Bringer of War
"—arrus!"
He woke slowly, head foggy despite the stims he could feel coursing through his system. Ah, pain…my old friend… The turian took stock of his situation as his brain slowly rebooted. Hands, fingers, and arms were still intact and uninjured beyond a few flesh wounds he'd taken as they began their escape. Good sign, good sign… Moving his legs and feet was possible—agonizing, but possible. His legs were on fire from the knees down, or had been recently, if he was any judge. Both shins had dead spots where things felt completely numb. To either side of those dead zones, all was pain as his nerves shrieked at him about how badly he'd been burned. Bad sign…can't feel everything… Alarms blared at him from his visor about blown shield capacitors and barely-functional emergency armor seals. At least they're in place and working…hard to breathe vacuum… He looked up to see Shepard's eyes locked with his through the faceplate of her helmet. Now he remembered.
Shepard had ordered him to keep the husks and drones off them while she and Grunt tackled the Praetorian. He'd popped concussive shots at the floating abomination when the opportunity presented itself but had, as ordered, focused on the infantry. He'd missed a shot on a Collector that had flanked him, flushing him from cover with the help of a pair of husks. Garrus had flattened the Collector with a concussive round, then disengaged to sprint for another barricade…and run straight into the Praetorian. Its energy weapon had drained his shields precipitously before he'd thrown himself forward in a desperate bid to find cover. Looking around, he saw he hadn't been so lucky. Well, that at least explains the pain…
"Jesus H. Christ on a goddamn stick, Garrus, what part of 'you don't get to die on me' does not compute?" Shepard demanded, her tone a mix of exasperation and relief. Though he couldn't read her expression, Garrus thought she would probably be smiling that smile of hers. It was a uniquely Shepard smile, one she wore whenever something that shouldn't possibly have worked actually did and everyone was still alive to tell the tale. Like killing Sovereign… His visor's vital monitors showed elevated heart rate and adrenaline levels, more so than normal even for Shepard after a tough fight.
"Sorry, Shepard," he offered weakly. "But it's not my fault you were so fucking slow dropping that Praetorian," he quipped. Her body tensed as she drew back a fist to mock-punch him in the shoulder and the turian forced a laugh.
"We need to move, Shepard," rumbled Grunt, breaking the mood.
"Right," she answered, straightening up from where she'd been kneeling at Garrus' side to pump Medi-gel through his armor system.
The pain was fading, but Garrus had no illusions about his ability to move. "I'm not going anywhere, Shepard," he said. "I'll just slow you down. Leave me your rifle's spare clips and I'll cover your backs as long as I can."
"This isn't Virmire, Garrus. Nobody gets left behind," she snapped, an unfamiliar fierceness in her eyes and tone of voice.
"He can't walk, Shepard," growled the Krogan. "Do as he says."
She head-butted him in response, their helmets colliding so hard Garrus couldn't help but wince at the sound of impact. "Then you're going to give me your shotgun and carry him," she barked.
Grunt didn't move at first. "Yes, battlemaster," he rumbled after a moment or two, passing the massive Claymore to Shepard. She seemed dwarfed by the weapon's size, which amused Garrus since usually the shotgun seemed so small in Grunt's hands. Okeer's tank-bred knelt and picked Garrus up one-handed, leaving the turian's armored toes scraping at the decking of the Collector vessel. Grunt produced his Mattock with the other hand and nodded his readiness to Shepard.
Garrus couldn't help but think that trying to wield an assault rifle one-handed was doomed to failure. Still, the ease with which Grunt had hauled him up with one arm suggested the krogan had the necessary strength to deal with the rifle's kick, even wielding it one-handed. The turian drew his pistol with shaky hands, determined not to be completely useless—bad enough he was being hauled around by Grunt like this.
"Concussive rounds only," the turian promised, catching the look Shepard shot him from behind her visor.
"Right, because that makes me feel so much safer…" she shot back wryly. "Surely humans aren't the only ones to figure out that 'friendly fire' is an oxymoron." Shaking her head, she turned and gave the Claymore a test fire, cursing colorfully at the massive shotgun's kickback. "All right people, let's move!"
Shepard suited actions to words, taking the lead with her shotgun at the ready as they beat a hasty retreat towards the waiting shuttle. EDI's voice served as a steady nav beacon in their helmet ear pieces, directing them through doors she was holding open and then sealing behind them. They made good time, all things considered, even if Garrus was fighting to bite back a yelp or growl of pain with most every step Grunt took. It couldn't last, of course.
They heard them before they saw them, the strange sound of the Collector drones' jump-jets announcing their imminent arrival. Garrus abruptly found himself sailing through the air to land in a crumpled, screaming heap on the deck (behind cover, as it turned out) as Grunt flung him down and readied his Mattock in both hands. By some miracle, Garrus had kept hold of his pistol after impact. He crawled on his stomach out around the edge of the bank of control consoles Grunt had tossed him behind and started lining up shots.
"Stay with him, Grunt!" she ordered, hefting the shotgun and chambering another round. "Both of you, Harbinger's puppets are priority one!"
With that, she was off, advancing on the swarming Collectors as Grunt and Garrus provided covering fire. The turian focused on flattening Collectors that tried to flank Shepard. He didn't always hit, but his concussive rounds were usually enough to cause them to hesitate. That, in turn, was enough for Shepard. She either shattered their skulls with the butt of the Claymore or reduced them to a fine mist of gore with a point-blank blast from the gun's muzzle. He'd never seen her fight like this before, as she tended to favor keeping the enemy at arm's length with an assault rifle or pistol. Now, as he watched her duck and weave between cover, the shotgun as much an extension of her as any other weapon he'd ever seen her use, he finally understood. This was why she was the Hero of the Blitz, the first human Spectre, slayer of Reapers, and unwilling instrument of Cerberus. She didn't hit every shot—nobody, not even him, did—but no movement was wasted. He watched her vitals spike as she triggered her combat implant liberally, her movements suddenly imbued with preternatural speed that let her catch a Collector drone on the move with the full force of the shotgun, or duck into cover before a Collector particle rifle could get a proper bead on her. Concussive shots, from any of the three of them, dropped other drones, giving Shepard a chance to reload or crush a drone skull under her boot. She ducked behind pillars and control banks to reload, trusting Garrus and Grunt to keep Collectors from flushing her from cover.
WE WILL DIRECT THIS PERSONALLY.
The sound grated against Garrus' ears, the voice instantly recognizable as the entity which called itself Harbinger. The turian didn't know whether Harbinger was the puppet-master for the Collectors or, as Shepard suspected, another Reaper, but the voice certainly possessed the same mix of disdain and contempt that he remembered so well from the conversation with Sovereign. Strangely, however, Harbinger seemed to lack the bored and annoyed undertones that had all but dripped from every word Sovereign spoke. He tried to line up his pistol for a concussive round while Harbinger was busy transforming his drone-puppet, but found himself cursing colorfully in turian and krogan when he realized the barrel was still cooling down from the last one.
"Grunt, hit him!" he shouted, forgetting his own promise to Shepard to only use concussive rounds and emptying most of a thermal clip at Harbinger. Garrus' visor registered a few hits but nowhere near enough to even draw the puppet's attention, let alone put a dent in its defenses.
"A little busy here!" grunted the krogan, and Garrus looked over to see him fighting hand-to-hand with a trio of husks. He dispatched them quickly enough, of course, laughing every time he sent one flying with a casual backhand…but the delay was long enough. Harbinger had assumed direct control and was advancing on Shepard, biotics flaring.
THE FORCES OF THE UNIVERSE BEND TO ME. YOU ARE BACTERIA.
A particle beam sliced through the air over Garrus' head as an assassin and three remaining drones moved to engage them and keep them from helping Shepard. Grunt's assault rifle hammered out a barrage of return fire, his shields sparking and spitting from repeated particle beam hits. One drone's head exploded in a shower of gore before the krogan was forced to crouch again and let his shields recharge. Mercifully, Garrus' pistol had finally cooled to the point where the secondary firing chamber was primed for another concussive round. He let it fly and watched with some satisfaction as Harbinger staggered ever so slightly from the impact. The puppet pulled back a fist and sent an all-too-familiar sphere of biotic power surging through the air in response, though it was directed at Shepard. She had ducked behind a row of control consoles to hammer a new thermal clip into the Claymore's chamber. Garrus knew from experience that her cover wouldn't save her from the effects of Harbinger's attack.
"Shepard, get out of there!" he yelled through his comms, peppering Harbinger with the rest of his pistol's clip. The rounds sparked off the thing's biotic barrier, weakening it further. What was it Reegar said on Haestrom? Kill it with bug bites? he thought grimly as he scooted back behind cover to reload.
TURIAN; YOU ARE CONSIDERED…TOO PRIMITIVE.
Or he would have, had he not suddenly found himself engulfed in flames. Bug bites or not, Garrus had apparently pissed off Harbinger enough to decide he was worthy of being roasted. Garrus let out a choked, panicked scream as his shields melted under the assault, praying to whatever spirits might have been listening that his armor not catch fire again. He felt Grunt on him an instant later, though his efforts to put out the fire could better be described as 'pummeling' rather than 'patting'.
"Getting its attention…bad idea. For you."
Something about the tone of Grunt's voice made Garrus think of the little manic smile he got whenever he was about to kill something with his bare hands. Grunt's armor flashed as he triggered his shield boosters and rose from cover, firing a few bursts from his assault rifle at the other Collectors to force them to duck.
"I AM KROGAAAAAN!"
Garrus watched in disbelief as Grunt threw himself at Harbinger to buy Shepard time to find new cover and line up a shot with the Claymore. As familiar with the nature of friendly fire as Shepard was, Garrus reloaded his pistol and forced himself up into a crouch despite the agony in his legs, peppering the remaining Collectors. He would be honest with himself and admit that it was luck more than skill that sent a round through a drone's eye and out the back of its freakishly-shaped skull. A concussive round caught the last drone as it was in the process of vaulting a bank of controls, trying to flush him from cover. The shot hit it in the gut, doubling it over, while the force of impact lifted it up off its feet and slammed it back into the controls with bone-crunching force. It crumpled in a heap, back bent in a way not even a salarian would find survivable. Garrus pumped a few shots into its skull, just to make sure. His time exposed was enough for the Collector with the particle rifle to get him in its sights once more. Garrus' shields were cut in half before he managed to flop back down behind cover. His head was swimming from the pain he was in, the agony in his legs overwhelming medi-gel and adrenaline both. He blessed the spirits that he wasn't on his knees any further and prayed the pain would fade quickly as he popped a new thermal clip into his pistol and waited for his shields to recharge.
KROGAN; STERILIZED RACE, POTENTIAL WASTED.
Harbinger's contemptuous voice presaged a yell—less of triumph and more of pain—from Grunt, followed by a wild barrage of fire from his Mattock, and then the unmistakable sound of a fully-armored krogan hitting the deck. The sound of a rifle slipping from nerveless fingers to clatter on the deck followed shortly thereafter. Get up, Grunt! Garrus willed. The krogan, however, made no further sound.
AND NOW YOU STAND ALONE, SHEPARD. FACE YOUR ANNIHILATION.
"Do you ever fucking shut up?!" she exclaimed. The Claymore roared and Garrus heard the sound of her backpedaling away from Harbinger's slow relentless advance. The turian scrabbled forward, ignoring as best he could the pain in his legs, to peek out from behind his cover again. The last drone's energy weapon whined, catching Shepard in the back and making her shields flare before she could get in cover. Another of Harbinger's biotic attacks hit and her shields popped.
"SHEPARD!"
For one gut-wrenching, horrible instant, Garrus thought he was back on Omega, watching the last of his men fall to the mercenary assault. For awful one moment, he thought he was about to lose Shepard for a second time. Then the turian recognized the familiar weight of his pistol in his hands, spotted the glowing holographic icon denoting he'd activated his armor-piercing mod, and knew this wasn't Omega. Shepard wasn't going to die because he was here, not a million light-years away drowning in red tape on the bureaucratic hellhole of the Citadel. He was here, he was breathing, and he had thermal clips for his pistol.
Roaring his hate and defiance, Garrus forced himself back onto his knees. He braced his forearms on the bank of control consoles and poured fire into Harbinger.
Both Harbinger and the assassin turned towards him, the assassin shouldering its particle rifle as Harbinger drew back its fist, form rippling with biotic power. The particle rifle whined and Garrus' shields started to drain but the turian kept firing. Harbinger finished his wind-up, launching an all-too familiar black orb of biotic energy his way. Garrus kept firing. His visor started pinging at him as his shields reached critical levels, but the turian kept firing. Suddenly, he saw Shepard out of the corner of his eye, leaping from cover.
"Hey Harbinger!" she shouted, sprinting at him.
Focus shifted from Garrus to her and Garrus kept firing, his clip nearly spent now. Shepard closed to point-blank range, close enough to physically ram the barrel of the shotgun into the Collector-puppet's torso. The Claymore roared and bucked in Shepard's hands, and the light went out of the drone-puppet's eyes as its chest disappeared and the rest of it started to disintegrate.
THIS FORM IS IRRELEVANT. KILL ONE AND A HUNDRED WILL REPLACE IT.
"Like hell!"
Shepard turned her attention to the last Collector, popping off a concussive shot that sent it reeling as she dropped back into cover to reload the shotgun. Garrus dropped back behind his control consoles and slumped against them as he reached for another thermal clip for his pistol, his legs screaming at him even as he smiled faintly. One left, and if they finished it quickly enough, Harbinger couldn't take it over. He crawled forward and reached the corner of the bank of controls just in time to watch the last Collector's head explode from a point-blank blast of the Claymore.
Shepard turned towards him and gave him a thumbs-up, the old familiar hand-gesture meaning they'd taken care of all hostiles. She moved over to Grunt to trigger the tank-bred's armor medi-gel systems while Garrus sat, once again helpless, with his back to the bank of controls. Shepard was still alive. Grunt was conscious again after the medi-gel kicked in. There was still a chance they'd get out of this in one piece. Garrus' visor pinged softly at him, the tone immediately recognizable as the signal for incoming hostiles. He couldn't hear any jump-jets though, so what…?
"SCION!" bellowed Shepard.
Garrus peaked out from behind his cover just in time to catch Shepard and Grunt reel drunkenly away from the blast-wave of the lumbering monstrosity's cannon. Both had been hit and their shield emitters sparked and sputtered uselessly as the damping effect of the cannon blast played havoc with their shield generators. To hell with this… thought Garrus as he saw just how few shots he had left with his pistol. He holstered it and produced his Mantis.
Groaning, he fought his way to his knees as the rifle expanded and set up on the bank of control consoles. It was less than ideal, all things considered, but he was pretty much out of options. Grunt and Shepard needed time for their hardsuit computers to scrub the junk code that had been introduced to fry their shields. They also needed covering fire. Garrus was the only member of the squad who could provide it.
The Mantis roared, the Scion staggered, and Garrus ducked to reload as the lumbering atrocity turned towards him. The turian rose back up onto his knees, fighting down the screaming agony in his legs, and lined up another shot as the Scion's bizarre arm cannon let loose. Garrus' shot hit home, but so did the Scion's biotic shockwave. The turian was hurled up and back, screaming, through the air as his shields failed. He felt the familiar bite of biotics tearing at him, trying to rip apart both his armor and himself. He hit the deck hard, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs and sending stars dancing across his field of vision as his head and fringe exploded with pain. Darkness nibbled at the edges of his vision. Not like this...spirits, not like this...!
He needn't have worried. Shepard's exclamation of, "God damn it, Vakarian, what did I just tell you?!" was punctuated by the hammering of Grunt's Mattock and then a roar from the Claymore as Shepard finished the horrific construct off. Garrus' vision cleared as the biotics tearing at him faded. He was gasping for breath by the time Shepard made her way over to him.
"One of these days I'm not going to be around to save your ass, Garrus," she chided. "What in hell were you thinking, sniping that fucking monster shot up like you are?"
"That saving your ass was probably in my best interests," he shot back, coughing. "Come on; let's get out of here before more drones show up."
Garrus collapsed his sniper rifle back to its portable form and slung it over his back, accepting a handful of fresh thermal clips for his pistol from Shepard. He reloaded and then nodded to Grunt. The krogan shifted his Mattock to a one-handed grip again and hauled Garrus up as effortlessly as he had following the firefight with the Praetorian. Shepard, Claymore in hand, took point as before.
"Uh, commander? I hate to rush you, but those weapons are about to come on-line. Might want to double-time it; you know, so we can leave before they blow the Normandy in half."
Joker's admonishment to hurry was followed swiftly by the raspy, moaning screams of husks. The motion tracker on Garrus' visor showed a small sea of red around the corner in the passageway ahead of them. He was surprised there weren't Collectors on them already, but it seemed to him that they had blown past the last of the easy ambush points on EDI's escape route. The husks were a last-ditch roadblock to allow Harbinger's puppets to catch them from behind.
"Grunt, stay with Garrus. Concussive rounds when they round the corner!" Shepard barked.
The husks that came surging around the corner were greeted by a barrage of concussive rounds from the three of them. Two disintegrated outright from the force of the blast, while a third was flung up and back to shatter and splatter on the ceiling. The remainder, unperturbed by the trio's opening volley, clambered forward.
"Go for the legs!" ordered Shepard as she positioned herself a good couple of meters ahead of Grunt and Garrus to draw the attention of the husks.
They were on her in seconds. The Claymore roared a greeting, spitting superheated buckshot into the nearest husk. The payload, modified by the incendiary mod the commander had activated, ignited her target and several of the other animated corpses near it. They let out a chorus of rasping shrieks as they burned, crumpling to smears of greasy ash on the decking seconds later. The rest came at her, a gibbering, barking, moaning horde. Shepard danced among them, the Claymore roaring as fast as she could reload. Garrus and Grunt fired freely into the mass that kept pouring around the corner, peppering them with rounds and concussive shots as often as they could reload and the secondary firing chamber cooled. Anything they couldn't finish off, they left to Shepard. Again and again the Claymore roared, spitting flaming metal. Finally, it was over. Garrus realized his hands were shaking even worse than before as he re-holstered his pistol. Despite the Medi-gel, shock was finally setting in.
"Let's go!" barked Shepard as she moved back towards them. She handed Grunt's Claymore back to him and produced her own Mattock. "Shuttle's at the bottom of the ramp, get moving while I cover your ass!"
Grunt lumbered forward, Garrus' booted toes bouncing against the decking with every stride, sending bolts of pain up his burned legs. From behind them, he could hear Shepard's Mattock hammering away and the chattering sound of Collector assault rifles returning fire. They'd only just finished off the husk blockade in time. Joker's voice crackled over the comm again and there was no mistaking the tension in his voice. Shepard dropped all pretense of an orderly retreat, sending Grunt barreling toward the shuttle with her hot on his heels.
When Garrus woke up, he found himself looking at the familiar face of Dr. Chakwas. His legs were elevated and throbbing dully courtesy of medi-gel and other painkillers she must have dosed him up with. An IV was hooked up to the crook of one elbow, dripping he knew not what into his bloodstream. The turian equivalent of saline, perhaps, to help overcome the fluid loss that was part and parcel of bad burn injuries.
"Welcome back, Garrus," she said, smiling. "Let's try to keep any future injuries as simple to treat as burns, shall we? Touch-and-go medicine doesn't have the thrill it used to."
His mandibles parted slightly and he chuckled. "I'll try to keep that in mind, doctor." He glanced down at his legs, which were elevated to keep the swelling down. His shins were swathed in bandages from knee to ankle, not including his spurs. "What's the damage this time?"
"Second and third degree burns. Plus your shinguards have been slagged to hell and gone."
Garrus' eyes flicked over to find Commander Shepard perched on the other bed in the medbay. One arm was in a sling. The other was holding up what was left of one of his armor's shin plates for evidence. He couldn't help but wince at the sight. "I should be glad I still have legs."
"I'm inclined to agree, Garrus," said Dr. Chakwas. "Do try not to run into any more directed energy weapons. I saw what they could do to the original Normandy; I don't need to see what they can do to living beings." With that final parting quip, the doctor made her way back to her desk, leaving the two of them as alone as could be hoped for in the confines of a frigate's medbay.
Shepard hopped off the bed and took the spot Chakwas had vacated. "If it makes you feel any better, the doctor gave me the same spiel." She gestured to her immobilized arm. "Particle beam rifles are bad for you; who'd have guessed, right?"
"I could have told you what the amped-up versions did if you'd just asked, rather than seeing what handheld versions could do firsthand," Garrus shot back, mandibles spread in a turian smirk.
That earned him a tired grin and a chuckle from Shepard. "You comfortable, Garrus?" she asked.
The turian offered her a shrug. "As comfortable as you can be with burned legs and an IV in your arm," he replied.
She smiled down at him, her good hand brushing the top of his fringe gently. It felt warm against the metal-laced plates. Soft, too. Garrus was a little surprised by the gesture, mandibles opening slightly at her touch. It was another human thing, he knew…but he'd only ever seen her place her hand on Kaidan's head to…what was the phrase? 'Tousle his hair?'
"Good," she replied, still smiling. "That old C-Sec suit won't cut it. Even Tali thinks those shinguards are only good for scrap now. Combine that with the damage to the cowl piece and…well…" She shrugged, then grimaced as the motion aggravated whatever wound had necessitated the sling. "We're en route to the Citadel to get you some new armor."
"When a quarian tells you to scrap something, that probably is a good sign it belongs on the junkpile," Garrus conceded. "Especially if that quarian is Tali," he added, sighing. "It's served me well since you…well. Since I left C-Sec. Hard to say goodbye."
Shepard patted the top of his fringe. "I understand," she replied. "Any soldier who claims to have never gotten attached to a piece of their gear is a filthy liar. Hopefully the replacement suit will live up to its predecessor's high performance standard."
"Here's hoping, Shepard," Garrus agreed. "I'm guessing I'm relieved of duty until Dr. Chakwas says otherwise?" he asked, gesturing down at his bandaged shins.
"Correct," replied Shepard. She raised her hand to forestall the protest forming on his tongue with a smirk. "And only EDI will have access to the main battery while you're laid up, so don't fret about your calibrations being ruined."
He chuckled, mollified. "All right, Shepard, all right."
"Oh, and that reminds me, I have something for you. A little light reading, for when you're not too busy sleeping or staring at the ceiling." Turning back to the bed she'd been seated on, Shepard procured a data pad and passed it over to him. "EDI handled the translation to turian standard, so I'm hoping this means there won't be any misunderstandings." He saw a spark of humor in her eyes as she passed it over to him. She brushed her hand over his fringe one more time, the gesture clearly meant to be affectionate. "I'm going to go turn in, myself. Dealing with the Illusive Man's bullshit is nearly as draining as the mission itself. Heal fast, Garrus."
"Thanks, Shepard. Sleep well," replied the turian as she departed. The top of his fringe was still slightly warm from where she'd touched him. It was not altogether unpleasant, but it was…odd. He'd been hurt several times during the hunt for Saren, though not this badly, and she'd never reacted like this before. Garrus turned his attention to the data pad she'd passed him.
Officer Vakarian, Commander Shepard requested that I compile this document in your native language so as to minimize chances of misunderstanding on your part. I showed the original human standard version to Mr. Moreau; he believes this is intended as a joke.
~EDI
Garrus' mandibles drooped slightly in the turian equivalent of a frown, but given the expression he'd seen on the commander's face as she passed it along, it made sense that this was some sort of gag on her part. He thumbed the key to advance the page.
Part I: How to Dodge
The turian's laughter filled the medbay as he paged through the document.
Author's Note: Sorry about the spectacular delay in updating. Writer's block and Real Life have taken their toll of late. I hope the length kind of makes up for that. :)
So am I the only person who has trouble keeping our favorite turian conscious for the duration of the battle with the Praetorian on the 'disabled' Collector Vessel? :/ That was basically the inspiration for this chapter, combined with a desire to show the commander's changing view of her turian best friend.
I've tried to translate game mechanics/aesthetics (delay in shield recharge after getting hit by a Scion, why the hell all the weapons save sniper rifles have twin barrels when only one ever fires bullets, etc.) into something that makes sense for me. Hopefully my 'head canon' doesn't confuse too many. As for how/why Garrus and the others know what a Praetorian/Scion/Assassin/whatever is...uh... ...space magic...? n.n* Honestly, I couldn't figure out anything else to call these things that wouldn't be seen as a massive waste of words by anyone familiar with the game.
Since we are approaching (in game-time anyway) the official start of the romance chats between Garrus and Shepard, I feel I ought to issue the following warning: those of you who are hoping for graphic sexytimes between the two of them are going to be disappointed. I rated this "M" because the games are all rated "M" for liberal use of profanity, some really fucked-up violence, and the 'sex' scenes that are not at all explicit/graphic/whatever. I have zero experience writing smut and I have no desire to learn how to write it. If you are looking for graphic sexytimes, might I humbly suggest [url= s/7279093/1/]Sound the Clarion[/url] by Amber Penglass? FYI, it is an AU fic, but damn is it a good read! :)
As always, reviews and critiques are very much appreciated, and a thank-you to everyone who's reading and following this story. Glad people are liking it. :)
