Normandy SR-1. The detail was impeccable, every angle and curve exactly as it had been on the real thing. She'd loved that ship. She loved the SR-2, but there were memories locked within the twisted remains of that ship that couldn't be carried over. Many were dark, but in this time of peace she was keen on recalling only the brightest.
The Commander couldn't help but smile as she thought about it, sinking down into the soft leather desk chair. She remembered back when she'd first met Garrus; that young, impulsive C-Sec officer. He was eager and as she observed him then she couldn't help but see his latent potential. But he was trapped. In this case, bound by the regulations his position demanded. They'd hit it off at once. He never questioned her judgment. She gave him free reign because she never felt the need to reel him in and knew that if the time came where he did step over a line, she'd have no issue pulling him back where she needed him. At the time she never thought it odd unless someone pointed it out. Back then, that someone had often been Chief Williams, and the first time she'd brought it up it struck a chord with her. There was some truth in it. She never had that same rapport with Tali or Wrex. She never actively mulled over the fact that a part of her missed him when he'd left after the mission was done; never could quite understand why the cargo bay felt a little less warm. She'd thought it was because going down there was a reminder of all that she'd lost. It was true, but Shepard hadn't realized how far that loss had reached.
As she leaned an elbow on the arm rest and tilted her head, she let her eyes roam further. The model of the current Normandy, again created with incredible accuracy was one row down, dwarfing the original in its replica just as in life. It was amazing how the craft had transformed in her mind. It began as little more than a tool handed to her by Cerberus; a means to an end. Now it held her fondest memories.
She'd never forget the day that pile of dossiers passed over her desk. She'd been sitting in this very spot, reading through them one by one. She had her doubts about anyone they'd pick up on Omega for all the scum the place was rumoured to house, but the reports looked promising and the station was a three-for-one deal. One trip and she could knock three names off the list. That and the vanishing colonies made a woman desperate.
Shepard never expected the face she saw under that helmet. The alien and yet oh-so-familiar smirk, the little twitch of a mandible that was uniquely Garrus. She couldn't keep the thrill out of her voice, even if it did earn her some unusual looks from the pair of Cerberus agents she begrudgingly had allowed to stand at her back. She didn't care.
And then she'd almost lost him. That was the first time she'd nearly shed tears for the turian. Her control almost slipped. The way his eyes looked up at her; pleading, fearful, and yet determined. The way he weakly reached for his weapon. Even on the brink he was a fighter.
He had to survive, she remembered saying to herself. She didn't know why, but it meant so much.
And he had. He'd come back from it faster than anyone had anticipated. And with all his sense of humour and good nature intact. Even with the pain he'd hidden behind that gaze. The pain he eventually confided in her about.
Shepard never regretted letting him take that shot. She'd have done it herself if he'd hesitated at all. She didn't care what else Lantar Sidonis had done; all she knew was that he had betrayed his friend and leader. Sent his comrades to their deaths. Almost stolen Garrus from her in his selfishness, when all he'd wanted to do was help people. Seek justice for those who had no one to fight for them. She didn't care about what he had to say, if he apologized or if he wanted to beg for his life. All she saw was red hot fury on Garrus' behalf. Stepping aside had been only too easy.
And then that last night..
She recalled standing behind Joker, and the way the air felt heavy. The ship had an eerie stillness. A glance toward the CIC reminded her that Chambers wasn't at her post. That most of the crew was gone. She knew she should have said more to the helmsman, but couldn't find the words. She could only order him to input the coordinates, to set a course for what might very well be certain death for him and everyone else. Joker didn't even blink.
"I'll let you know when we're on our final approach, Commander," he'd said quietly, looking up to her and she'd nodded with the slightest of reassuring smiles.
"We'll get them back. We'll finish this and then we'll all take a nice, well-deserved shore leave."
She watched his hands move over the console with their usual smooth, fluid efficiency.
"I know," he said with absolute confidence. "But you're buying the drinks. Least you can do for my dedication. This is the second suicide mission I've flown you into. Since my medals got lost in the mail somehow, I guess it'll do."
She chuckled, turning to leave. "Anything you want, Joker. Just keep this thing together."
"Could do it in my sleep, Commander."
Shepard patted the top of the seat lightly before moving off, intending to take a nice, long shower. The words she'd said to Garrus earlier had stuck out in her mind, and she couldn't help the light blush that crept to her cheeks. She couldn't even blame it on alcohol. It was just.. spur of the moment.
And then her bathroom door had slid open with a hydraulic hiss, and there he was. Dressed in what she assumed was the best casual clothing he currently owned, a bottle in his hand. He babbled a little, fidgeted, generally looked like he was going to die at any moment. But she'd ultimately comforted him, and for the first time their foreheads met in that intimate gesture that only afterward she'd learned the true meaning of.
They'd spent the night gently, and that made it all the more perfect. It wasn't the product of frustration and longing, but of genuine love and romance. He was so careful with her and her with him as they felt each other out; a mutual learning experience. It seemed so natural for how exceptionally foreign it was, no real amount of awkwardness between them even as she very blindly sought the places that gave him the most pleasure. And of course, Garrus was a quick learner in this as he was in all things.
They ended the night in each other's arms; warm, embraced in the security of one another. If Shepard could have held off the morning, kept the mission off just another day, she would have. It felt like Joker's voice carried over the intercom in her room too soon.
She'd kissed him one more time before untangling her limbs reluctantly from his. Assured him that she'd survive. That he'd survive. That she'd make sure everyone made it home.
And she had.
And then it was all a blur. The batarians, the Reapers, the sudden realization that she alone could change the outcome of this war. She felt that every time she looked at Hackett through their transmissions. Felt it in her gut each time Anderson found an opportunity to check in from Earth. Her hope, her one solitary flicker of light in the darkness was that he was out there somewhere. That in the vastness of the galaxy she'd find him again, like she had before. He will turn up, she'd told herself. Even after the reports came in about Palaven, she held on to that. Clung to it for dear life.
Because that is exactly how it was. She felt she might die without it.
Menae.
Was it wrong to feel such elation in the midst of so much sorrow? To feel so much was right even as his home lay burning above him? But she saw it in his eyes too. And she was glad, so glad she could be even the slightest solace in all this madness.
Are you ready to be a one-turian kind of woman?
Shepard looked down, felt the small weight of the ring on her finger and smiled.
"Commander, there's a message waiting for you in the debriefing room."
Traynor's voice jarred her out of her thoughts, and for a moment she was honestly confused. Who would be calling on her now?
She leaned forward, depressing the small button for the comm.
"Understood, Specialist. I'll be right down."
Shepard gave it a lot of thought as she waited for the elevator to descend to the main floor but as she stepped through the doorway she still had no idea who it might be. She tucked a loose strand of red hair behind her ear as she awaited the scanning mechanism to finish its job, once again mentally cursing the device. She saw its necessity when bringing potentially hostile aliens aboard, but that it required her to be scanned time and again was just aggravating. She couldn't quite keep the venomous look off her face as the private attending the machine gave her the all-clear, and she marched right on through the war room to the little circular room on the far end. Her expression had cleared by the time she'd reached the small console and activated the switch beside the small, gently blinking light.
"This is Commander Shepard," she stated in her usual controlled tone.
The transmission flickered a moment before clearing. Communications were occasionally spotty as the FTL comm buoys were replaced across the galaxy. But it was quite obvious she was speaking to a turian. He was neatly dressed, his posture straight and his arms tucked behind him. Her initial assumption was that he was a politician of some sort.
Oh, here we go..
Then she noticed his face. The familiar features, the angular markings. The plates were weathered and indicative of his advanced age, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
"A pleasure to finally have the opportunity to speak with you. I regret that I was not able to see you in person for this, but I know we will be meeting personally soon enough. Your accomplishments as a soldier and leader are known far and wide, but I would like to know more about you as an.." The turian hesitated, and she knew that he had carefully chosen his next word. ".. individual. A fair request, yes?"
"Of course, sir," Shepard's tone was clipped, but only because dread was sitting like a rock her stomach. Hands at her sides, her thumb worried the band of the ring on her finger idly.
"Wonderful. I will have all the pertinent information forwarded to your ship. I look forward to seeing you, Commander."
The turian made a motion which she knew to be the species' form of a salute before the transmission ended and she turned her back to the console.
Well this was lovely.
She was planning a wedding. Overseeing business as usual, as tedious and annoying as that often was.
And now had a meeting scheduled in the near future with one Celsus Vakarian.
Garrus' father.
Why couldn't anything ever just be easy?