The house was a lot bigger on the inside than it looked. A small open foyer leading into a large living room, big plate glass doors that opened onto a small deck with a few more adirondack chairs, kitchen off to one side with a small island, all very open and inviting. The door on my left was partially open, and as I glanced in (no intruding, not polite) I thought I saw what looked like a study or office of some kind. I imagined there were stairs there as well, leading to the upper level. Probably a bedroom.

But all of that was just a building. What was inside made it a home. Everywhere I looked I thought I saw something significant - on a dining table near the kitchen sat numerous rifle pieces, on a nearby shelf there sat real hardback books, in the foyer on an end table sat an ornamental pot with sculpted metal flowers, above it a framed ad for Blasto 2: The Jellyfish Stings alongside one for an old human vid I didn't recognize.

One wall drew my attention immediately. On it were dozens of images of various sizes, some of the Primarch alone, some of the Normandy crew, some of them together. Some seemed formal, some not. And in the center of this arrangement, a decorative metal plaque upon which sat an old, beat up rifle. The Primarch - Mr. Vakarian - stood underneath it now, mixing a drink at a small but well stocked bar.

Eventually, he finished and wandered over to the dining table. He shoved aside most of the rifle parts and set the drink down. He gestured at it. "Sit."

I did. He wandered back towards the half-open door, went inside, and closed it. I was alone.

I wondered what exactly he was going to tell me, or if he was going to tell me anything. Maybe he just felt sorry for me. Maybe he was just letting me have a drink before sending me on my way. I ran through every doubt and every scenario that ended in my walking down the path to my car and I nearly drove myself crazy.

God damn it Alisa, calm down. You've already made a perfect fool of yourself.

A couple deep breaths and I was still nervous, but I could at least take a sip of my drink. I coughed and sputtered, of course - it was like drinking an electric current. I wondered if he'd done that on purpose, or if that was just what he thought all humans liked. Or maybe he was testing me. Or you're just paranoid.

Setting the drink and that notion aside, I looked over at the kitchen. Small but efficient. Dishes sat in the sink unwashed, but otherwise it was too clean to be well-used. I wondered how many nights he just chewed on uncooked dextro nutri-bars.

Eventually, my eyes were drawn back to the wall. And in the time it took him to return, I noticed two things: there weren't many images of turians apart from him. And there wasn't a single picture of Shepard anywhere.

Before I could think too hard about why that was, he barged through the door. He had changed into something a bit more turian, as far as I could gather - sleeveless vest covering his chest and collar, pants that properly covered the spurs on his calves, both a deep blue with shades of black and gray. He somehow looked more alien wearing clothes tailored to his species.

He walked right up to me and thrust his hand out. "Omni tool."

I blinked. "Uh. What am I supposed to record with?"

He held up his other hand. It was holding something I hadn't noticed. He lightly tossed them on the table - a pad of paper, and a pen.

"You can't be serious."

He still had his hand out.

Hell, Alisa, what are you complaining about? Weren't you just worried he wouldn't give you this chance?

I nodded, pulled up my sleeve, and removed the bracelet containing the minifacturing fabricator, placing it in his hand. He quickly equipped it, turned it on, and went about shutting down any sensor packages, comms, and extranet connections.

"If I didn't know any better, sir," I said, straining a smile, "I'd say you didn't trust me."

"I don't," he said, his voice clipped. "But don't take it personally. I'm not taking any chances that whatever is said here piped to some server somewhere, or broadcast live for the extranet."

After all he'd said, I couldn't really blame him. Once he was satisfied, he took off the bracelet and threw it over on the kitchen island. He moved to sit down, hesitated, then went and picked up the bracelet and took it into his study. He emerged in short order, with a brief shrug.

"No chances," I said with a nervous laugh.

He just pulled out another chair, one with his back to the deck, and sat, leaning his elbows on the bare wood. He fiddled with his talons, I fiddled with my hair. All this time spent getting him to sit down and talk and now I wasn't even sure what questions I should ask. This had been all about the journey so far. I was like the dog who finally caught the car, I didn't know what to do with myself.

He looked up and stared at me. Rather, stared at my head. "Your hair."

I quickly stopped playing with the lock in my fingers.

"I mean, your mother's hair. It's... it was like yours. Shorter, though." He looked away, back towards the kitchen.

Believe it or not, that actually helped. It was good to know that I wasn't the only awkward person in the room. And better to know that he remembered my mother.

"Thanks," I said. He shrugged again.

"So..." He coughed and cleared his throat. "Maybe I should start-"

"Oh!" I quickly picked up the pen and paper and drew a squiggly line to make sure it had ink, then I sat poised over the first line. "Okay, ready."

He gave me another odd look that I couldn't begin to decipher. "I was going to say 'maybe I should start at the beginning,' but perhaps I should tell you something else first." He reached over and plucked the pen out of my hand. "Off the record."

I shifted in my chair, trying to more comfortable as he spoke. "I told you before that everyone who came here asking about Shepard went away empty handed. That wasn't true." His mouth parts twitched. "There was one person who I spoke with."

Garrus ran his hands over the datapads, selecting one from the group and rushing through the various menus looking for the information he needed. He really needed to start marking them so he could tell them all apart - this was the third time he'd gone through this particular datapad, and every time that happened he felt compelled to look through the entire thing just in case he missed something. He never did.

He sighed and lifted his head to look out the window over his desk. It was a nice day. He could be doing this on the deck. Hell, he could be doing this on the beach. But here he was, inside with no distractions, going over mission reports and population growth charts and galactic star maps. Old habits died hard, even for a Primarch on leave.

Primarch. It still didn't feel right. Probably never would. Not ten years out from V-Day and he had been named Primarch. Victus had been the first to congratulate him. He had always felt a bit out of his depth, and now as a general in peacetime, even moreso. But Garrus? Garrus was a rebel, had been even as a child. He was the worst turian he knew, but no one else seemed to care. He had helped save the galaxy. He was part of the Normandy. He had known Shepard. Of course they would look to him for leadership.

And despite all his better judgment, he had accepted. Because he knew that it's what she would she would want him to do. Oh, she'd listen and acknowledge all his concerns, and say that it was his choice and he should do what he felt was best and leave it at that, but when he pressed her for a real opinion (and of course he would), she'd just smile that smile that made his pulse race a little bit faster and say to grab the spiky beast by the fringe and see where it takes you.

And he would ask with a smile if she was speaking from experience.

And she would smirk and reply, look where it got me.

All of a sudden Garrus really needed a drink.

He wandered out to the bar when he heard a knock at the door. Grateful for any conceivable distraction, he'd opened it without asking who it was. When he saw, it took a moment for recognition to creep in, and then he'd just stared, mandibles flaring.

"Dr. Verner."

"Hello, sir," he said, holding a hat in his hands and looking pathetic.

His mandibles twitched and he crossed his arms, staring up at the ceiling. "I'd never really met the man, outside of an... incident in a bar on Illium, but Shepard had a few run ins with him. As irritating as she found their interactions, his heart was always in the right place. Hell, she'd told me he tried to take a bullet for her once. I remember thinking, if that wasn't enough to earn my gratitude, what was?"

He flashed some of his pointed teeth. A smile? A grin? A smirk? I don't know. "He said he came on business, talked about establishing another war orphanage on Palaven, asking about construction of any new mass relays and where he could be helpful, but really all he wanted was to talk about Shepard some." He chuckled dryly. "Considering where my mind was at the time, part of me wanted to throw him out. Another part of me wanted to get blackout drunk and spend all night telling war stories. In the end, I compromised - an hour or two of conversation, a couple anecdotes, and the admission that yes, Shepard had thought he was all right in the end."

Garrus walked him to the door. He still couldn't really believe Verner had shown up here, but he had been as courteous as he could. To his credit, Verner actually excused himself, saying that his wife was waiting and he needed to get back to the hotel. He'd asked about her, and Conrad had said that Jenna was six months pregnant and would it be weird if they named the baby Shepard?

Garrus started to shake his head, but after a moment's consideration, he said, "I suppose it's going to be a very popular name for a couple generations."

"Really?" He seemed to consider this. "Maybe the middle name. Don't want her to not feel special."

"Conrad..." Garrus didn't really know what to say. "You know this was a one time thing, right?"

He nodded. "Oh, sure. I was just glad you didn't slam the door. Her friends and family aren't exactly kind to fans who come looking for stories."

"Well," Garrus said, crossing his arms, "you did... are still doing a lot of good in her name. I don't think... well. She probably wouldn't have thrown you out, if she were here."

Conrad smiled and Garrus thought he saw the beginnings of tears. "You really think so? Gosh... that means a lot."

He stuck out a hand and Garrus shook it. He put on his hat, said goodbye, and turned down the path. Garrus leaned against the doorway, watching him leave.

"Conrad!" He turned. Garrus just raised his arm and waved. Conrad smiled and did the same, then kept walking.

He stood in the doorway long after he had lost sight of him in the trees, thinking about Shepard. It didn't hurt quite as much as it did before.