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In Between Storms

The grief was a hard lump in her throat, choking her words, blocking her air, and every centimeter of her felt as heavy as lead. Her eyes burned because she hadn't slept since Virmire, and hadn't been able to let herself cry yet. The anger was a cold stone in her stomach, but mostly, Shepard was just tired. Really tired, tired to her very bones. Tired in her soul.

For all that, she thought Anderson had it worse right now. Across his shiny new desk, he rubbed his eyes. His knuckles were still bruised from punching out Udina. So was Udina's face. As they sat there in silence, five, seven, twenty new messages popped up red on the console interface. Anderson jabbed his thick, soldier's finger at the dismiss button once, twice, hit it on the third time.

Shepard had sat across a desk from Anderson too many times to count, but this time was different. The silence stretched between them like a living thing, and the guilt twisted in Beth's stomach harder every second she looked at the captain's face. It had been three days since she'd recommended him for the new Council position, and already his eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed. He looked harried . . . overwhelmed. She'd put him in a job too big for him, because he'd at least try to do it right, while that rat-bastard Udina had already shown he'd call white black to increase his own standing. It's just politics, Commander. God, she hoped he'd gone down hard when Anderson had punched him out. But she already wondered if she'd done the right thing, choosing Anderson, if it was really better putting a soldier in a diplomat's job when they both knew he'd make a crappy councilor. There hadn't been a right choice she could make.

"Dammit," Shepard swore aloud, unable to take the silence anymore. "What the hell was I supposed to say, Anderson? Right there, right then, it was you or Udina. Those were the known quantities, and if I didn't say something right then, we'd have ended up with a complete unknown, and who knows what they'd think about the Council or the Reapers? But I know you, and I know Udina. You'll at least try to do the right thing. With him, it's all power and image. I—I'm sorry."

Anderson tried to force a smile. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Shepard," he said, trying to make her feel better, damn him. "This isn't the way I thought my career would go, but I'm willing to do my part for humanity." The façade cracked then, just a little. He sighed. "I don't have a lot of experience in politics, but I'll do my best."

The headache she'd had since Virmire throbbed, and she rubbed her temples. "I know. Just try . . ."her voice cracked, and she hated herself for slipping, hated letting Anderson see just how done she was. God, she was literally shaking with exhaustion, but she was trying to come down off the stims so she could get some natural sleep before she shipped out again tomorrow. "Don't give way," she told Anderson, finding her voice again. "They're going to try to make this go away, Anderson. Don't let them. Sovereign was just the beginning. You can't let them forget. I can trust you?"

Anderson looked out his window, over the dying flames. "We don't have much," he said. "The wreckage is already being stripped and salvaged. You burned up the Prothean VI and its data stopping Sovereign—"

Shepard slammed both hands down on the desk. "I know!" It came out a shout, and Shepard sighed, forcing herself to relax. She was only angry because he was right. "Sorry," she muttered. She wouldn't meet Anderson's eyes. She could tell: he pitied her. That was the last thing she needed. They were both in over their heads here.

"I'll do what I can, Shepard," Anderson promised her. "They can't ignore what's happened here. I'll fight it. We have to be ready when the Reapers return."

"We will be. I'll see to that."

"You may not be able to now," Anderson warned her. "There's no getting out of this geth assignment. I'll work against it, but as long as the rest of the Council is in favor, my hands are tied. That's the downside of democratic politics. Majority rules. It's not like the military, where if we have sufficient cause we can just go in, to hell with the bureaucrats. As a Spectre, you still answer to the Council."

"The minute I get off the Citadel they'll do everything they can to change my story."

Anderson hadn't anticipated this angle. He frowned. "They won't be able to touch you, Shepard. You're a hero. You saved the Council. You saved the Citadel. There'll be novels, vids. More than there are already. You're invincible."

"Maybe, for a while," Shepard conceded. "But I also broke the law, went against orders when I left, and only I and my crew were witness to what Saren became in the end. To all that Sovereign was. Two gaping holes in my rep right there, just waiting for exploitation. Savior or not, they'll use it, if it means they don't have to panic the populace and prepare for a war they can't see coming with their own eyes."

"What the hell just happened, if not a war?" Anderson's fists clenched and unclenched on the desk. Another fifteen messages had popped up on his terminal, and the alert light was flashing with ruthless impatience. He groaned. "Dammit, I need a drink."

Shepard could relate. "Saren," she told him. "That's how they'll try to sell it. Saren and the geth, and nothing else. Kinda funny, when you think about it. The last thing they wanted was to admit he was a traitor. Now, they love that they can use him as a scapegoat. Stop it. Don't let it happen."

"I won't. All the people on the Citadel, the soldiers in the battle, they deserve that much."

"So does Ash," Shepard murmured. "I thought she'd make it through anything."

Anderson peered at her. "You're different, Shepard. Time was, I wondered if I'd ever see you get close to another soldier."

Shepard shrugged this off. "Yeah, well, that was then. A lot's happened this year."

"But it's more than that," Anderson persisted. "There's a moment in the careers of a lot of soldiers where they sort of . . . wake up. You see them push themselves past the limits of everything they ever thought they could do, find a reason to fight, and become more than they ever thought they could be. I used to wonder what your moment would be. All those years we worked together, and there was something missing."

Shepard started to protest, hurt, but Anderson cut her off. "Don't get me wrong, you did your duty. You worked hard, and you've always had more natural talent than I've ever seen in a soldier, but you weren't all you could be. I knew it, and I think you knew it, too." At this, Shepard had nothing to say. "It's part of the reason I recommended you for the N7 program, and then the Spectres. I thought it might wake you up. When it didn't, I thought maybe that part of yourself was something you'd lost at Akuze, or maybe before that, back on Earth."

Shepard shifted in her seat. "I—I never—" she trailed off. "I did the best I could for you, sir . . . then," she managed at last, because there was really nothing more to be said. He was right, though it was a little sad that it had taken nothing less than an imminent Reaper invasion to really bring her back to herself again. Or not back to herself, really, but to whoever she was now, because she'd never been Commander Beth Shepard, first human Spectre, before.

Anderson smiled at her, but his smile was sad, too. "I know you did, Commander," he said. "Now I wonder why I ever wanted to see the fight that would wake you up. Not that it isn't something to see. But Reapers. Figures humanity would only get a seat on the Council at a start of a war that'll be bigger than the Rachni Wars and Krogan Rebellions combined."

"Think we're up for it?" Beth asked him.

"We'll figure something out, Shepard. You and me. Me in this damn job. You in the Normandy. We'll work things out, and we'll be ready. Somehow." Anderson said. "You haven't let me down yet."

Funny how they all thought that would help. We trust you, Shepard. We believe in you. Calling her the hero of the entire freaking Citadel, like half of it hadn't burned before she'd got through the Conduit. The higher they built her up, the further there was to fall. Shepard grimaced but let it pass. "And you haven't let me down, sir," she replied. "I guess we'll just see." She stood, and shook Anderson's hand across the desk.

"Go back to the ship and get some sleep, Shepard," he told her. "I'll be in touch."

Shepard rolled her shoulders. "I haven't slept in a long time, sir. Not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight. But I'll try."

Parts of the Citadel were still burning as Shepard made her way back to the docks. The smell of burnt flesh was still circulating through the ventilation systems. Over the Presidium, the dying fires cast an eerie red-orange light across the stars. Shepard heard turians on clean-up crews shouting at one another from the ward arms, clearing wreckage from Sovereign, and from the twenty-eight human and turian cruisers that had been lost in the battle. Frantic civilians rushed through the streets, shoving pictures of missing loved ones under everyone's noses. They were still digging bodies out of the wards, and many had been burned or blown beyond recognition.

But some of the vendors were up again, and Shepard stopped by one of these on the way and bought a bottle of turian brandy, a jug of ryncol, and a few bottles of straight-up Earth Canadian whiskey. Liara had hopped a transport back to asari space three days ago, the day after she'd heard about Shepard's new assignment and told her which way the wind was blowing. Tali had left last night. But Wrex and Garrus were still aboard the Normandy, until she shipped out tomorrow morning with only her Alliance crew. And Anderson was right: they all needed a damn drink.

It was damned decent of Liara to try to push their case with the asari matriarchs, but Shepard really didn't think the disgraced Benezia's crazy, young daughter would have much luck convincing the galaxy's consummate diplomats that they ought to prepare for war against the Reapers when Saren was still conveniently around to blame for what had happened, and they'd burned their only hard evidence of a greater threat. The line Liara said the Council would take would probably originate with the salarians, but the asari would give it its shape.

As for Tali, Shepard really didn't blame her. Ash's death had hit the sheltered quarian particularly hard. Despite Ash's mild xenophobia, Tali had always been an exception for her. The two had formed a close friendship, and Tali had been grieving badly when she'd left. She wasn't a soldier, not really. She was just a kid that had got pulled into all this by mistake. She'd fulfilled her promise and completed her Pilgrimage. The geth data would make her every bit the hero the quarians were expecting Admiral Rael'Zorah's daughter to be upon her return. Shepard couldn't expect more from her. The galaxy certainly hadn't done the quarians any favors. Shepard could only hope that she'd bought Tali a few years to grow up before the Reapers returned and that what she'd been able to teach Tali in the last couple weeks would do her some good if the flotilla sent her out again.

But God, Shepard missed them both. She hated the whole thing, the squad breaking up to go their separate ways. She didn't begrudge any of her squad their lives. She approved of Wrex going back to Tuchanka to finally do what he could for his people. She'd encouraged Garrus to return to C-Sec, at least for a while. But the thing was, the Normandy had been practically the only place in the galaxy there had been real intergalactic cooperation working, no politics, no games. The galaxy would need that kind of cooperation to defeat the Reapers. However good their individual excuses, some part of Shepard still felt that splitting the crew up now was a bad idea.

As Shepard boarded the Normandy, the silence that meant a costly battle had been fought echoed through the ship. It was almost deafening. Everyone was going about their duties a little more slowly. A few of the crew members had had family, friends, or lovers on the cruisers that had fought Sovereign above the Citadel. She'd heard the phone calls, the low voices, seen the grief and shock and guilt on their faces as they tried not to look at her when she walked past, because they didn't want to blame her, didn't want her to think what if she'd pressed harder, what if she'd been faster. She was thinking all that already.

Shepard ignored the salutes and took the stairs and the elevator down to the hold. The post by the lockers was empty, and everyone down in the hold was deliberately not looking at the place where the gunnery chief should be maintaining the guns and running inventory, but wasn't.

Shepard went straight to Ash's locker. No one had touched Williams's stuff since Virmire. Before they left port in the morning, Shepard would have to send her effects to her family, with the letter she'd written the day after Virmire but hadn't been able to make herself send. Beth knew Ashley's family from her stories. Even knew Sarah Williams's voice, from the message she'd overheard that one time. It had been echoing in her head for days. She could imagine how it would sound when they got the package and the letter. Shepard loved the Williamses, like she loved every decent family everywhere for simply being a decent family. The patient, faithful military widow, the brave, quirky sisters—Shepard didn't want to break their hearts. But to leave them wondering, not knowing, would be worse. She'd have to send it. But she figured Ash could part with one thing first. They never had celebrated Armistice Day together.

She had the whiskey for later, but it felt right to start with Ash's hard cider. The bottle was contraband on-deck, anyway. Shepard hadn't confiscated it when Ash had first mentioned she had it only because she'd never once seen Williams out of order in any way. If she drank a glass or two responsibly, off-duty, well, she was a good soldier that had been through hell on Eden Prime and run ragged since. Shepard figured Williams deserved a drink now and then.

It was in one of her boots, padded with socks. Clean, fortunately. Ash hadn't ever been a slob. The model gunnery chief. Shepard railed in her head again at brass for not promoting Williams. She should've been an operations chief, at least.

Shepard pulled out the bottle, shut the locker, and tossed the bag with the rest of the liquor on the floor. The glass clinked, but didn't break. Wrex and Garrus watched her. Shepard jerked her chin at the bag. "Something to celebrate our last night together, boys."

Slowly, Garrus went up to the bag and opened it. He pulled out the turian brandy, paused when he saw the ryncol, and handed the heavy jug to Wrex.

"Now you're talking, Shepard," Wrex said, popping the cork and drinking straight from the jug.

"No. No talking. Just drink."

Before too long, people came down to join them. Chakwas first, followed by Adams, Pressly, and a few of the rest of the crew. Kaidan was the last. He stayed in the corner, his face stubbly and shadowed with the survivor's guilt. Shepard guessed he hadn't slept since Virmire either. She tried not to look at him. She'd made the right call that day. Not only was Alenko the senior officer, he'd been with the bomb. If the geth had disarmed it somehow, the entire mission, all those men Kirrahe had already lost, would've been for nothing. But every time Shepard looked at Kaidan she saw Ash. She knew it'd ease up in a few months, but until then, both of them carried their burdens.

It was nothing like a party and everyone knew it. Ash had only been the first of so many people to die fighting Sovereign. Not even the first. There'd been dozens on Eden Prime, too, on Feros, and on Virmire before they'd lost her. There were the military casualties lost in the space battle, and the civilian casualties, lost before Shepard had arrived on the scene, and after, when Sovereign had blown apart. They numbered in the thousands. No, this was a wake, and the crew treated it like a wake, trickling out when they felt they'd paid their respects.

Shepard stayed, and kept drinking. The world mercifully began to blur after a while, taking everything out of cruel focus. Finally, only Kaidan, Wrex, and Garrus were left. "To Ash," Shepard said at last. For days she'd been unable to say Williams's name in front of these people. She'd needed the alcohol, needed the time. They all downed another shot.

"She never was a fan of aliens," Garrus remarked. "But the cargo hold feels . . . wrong. Empty without her."

"Be empty without you two, now," Kaidan said.

Wrex grunted, and blearily, Shepard focused on her hulking friend. She'd been close to losing him on Virmire too, close to having to shoot him for the sake of the mission. She'd been so glad when he'd seen reason. She thought it was why he was going back to Tuchanka now, because of what she'd said then. The krogan had let others define them for too long. Wrex had ideas about what they should be, and it was time he acted on them. But she knew it'd be an uphill battle all the way for him, and partially because of what she'd done.

"To you, too, you old brawler," she said unsteadily. "Said I was glad I didn't kill you on Virmire. Never said I was sorry, too. I am. Sorry. The genophage. 'S'not fair. Not right. Someday, if I can . . . I'll do something. Don't know what. Just . . . something. I will." Even through the alcoholic haze, Shepard meant the promise.

But Wrex laughed. "You're drunk, Shepard."

"'M'not so drunk I won't remember. I'll remember. I'll do something."

Wrex regarded her out of red eyes yet undimmed by the drink. "Someday we'll see, I guess," he said. He stood then, and clapped Shepard on the back. She staggered forward a couple steps from the force of the blow. Sometimes Wrex didn't know his own strength. "Think I'll head out now," he said. "Been fun, Shepard. Kaidan. Garrus. You're alright, for a turian. I'll see you around."

"He wasn't too formal when he joined up, either," Kaidan observed. "It fits, somehow." He considered the alcohol in his glass. "You're drunk, Commander," he said echoing Wrex. "And if I down this round, I will be too. Alcohol and sleep meds don't mix, even with a biotic metabolism. And we've got duty tomorrow. I'll get aspirin from Chakwas for you in the morning. Garrus? Let me know before you head out."

"Will do."

Carefully, Kaidan set down his glass. He stood, and walked away. He paused in the elevator, and looked back at Garrus again. "Take care of her," he instructed just before the door shut on him.

Garrus jerked his head, a human mannerism he'd picked up.

Shepard scowled. "Don't need taking care of," she muttered. "'m fine. 'M fine." She slid down against the Mako, nursing her glass. They'd almost totaled it in the Ilos Run through the Conduit, but the crew had retrieved it from the Presidium after the battle, and in the last few days, Garrus and Tali had restored it almost completely.

"Sure you are," Garrus said, sitting next to her and prying the glass from the fingers that weren't fast enough to resist him just now. Into her other hand he placed something long and thin.

Shepard turned her head. She looked at it for a while before she realized what it was. It was a stick of jerky. She blinked.

"It's levo," Garrus told her. "At least, I think so. I can't remember. Even if it's not, you don't have an allergy."

"Won't do any good, though, if it's dextro," Shepard said.

"Yeah, but it couldn't hurt. And here. Drink this."

He pressed a canteen of water into her other hand. Shepard glared at him. "'m fine," she insisted. "What if I want to get piss-drunk and vomit myself into a coma, huh? What then, Vakarian?"

But she screwed the top off the canteen anyway, drank, and peeled the wrapper off the jerky. She bit off some. It was levo. "Hate you," she mumbled around the mouthful.

"No, you don't."

"Think you're so damn smart."

"When the reporters come around I'll tell them you taught me everything I know."

He sat there and waited until the food and water and the antitoxin tech in the armor Shepard was still wearing had started recalibrating her internal chemistry to semi-normal levels. She hadn't been that drunk.

Shepard looked over at the turian brandy. It was almost untouched. Garrus followed her gaze. "It doesn't really help, Shepard," he said. "To have fun, to unwind, that's one thing. But not when you drink it like this."

"No," she agreed. "But damn it if I wouldn't like to think it'd help, anyway. Damn you, too, for not letting me. You always are doing that. Keep me sharp." She was quiet for a moment. The haze of alcohol was still clouding her brain, just a little, and it gave her the courage she needed to do another bit of business she'd been putting off. She could just about cope with almost all the squad leaving the Normandy for good. With Garrus it was different somehow. She brought up her omni-tool and selected a text file she'd written up a couple weeks ago and finished editing last night. "You're going back to C-Sec tomorrow, right?"

He hummed a confirmation. "There'll be a hell of a crime wave, after the battle. The riots have already started. C-Sec will need all the help it can get."

Shepard indicated the text file on her 'tool. "I've written commendations to Executor Pallin and the Citadel Council. My letter praises your work as a consult above and beyond your duties here. You saved my life and the lives of our companions on a number of occasions, and without your help, it's unlikely we would have been able to stop Saren as effectively or efficiently." She articulated the quotes as carefully as possible, endeavoring to recover a professional footing.

Garrus's eyes had widened, his mandibles had tightened in surprise. "Shepard, there's really no need—" he began.

Shepard cut off the turian honorable disclaimer in the bud. She wouldn't have it. As far as she was concerned, Garrus had earned his commendation and then some, and what's more, he knew it, too. "I already did, Vakarian, so don't bother," she told him. "I thank them for their generous allowance of leave for you to provide assistance on the mission. To Executor Pallin I recommend you for C-Sec recognition for your heroism in helping to save the Council and the Citadel." She swallowed, coming to the point now. "As you've also expressed interest in joining the Spectres, to the Council I've expressed my confidence in your excellence as a potential candidate for Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."

She watched him carefully, but while the addition of a recommendation to the Spectres had caught Garrus even more off guard, he didn't seem to get it yet. He was stuck on gratitude. "Shepard, you didn't have to—"

It was an honest expression this time, but Shepard still wouldn't have it. "Damn right, I did," she snapped. "Garrus. On this mission, you saved my ass. Many times. Helped me make the right calls more than once. You helped me take down Saren and Sovereign, and no one knew going in we'd be facing a Reaper. I couldn't have done it without you."

At this, Garrus absolutely balked. He shook his head. "Sure you could," he said.

Shepard stared him down, and he stopped talking. "No," she told him simply. Then, to lighten the mood, she leaned over and jostled him with her shoulder. "At least, not the same," she allowed, with a weary smile. She looked away and wrapped her arms around her knees then, and was quiet for a moment. "Garrus Vakarian, it has been my honor and my pleasure," she murmured, meaning every word.

Garrus's eyes were still locked on her face. She doubted she'd ever get used to the intensity Garrus put behind his focus. Made him a one-in-a-billion shot when it was leveled down the barrel of his rifle, an amazing engineer when it was directed at the Mako or some bit of combat tech, but when he trained that laser focus on her, it was damned unsettling, though she also knew that focus was the very thing that had saved her ass and kept her accountable time and time again on this mission. It was stronger than ever now, though. It was like he was trying to look right into her brain. His mandibles tightened, then flared, then tightened again. "Shepard, the pleasure's been mine," he said, and there was something underneath his voice, too, that shook the floor beneath them and the Mako behind them and made Shepard's bones vibrate.

He reached over for her hand, and Shepard took it. They shook, and she thought maybe he held her hand a little longer than he needed to, like he didn't want to let go either. "Garrus, listen," Shepard told him. "About the Spectre training. If you do end up going that direction, if you make it—" she snorted. "If you go that direction, when you make it—"

Garrus chuckled. "Appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Please. You're almost as good as I am."

"Only almost?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Keep working at it, Vakarian. You'll get there. If you're lucky." Shepard cleared her throat, and continued. "If you go that route, Garrus, I'd be happy to work with you again."

Garrus blinked, surprised again. "Shepard and Vakarian, Spectres, cruising the galaxy for trouble?" He sounded like he liked the idea.

Shepard honestly hadn't known how he'd take it. She relaxed a little. "You gotta admit: it has a nice sound," she said.

Garrus hummed. "It does, at that," he admitted. He looked sideways at her, though. "Sure you're in the market for a full-fledged partner?"

In the past, Shepard had confined herself to leading small ground fire teams. Before that, she'd fought in small ground fire teams under another CO. She hadn't ever tried fully cooperative ops, even as an N7. She hadn't ever wanted to try them. And although some Spectres did work in partnerships, most worked alone, and that was how they were chosen. Judging from Garrus's tone, he knew that. "Normally I wouldn't be," Shepard murmured. "Most of the time, manpower's more efficient under single leadership, or spread out to cover diverse objectives. An equal partnership's only a good call if each partner is better for working with the other." She stole a glance at him, but even tipsy she wasn't going to say any more than that. She'd die before she admitted she needed anyone to watch her back. Never again.

"I—I'll keep that in mind," Garrus said. Still, the knowledge hung over the pair of them that if he was accepted for Spectre training again, it could be a long time before he made Spectre. "They should keep you on the Citadel, too," Garrus said after a moment. "The center of information, where you can spread the word about the Reapers, make sure the galaxy knows what's coming. It's not right, sending you after the geth. Too many people have died. Too damn many. That Reaper's in pieces all over the Citadel, and sending you out after the geth . . . they're going to brush it all off and pin it on the geth, aren't they?"

"Yeah, they are," Shepard said, without pulling the punch. "The Reapers are terrifying. They don't know what the hell to do with the Reapers. They've exterminated every other advanced race in the history of ever. How do you prepare for that?"

"Not by sticking your head in the sand and pretending it isn't happening!" Garrus snapped, and Shepard, still a little lightheaded, looked over and remembered he'd been there for all of it, too, that this was happening to him too.

"There's no proof," she sighed. "Nothing solid. The data from Vigil was all we had, and it burnt out when we used it to beat Sovereign."

"You couldn't have done anything else," Garrus argued. "It was the only way."

"I know."

It suddenly occurred to Shepard how Garrus was likely to react to the way the politicians on the Citadel would probably spin things. God, it would be worse because the Hierarchy would bring the sentiment the salarians would frame and the asari would articulate. The turians' bitter, wounded pride would be all too eager to strike out against the human that had proved one of their best and brightest a traitor and had to save the Citadel from him. Garrus, the patriot that had staked everything on avenging the honor of the turian race, the hothead that set the pursuit of truth and the administration of justice above everything, the friend that had followed her to hell and back—Garrus would lose it, if she was right.

"Garrus," she said, and he looked up. "When the awe wears off and everybody's left with the clean-up and not a whole lot of ideas about what the hell happened with Saren? It'll get worse. I defied the Council, broke the Spectres' one rule, and I'm the only one pushing this damned inconvenient war with the invisible Reapers. If I'm right, the Council's planning a smear campaign in a couple of months, while I'm away chasing geth and can't defend myself."

Garrus started. "A smear campaign . . . ? Shepard, they can't. You're the hero of the Citadel. You saved all their lives. If they—"

Shepard interrupted. "It'll all be secondary to the panic of the people, the economic crisis, all the shit that goes on preparing for a war. Taking down my credibility is the best way to assure the people that they're safe, that there are no Reapers and will be no war. Better even than saying they're dealing with the geth threat by sending the hero of the Citadel after them."

Garrus's fists clenched. In the quiet of the hold, Shepard actually heard the strain as his jaw tightened. "Everything you've done, everything you've been through," he said, and his voice was a growl, stretched to breaking. "Shepard . . . they can't."

Shepard resituated herself so she was sitting opposite Garrus, cross-legged, hands on both her knees. She stared up at him, willing him to understand. "Listen. It doesn't matter. Only the Reapers matter. While you're on the Citadel, you can help Anderson, help everyone. You can make sure they don't forget what happened, brush it all under the rug like that. Make noise. You're good at that. Forget about me. Focus on the big-ass Reaper that crashed into the Citadel. Try to get some tech, some proof."

Garrus sputtered, unable to believe she could be so blasé about the imminent destruction of her reputation. "It doesn't matter? Shepard—"

"You can't control what they do," Shepard reminded him.

Garrus gave in. "'You can only control your response,'" he responded, finishing the familiar mantra. He relaxed, though the metallic scent he gave off when particularly angry still filled the air between them.

"Control it," Shepard said. "For me. If you're damned set on returning to C-Sec for now, do some good there, okay? Don't lose your head. Whatever the Council does, whatever they say about me. When you have the choice, do the right thing. Even when it feels like hell. You owe it to yourself. Promise."

Garrus dropped her gaze then. "I'm not like you, Shepard."

"No. You're Garrus freaking Vakarian, epic badass, Reaper-slayer. You can do this."

Garrus smiled. "You may have helped with the Reaper. Just a little. I can't promise," he told her. "If they go after you, after everything we did. I need justice, and that won't be it. But I'll try."

"Good enough," Shepard said. She stood with a groan. "Well. As Kaidan and you were kind enough to remind me, you bastards, I do have duty tomorrow. You heading out now, or later?"

"I think I'll spend one last night on the old girl," Garrus said, remaining by the Mako. "My apartment's probably trashed anyway. Getting hit by an exploding Reaper probably was hell for the neighborhood property values."

Shepard smiled, tipped a little, ironic wave.

"Shepard. If I don't see you tomorrow—"

Beth cut him off. "You've got my 'tool address?" she asked him.

He tapped his wrist. "Yes."

"Then use it. I'll swing by next time on shore leave. I can kick your ass at the shooting range or something."

Back on familiar ground and away from serious, half-drunken conversations, Garrus stood with that showboat smirk he somehow pulled off without actually possessing lips. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? But we both know I'm better."

Shepard scoffed. "You wish." She stepped into the elevator, and she knew that even if Garrus did stay the night on the Normandy, he'd be gone before she left her quarters in the morning. They'd said all they needed to say for now. A goodbye would just be redundant, and after their conversation tonight, she was wondering if he'd hate it just as much as she did.

"Till then, Shepard?" he called after her. "Give 'em hell."

Shepard turned around, crossed her arms, sank her weight back on one hip, mustered all the energy and positivity she had left in her, and gave Garrus Vakarian her best showboat smirk. "Always."

REVIEW OF SAREN, THE FOURTEENTH VID WITH A CHARACTER BASED ON COMMANDER BETH SHEPARD (PLAYED BY KENDALL JAMES)

Saren

Reviewed by Georgia Ellody, Citadel Daily

Commander Shepard seems to be the galaxy's new bright star. The Alliance maverick has been fascinating far more than her own kind long before she defied her orders and saved the Citadel in the recent geth attack, and even before she became the first human Spectre at the start of the year. Though Shepard, age 29, is known for her reticence and professionalism in the public eye, asari, turian, and human producers have all speculated about the real Commander Shepard in a succession of unofficial biovids. The latest, salarian-produced vid, Saren, takes a different tack.

Starring a magnetic Rigel Kristokus as the villain protagonist, Saren delves into the dark crimes of the rogue Spectre behind the geth attacks on Eden Prime, Feros, and the Citadel. Opposite Kristokus is promising, young, human actress Kendall James in her silver screen debut. James plays a Shepard heretofore unseen in cinema, an unyielding, dogged avenger determined to bring Arterius to justice at any cost.

With sweeping, brooding cinematography and top-notch special effects, Saren is a visual wonder. However, usually meticulously researched—with note-perfect battle locations and tactics, the motivations of the titular character sag in places. Saren's now-confirmed fear and hatred of humans does not seem to provide sufficient cause for him to ally with hostile AI, especially to attack the Citadel, which houses ten members of other species to every one human. Kristokus portrays an intelligent, compelling Arterius charismatic enough to sway an asari matriarch and dupe Commander Shepard even after his death, not a madman likely to burn down the house everyone is living in.

With thoughtful, philosophical dialogue, and battle choreography so realistic audiences will half expect blood to spurt from the screen, Saren is well worth a watch even with (and perhaps because of) its unanswered questions. Director Elon Linol has made a remarkable biovid and a fine conversation piece for those interested in recent news.

Saren is available over extranet from Hirom Studios and Widowscape Distribution and currently showing in theatres throughout Council space.

(Note: Article is given in its original form, as it appeared 14.10.2183 at 12:00 AM. The article was removed from the site at 12:03 AM and replaced at 12:47 AM with several sentences from the third paragraph removed and revised to eliminate any reference to Arterius's unclear motivations in the vid.)

A/N: Yes, I know my Shepard actress has the same name as a football player. I did not know that when I named her that, not being a fan of football in general, and I like the name too much to change it. No insult to Mr. James's manliness was intended—Commander Shepard is a total badass, after all, and Ms. James, despite her appearance in the politicized Saren, is actually my favorite among the actresses I imagined to play the part. At the time, I think Saren might have actually been a sincere conceptualization of the events of ME, however the Council may have used it later.

Anyway, this is it for Disaster Zone: Awakening. Henceforth updates to the Disaster Zone will be slowing down, alternating with my Mass Effect 2 novelization. The Disaster Zone will update on Wednesdays, starting next Wednesday when Resurrection goes up. Sometimes Grace, which uses Beth Shepard but is written from the perspective of Garrus Vakarian, will begin posting next Saturday. I hope Disaster Zone fans will check out Sometimes Grace. The style is very different, but it's still Mass Effect, and covers my favorite game in the trilogy.

Special thanks to seabo76, Katkiller -V, and TheXGrayXLady. Your support is an amazing encouragement.

Happy New Year!

LMSharp