Violence, Voyeurism and Vigilantes

by efleck

In matters of life and death, it's our journey to understand the universe, ourselves and those we care about that keeps us truly alive. For many that path includes love, loss, betrayal & violence. FemShepXGarrus. Covers time from ME2-3, flashbacks to ME1, graphic.

21. Chapter 21

'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'

CHAPTER 21

'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'

It isn't always possible to measure the worth of one man's life in the number and weight of the dead. How many litres of blood are required to even the scales before the need for vengeance is satisfied?

Archangel still didn't know the answer to that question and he doubted he ever would.

As he had dozens of times before, the weary turian's eyes fell upon the battlefield with the sort of heavy numbness that is only born in those who have witnessed unrelenting slaughter. The carnage of bodies below him spread out like a tapestry of demonic horrors. The dead... nameless and faceless... their final poses their only legacy in this life.

It was a tapestry he had woven with his own hands.

Ten bodies for each – the members of his team deserved at least that many - more if he could manage it.

The bridge and barricade had been quiet for some time... perhaps the stench of their dead companions was beginning to weaken his enemy's resolve. He glanced back down at the familiar object he held. Slowly, Archangel wiped a gloved hand across the side of his visor, brushing away tiny bits of curled metal as he inspected his handy work. It had been too long since he'd wielded a knife, yet he had made sure the first three names were clearly cut.

Sidonis' name was first, as he had been by his side from the beginning... and as he figured it, was probably the first to die. It was impossible for Archangel to prevent his mind from conjuring up a slew of disheartening images of his friend being dragged into some dark, horrific place - drugged and beaten, his captors breaking his will with their words and bodies. A person could only take so much. For a turian, it was a fate worse than simply dying. To live, even for a short time, with the dishonour of betrayal and being unable to achieve redemption was an even greater punishment. It was a sure way to tarnish any family's reputation.

Three names only. He hadn't killed enough mercs yet to add the rest. Sliding the blade back into the sheath hidden in his boot, the solitary turian turned his visor over in his hands until he found the very first mark he had made. A single S carved on the very bottom. The start of a name he had begun to carve months earlier, in the hour just before he had first landed on Omega.

It had been a promise, but in carving that single letter he had realized there was no scale that could measure what it would take to make up for her loss. Bathing himself in all the criminal blood on Omega couldn't wash away the tragedy of her death. There was no lifetime long enough, no number of noble deeds and selfless acts that could make up for all the good she would have brought into the world. The things she should have accomplished - the lives she would have saved, catastrophes she would have averted... all of that potential pulled from this life like the air from her lungs in the void of space.

He had convinced himself that some day, when his face plates had been worn smooth with age and his joints ached from years of combat... some day, when enough people had died... he might be able to lay her to rest.

Today wasn't that day however, and it was beginning to seem like that day might never come.

Archangel's bare eyes scanned the bridge once more before he slid his visor back into place. Assured there were no approaching heat signatures, he set the perimeter alarms and headed down to check the basement. Passing the shrouded bodies of his team, he cast his eyes to the floor. Beyond them and the covered stacks of dead mercs left from the initial conflict was the door to the basement.

As for the stench, his mind had conquered it hours earlier.

He knew he didn't have much time, so with hurried steps he made his way down the metal staircase, the lights automatically flickering to life as he entered. Beyond the blast doors lay the explosive charges which had been set months earlier by Sensat, after it was agreed the lower levels were a strategic weak point. Stepping up to the detonation controls, the evening Archangel had spent with his men, his friends, suddenly came back to him. Crude jokes and optimistic chatter about 'making a difference' as they clinked various bottles of strong drink, watching as their salarian explosives expert rigged the bombs. Their attitude seemed naive now, even foolish - idealistic dreams of desperate men. Their laughter was only echoes in his mind now.

Sensat might be dead, but his handiwork appeared to be in perfect working order.

Archangel knew that if he were going to spill enough merc blood to make up for his team's deaths, he needed to make sure the bastards didn't get the chance to sneak up and shoot him in the back. Detonation would block the last unguarded entrance... and destroy his only exit strategy. The turian frowned.

Escaping at that moment would have been easy. He could stumble his way through the labyrinthine tunnels that led into Omega's curdled innards and eventually he'd come out the other side. The dirt and grime would wash off, but not the shame. Did he really deserve the freedom to start again?

The turian's hand paused on the controls. No. He belonged nowhere now. His team was dead, Shepard was dead and the various members of the Normandy crew had gone their own ways. There was no way C-Sec would have him back now, and he probably wouldn't last long there anyway. And his family... To leave them to the fate of a reaper invasion, he would ultimately be unable to protect them from that as well. Archangel imagined his father sitting in his study in the moonlight, his long talons gently turning the pages of their family book as he wondered just what had been the fate of his son.

His isolation was a sudden weight that fell heavy on his shoulders.

Behind him, long shadows caressed by the orange emergency lighting stretched out towards him, their dark fingers reaching silently, insistently. The eerie calm held the whisper of a breeze that caressed the bare skin of his neck. It seemed almost like a comforting hand, whether real or imagined- he was certain his dark companion stood in the dim stillness at his back.

"You wouldn't think less of me, would you?" he whispered, his hand quivering just a bit as it held its position over the detonation controls. One simple act and he would be sealing his own tomb.

There was a soft click from the room, likely a joist settling or a bolt shrinking, but to his ears it sounded disapproving, upset. The ambient noise seemed to give voice to the shapeless presence hovering just out of sight. Archangel let out a choked sigh. Of course she would want him to escape, to fight another day, but his team... how could he slink away after he had allowed them to be thrown to the slaughter? It had been his drive, his blindness to the danger, his need for a total purge of Omega's criminal underworld that had led him to this place.

His father had taught him the importance of rules, and Shepard, the value of restraint and caution. He had used the wisdom of neither - and his companions had paid for his mistakes with their blood. Perhaps it was time he turned his need for vigilante justice on himself.

Before he could second guess his decision, Archangel pressed the detonator. There was a sudden low rumble he could feel through the soles of his boots as the explosion reverberated through the walls and floor, the crates and supplies rattling. He swallowed the acidic pang of fear in his throat, accepting the fact that there was no turning back.

"I'm sorry Shepard."

'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'

Hunched over the ship's main controls, the former galactic hero now turned fugitive felt her eyes glaze over as she scanned the rows of alien symbols laid out before her. Turian writing had never been her forte – back in her academy days, the patience and attention to detail the squiggly lines and patterns demanded had been too much for her younger, vengeful self. Looking at them now, her older, wiser eyes could appreciate the simplistic beauty in the shapes. There would be plenty of time to learn each letter and symbol. After all, incarceration was a great opportunity to expand one's interests.

"Let's power up the main grid," came the engineer's tired voice over the comm. Shepard blinked distractedly before letting out a long sigh as she held her omni tool up to the ship's dash. It crudely translated the symbols, allowing her to find the controls she was looking for.

"Ok, powering up," she confirmed dully as she hit a series of glowing holographic buttons. She strained her ears for the expected sound of the core coming back online, but it was notably absent. Her eyes flickered across the gauges - all of them flat."I'm not getting anything on this end."

There was a static filled pause. The long safety cable that stretched out from the fuel depot clinked against the viewing window, the man it was attached to out of sight below, his presence only evident in the periodic jerky movements of the cord.

This had most definitely not been the way Shepard had imagined her pre-imprisonment vacation.

"Just a moment," the engineer finally grunted.

Unconsciously, she reached into her pocket, finding the object Liara had given her. The metal was warm between her finger tips, and she rubbed a thumb across the familiar etched surface. She'd missed the tags at first; Early in her military career, the laser etched surface had given her an identity - a comforting reminder that she wasn't just a nameless orphan, but a soldier with integrity and purpose. Then Garrus had provided her with a replacement, made of his own flesh. Now, her old tags felt foreign and heavy in her pocket. When she looked at them now it was difficult not to see the noose they had been around her neck as she fell into the cold hands of Alchera.

The extended silence of the engineer allowed Shepard's attention to wander to the darkness outside, where, past the drifting safety cable, she passively observed the small vessel next to them disengage its seal and pull away from the fuel depot. Its thrusters came on with a silent, bright blue glow, revealing the silhouette and outlines of other ships docked nearby. Eyes following the shadows upward, she frowned. What had been a dark, haphazardly lit, abstract object parked above them gradually gave itself away as the turian ship they had spotted at Omega.

Coincidence? God, she hoped so.

"Alright, try it again," the engineer requested gruffly through the comm.

Shepard's hands returned to the controls, and as she repeated the cold jump engine protocol, a very soft rumble began that quickly dissipated into a familiar hum.

"Looks good on my end," the mechanic chimed in. "How are those gauges reading?"

"Everything appears to be levelling off," Shepard replied slowly, glancing briefly at the controls. Relief should have been at the forefront of her mind, but instead her attention was still held captive by the ship that loomed above and what its presence might mean. By now the light from the thrusters of the small, retreating vessel had vanished, the dark veil of the cold ether once again shielding the turian ship from view.

There was a less than subtle throat clearing over the comm and Shepard instantly snapped back to task.

"Sending you the remainder of your payment now," she assured the engineer, who was now floating outside the viewing window. It never ceased to be impressive how easily and quickly a person could part with credits anywhere in the galaxy.

"Received. Safe journey," the turian engineer eventually mumbled, giving a tired wave before he began to pull himself along his cord and back to the safety of the depot airlock. Shepard could hardly suppress the shudder that ran up her back at the sight of the obvious patches in his suit. It was impossible not to scrutinize his progress until he reached his goal. Watching people work in space made her nervous now, though she'd never admit it. It didn't help that repair jobs in the terminus usually meant antique parts and dark age safety practices - assuming there even were safety practices.

So now the ship was fixed, but where was Garrus?

Swinging the chair around, Shepard planted her feet facing the exit, her eyes narrowing as she regarded the sealed door that led to the airlock. Garrus had made it clear, though somewhat jokingly, that this was his ship and his rules. Fine, she'd play along. With much mock seriousness he had bestowed upon her a new rank, which, while secretly maddening, they'd enjoyed a good laugh about.

Apparently the amount of time she'd been in service only amounted to the rank of lieutenant in the turian military, and the two years she had been dead didn't count. Neither did her notable acts of bravery.

Shuffling her boots impatiently against the grey, scuffed floor, Shepard pressed her lips together silently. 'Stay put' his words echoed in her head, his voice emphasizing the word 'stay', before he waltzed off to leave her to count the minutes on the ship and babysit the mechanic.

Stay put...

But the more she stared, the more the door appeared to be beckoning her. Now that work on the engine was completed, the silence revealed a symphony of sounds from beyond, to which her mind eagerly offered a myriad of fantastical sources. The soft clink of metal could be a meddling group of slavers, or maybe that low distant rumble was an explosion. The Normandy was too big for such sounds to reach her, but a small ship like this? Unlabelled, unexplained noises fuelled her imagination without mercy.

Sure, it was more than likely she was simply hearing the echoes of slight vibrations carrying over through the airlock junction...

... but it wouldn't hurt to take a look. She was Commander Fucking Shepard after all. Of course she could take a look.

Decision made, she took a confident step to the door control and began the airlock cycle. She slipped on her jacket, and then reached for a pistol, slamming home a fresh sink before tucking it into the back of her pants. She wasn't expecting trouble, but it was good to be prepared. Almost forgetting the most important piece of her disguise, she grabbed for her scarf, tugging the loose fabric over her head so it hung almost to her eyes.

When the door finally opened, Shepard was faced with an airlock even more rickety that the one on Omega, something which she had believe not to be possible. In fact, she was certain she had seen abandoned ships and prothean ruins in better shape. Upon stepping inside, there was a sickening hiss, and she tensed, biting her lip as she silently praying for anything but being spaced again. An unhealthy metal clank echoed around her, and she couldn't help but reach for the wall as the inner doors jerked open.

It wasn't like her to feel so jumpy, or religious, but she couldn't deny that she quietly thanked a nameless space deity that she was still alive.

To her left and right ran a dark, odd smelling corridor. Her nose wrinkled as she attempted to identify the pungent odours individually, but without success. The poorly maintained lights that lit the gangway from beneath and above flickered sickly. Before her, a jumble of glowing signs and arrows seemed to point to one direction as being the most promising, at least if she were looking for booze and questionable sexual pleasure from a hanar nicknamed Nooma... but the sound of conversation echoing down the metallic walls from the opposite end was enough to lure her away. Careful to keep her steps muffled, she crept up to a bend in the hall, the volume of the voices was enough to tell her that their owners were close.

"It's not that I think it's impossible, but I hear she's got a platoon of Cerberus engineered body guards."

"Exaggerations. You afraid of your own shadow too?"

"Hey why don't you fuck yourself Arlan? Besides, we'd be the last to cash in on this sort of payout - anyone with a gun will be on the hunt. I heard some poor fool already got shot due to a case of mistaken identity."

"Dumb shit probably deserved it... anyway, I wouldn't be doing it for the credits."

"Yeah right... like you're not a pistol whore-"

"Naw, I'd be doing it for CREDIT. It'd be a hell of a way to earn one's immortality."

Were they talking about her? Great. Even if she made it out of this political mess and didn't spend the rest of her days in jail, and maybe if the reapers didn't kill everyone in the galaxy, she could look forward to a life of dodging star struck assassins and gun toting space cowboys until the end of her days. Maybe Miranda had been right; she should have dyed her hair or maybe shaved it off. If word got out she were onboard the fuel depot, it would no doubt spark an unstoppable feeding frenzy.

It occurred to Shepard that leaving the ship may not have been the wisest of decisions after all.

"Come on, I'm not waiting for Tulli any longer, let's get some food," one of the thugs spat out.

There were grunts of agreement and Shepard turned on her heels as she realized they were now walking towards her. Wrapping the scarf more securely around her face, she kept her head down as she tried to put some distance between her and the subjects of her spying. Her hand grazed the top of the pistol peaking out of her pants, double checking it was still in place. Casting a look over her shoulder, a soft "oomf" slipped out as she suddenly bumped into something hard. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at the object blocking her path.

Garrus' face only registered a moment of surprise before his expression went dark. He was clearly unimpressed that she was out exploring, but there was something else – an almost frantic agitation that seemed rather out of place...

"Dammit Shep-" he began, but the cloaked woman silenced him with a hand pressed over his mouth. She motioned over her shoulder, the raunchy chatter of the approaching duo growing louder. Shepard felt the familiar high, her body conditioned so perfectly for conflict and stressful encounters. The explosion of adrenaline, muscles tensing, pupils dilating, heart rate jumping, her cybernetics charged and ready for action - these ruffians would be no match for the two of them if it came down to it.

Checking over his shoulder confirmed they were too far to make it to the airlock. Without any warning, Garrus dropped what he was holding, his hands gripping her sides as he wrenched her in the direction of the wall. She was unable to prevent the gasp of shock that slipped from her lips, her palms meeting the clammy metal surface of the centuries old, dirty corridor as he pushed against her. Fingers splayed out in surprise, she felt the scarred side of Garrus's face press against her cheek as his left hand planted against the wall near her head, a narrow thigh spreading her legs aggressively.

Dangerous, like the blurry vids she had been watching on the shadow broker base. The muscles in his arms flexed visibly, his breath a humid blast against her neck, coming out in short puffs like he'd been running. His intensity was intoxicating and she breathed in the spicy scent of him. He was so close it was hard to read his expression, the only feature she could bring into focus were his watchful eyes, tracking the approaching threat.

A couple of rough looking, well armed turians appeared. Taking a quick glance, Shepard noted the banged up armour, the broken fringe of the one and the long scar that ran down from the eye of the other. Behind them, a krogan and two batarians followed, the miserable looks on their faces suggesting they weren't being paid enough.

Garrus' taloned fingers clung to the soft flesh of her sides and Shepard couldn't help but squirm. The moment she did however, a bony hip pressed forward, holding her still against the wall. She reached for the cuff of his hip, her hands feeling the dance of hide and plates beneath the fabric of his pants. Before her fingers had a chance to move lower, a strong hand pulled them away, trapping them against the wall. The sting surprised her and she grunted in discomfort.

She could hear the group pause as they approached.

"This looks exciting... I've never had a ssssorrue before," one of the turians announced. Shepard's translator didn't pick up the slang, but the intonation was translation enough.

"I heard the females have special... talents," the krogan added lewdly. "Maybe we should ask this turian!" The group laughed.

Shepard noticed Garrus' eyes narrow, a steady exhale escaping through his nose, but he remained frozen in place. His grip on her was firm, exciting and she couldn't help but press herself against the length of him. He exposed a row of sharp teeth in warning, but its intended threat was utterly lost on her.

"Eh, I wouldn't mind having a go," someone out of sight added. Shepard's response was to let her right hand creep to the top of her pistol, which was now painfully caught between her body and the wall. She hadn't been looking for a fight, but now... her fingers itched to draw her weapon. Since she still had her portable shield generator on... surely she could drop two or three of these lowlife mercenary bastards before they realized they were caught in a firefight.

Shepard swallowed. It wasn't like her to go looking for violence... so why did she want to beat this particular band of mercs into the ground?

As if sensing her trigger happy inclination, Garrus glared at the group over his shoulder. "Find your own human," he snarled. There was a long uncomfortable pause before one of the mercs finally spoke.

"Dammit Arlan, we didn't stop at this shit hole so you and Dorr could pick a fight and gang bang some hair covered whore. Besides, this is disgusting."

Shepard couldn't see what was happening, but after some muttering, she heard the motley group continue past, their conversation trailing along behind them.

"...human, asari, whatever. Turian woman are enough for me..."

"You say that now... but wait until you meet this stripper on Omega..."

"Not interested.. though I suppose if we collect that bounty on that human bitch Shepard. I wouldn't turn down a chance to fuck her into submission..."

"They say there's a reason those batarian slavers take the long way home!"

There were hearty laughs and a few friendly punches among them as their dark forms disappeared down the poorly lit corridor. As their running commentary faded amidst the ambient hum of the fuel depot, Shepard wrapped her arms around Garrus' narrow waist, feeling his chest heave as he let out a long breath.

The danger had passed, but his eyes were still glued to the spot where the band of mercs had disappeared. Intent on getting his attention, Shepard let her hands slide down between them. Just as her fingers reached her waist, he took a jerky step back, releasing his grip and sending her staggering from the wall. A little off balance, she frowned, noticing him snatch something off the floor. As she stepped forward, planning on continuing the thrill of their encounter, he grabbed her wrist without warning and practically dragging her to the airlock.

"God damn it Garrus! What the hell!?" she demanded, wrenching her hand free with enough force to spin him around.

"You couldn't just stay on the ship, could you?" he hissed back, "you had to go looking for trouble."

It took only a second for her embarrassment to turn to rage. "I wasn't looking for trouble. You're gone for ages, then you show up suddenly looking stunned like you've just woken up from a bad red sand trip... Then you proceed to engage in a show for those creeps - pushing me against that fucking dirty wall and now..."

She'd been berating him through the entirety of the airlock cycle and was now following him with her tirade all the way to the pilot's seat. He didn't even look at her when he spoke again, his voice even and unnerving.

"There's no time for this... and besides, I was trying to hide our identity-"

"Bullshit."

"You don't think gun fire and a pile of dead mercs on a fuel depot wouldn't draw some attention?"

"Not on one so close to Omega, no."

He seemed focused on the controls, but she could tell he was fuming. "Despite your track record, you're not invincible you know," he added. Shepard bit her lip.

"And I'm not a victim either. I could have handled the situation. Just because I'm-"

There was no chance for Shepard to finish her sentence because the turian seated in front of her had launched himself from his chair and closed the short distance between them. Looming over her, he tore the scarf away from her face in one smooth, defiant movement. To someone else, Garrus' somewhat uncharacteristic display of aggression might have seemed intimidating or even frightening - but she wasn't afraid of him.

Sticking out her chin and setting her jaw, she prepared for whatever might happen next.

A tense silence followed, interrupted only by the soft beep of computer activity from the ship as they stared each other down. His expression said he was angry, enraged even – but Shepard knew what it really was.

Fear.

"I told you to stay onboard the ship," he repeated with a deep flange, deliberately showing a second flash of teeth. Feet planted, chest heaving, the turian's fingers curled and uncurled at his sides in a way that made him look as though he might lunge forward and attack. Garrus very rarely lost control... but that look in his eyes. She had seen it before.

That first time he had openly challenged her, while on a mission no less – she had been so shocked that her idealistic turian C-Sec officer had become so... wilful – that he would publicly chastise her carelessness.

The moment you begin to love, it turns out, is the same moment you being to fear.

It was the danger in their lives - that ever present possibility that each moment could be their last. Perhaps in the past her confidence had been too good at portraying the illusion of being untouchable, immortal. She had shattered that misguided assumption. On that particular day, she had indulged in her risk taking a little too much. Whether unleashing her anger had been a result of his insubordination or if he had been planning it all along, she still couldn't be sure. All she knew was it had resulted in the hottest, most perverse sex she had ever had.

It turned out that after the fear comes the relief. The celebration of still being alive - still being loved.

Now, that familiar thrill in the pit of her stomach had returned, standing testament to just how twisted their passion truly was. Add in a good dose of anger and a bloodstream coursing with stress hormones, with a small enclosed space? This turn of events was inevitable.

It wasn't the first time Shepard had to wonder if she were harbouring an unhealthy association between violence and sex. At least she wasn't alone in that psychosomatic problem.

"In case you've forgotten," Shepard explained slowly, as if to a child, "I'm the one who gives the orders."

He didn't answer her; instead he took a step forward. It was a very simple movement, but Shepard held her ground, causing his chest to just barely brush against her own. A ripple of anticipation swept through her as the tension between them grew taught. This was where she chose her role, was she Commander or Lieutenant? Although her nature willed her to force him to submit and step back, the thrill of giving up control was always tempting.

Finally she took a careful step back, her heart fluttering at the sight of Garrus' eyes narrowing.

"My ship, my rules," he ordered forcefully, taking another step forward until she was pressed against the bulkhead. His hands planted with significant force on either side of her head, the anger in his eyes had faded, being replaced with white hot desire. Leaning forward abruptly, he dragged his face across her front, breathing in the scent of her with an exaggerated flourish.

"Your rules?" she asked nonchalantly, ignoring the way his shoulders rose with each excited breath. "Fine." Without hesitation Shepard slid down the wall, letting her hands run down his front before she stepped out of his trapping embrace. Turning her back on him, she went straight to the navigation controls. "Plotting in a course for Palaven."

She heard him turn, his gaze burning into her back. "And what course would that be?"

"Through the following relays," she answered professionally, remembering back to a time when she actually was a lieutenant - her imagination quickly placed her on the bridge of a turian ship. The only human crew member... how could she possibly resist her turian commander? She smirked to herself as she confidently translated the controls with her omni tool, the fingers of her other hand dancing across the holographic dials. "Seraph-" she began, but her voice caught when she felt her commanding officer come up behind her.

"Unacceptable," Garrus growled, his exhale rustling her hair against her neck.

Pressing her lips together, Shepard attempted to calm her racing heart and the hard breaths her body was demanding. "Why?" she challenged, trying desperately not to lean into him.

"Lieutenants don't get to ask why," he answered, his hands leaning on the edge of the control panel on either side of her. The heat from his body told her he was close.

"Don't have a good reason... Sir?" Shepard asked innocently, certain adding the formality would break his control. Instead there was pause before she felt his warm breath on her shoulder and she suppressed a shiver.

"All traffic routed through the Seraph relay is subject to increased ship search protocols due to its proximity to fifteen relays in politically unstable space."

Well there was that, she supposed.

"Alright, we'll take the-" she stumbled over her words, distracted by the movement of his right hand. The tip of an ungloved talon lightly pressed against the side of her knee before being slowly dragged up her thigh. The shiver this move caused could not be contained. The travelling finger reached the top of her pants and she held her breath as it followed the edge forward to the clasp at the front where it paused.

"What was that you were saying?" he prodded.

"The-" she began just as a quick twist of his wrist released the clasp of her pants, his large hands slipping beneath her underwear and slipping them both over her hips until they crumpled into a pile at her feet.

" -the Aeius relay," she breathed, her words unintentionally coming out as a whisper. Ignoring her sudden vulnerability, she attempted to reroute their course on the nav screen.

"Wrong again," he scolded, his right hand trapping hers as he leaned forward. "Clearly you aren't very familiar with this area of space and require some... special supervision," his voice was firm but quiet against her ear. There was a metal click of a clasp releasing and the soft rustle of clothing. The expectation of feeling his lithe body against hers ruled, and she inched backwards, searching, only to find nothing. "The route through the Aeius relay is taken primarily by mining ships," he continued. "We are definitely not in a mining ship, are we?"

He very rarely would have gotten away with such an ostentatious tone, but her clever rebuttal instantly dissolved into a moan as she felt one of his lone finger carefully draw up the wet crease between her legs. His touch was electric, spreading the evidence of her lust in smooth circles, but she bit her lip hard trying to suppress just what he was doing to her.

"In fact a vessel like ours would stick out." He emphasized the last two words with delicious, bare, hot hips pressing against her, his weight pinning her to the ship controls. His arousal slid easily along her opening, and the slight pang of frustration she felt as it missed its mark died as it rubbed against a spot almost as satisfying.

"Uh hunh..." she finally sighed, her anticipation finally overcoming her pride and resistance as she let her spine arch backward, her head landing on his shoulder. A demanding hand snaked up under her shirt front, skimming across the smooth flesh of her stomach before fighting away the fabric of her bra. The smooth pads of his fingers grazed the raised peaks of her breasts before he bent her back over.

"You haven't finished plotting our course, Lieutenant," he growled.

Course? What? Shepard frowned as she looked down at the navigation controls, her mind unable to focus. "Then we'll take-" she began, trying to rein in the shaky breathlessness of her voice, but without success. It was egging him on now as he impatiently relieved her of her shirt, the front coming undone with one hand while the other was pushing the fabric up her back. A searing tongue landed on her cool skin, freeing another sigh from her and forcing her eyes closed. Freed of her bra, the taloned fingers on her breast felt as natural as if they had only known human flesh their entire existence.

How powerfully their fear could rule their lust and passion.

Shepard had given up on the nav screen all together, and was even prepared to simply start mashing in any coordinates if she thought that might satisfy her lover. The rough edges of his knees had spread her legs, and she stood on the tips of her toes in anticipation. The skilled touch of his hands, the hot wetness of his tongue – she pressed herself against him, needing to be closer as most of the fight was drained out of her. "I don't know... which relay to take," she finally admitted, her words heavy with double meaning. Her confession was the last sign of her surrender, and he leaned his weight forward, parting her and pressing himself inside.

Alive. The feeling of connection, that he was as close to her as he possible could be - in that moment it was the only thing she needed. Clearly he had been aroused for some time because the feeling as he buried himself to the hilt seemed significantly more intense than she was used to. His desire, his need, that he wished to be with her despite the shell of a person she worried she might be.

Not alone. Never alone.

As their twin moans filled the air, he held himself inside her, savouring that first moment of their union. He gave one long stroke, before clumsily reaching past her, his fingers landing on the nav controls as he entered the relay coordinates. Satisfied, he set the panel to sleep mode before slowly withdrawing and thrusting again.

"The Yaen relay," he growled into her ear, his right hand wrapping around the curve of her hip bone as he moved against her, his other hand smoothly parting three tracks through her hair. She pressed her head into his hand as his speed picked up, his mouth continuing to lick and nip at the soft dip between her shoulder blades.

"But that takes us – takes us past Tyrrice. Doesn't that-" she gasped, gripping the top of the console as his feet found better traction and his stroke ran deeper, "-doesn't that route have too much traffic?"

The turian only grunted in response as their ship banked away from the fuel depot, his hands covering hers as his back curled and the rhythm of his hips picked up. Shepard was only vaguely aware of the station disappearing from view as the cabin lights dimmed, leaving only the far off dual red and blue glow from the omega relays to light their bodies.

In the semi darkness, they realized that their breathy gasps and impassioned moans would be heard by no one. No nosey AI, voyeuristic pilot or overly concerned salarian doctor - just each other. When Shepard felt the warm hand of her turian lover dipping down her front, she held her breath until he reached the place where they were joined, feeling the contact of their bodies. When he grazed the sensitive place above, it was enough to cause her body to shudder and she rewarded him with a cry of pleasure.

There was a momentary pause of his hand, no doubt wondering what he had done to turn her normally restrained moans into what he had just heard. Clearly he approved - with a low growl his well timed assault quickly dissolved into a desperate mess of lust, brought on by his enthusiasm to illicit the sound from her again. The heat from his body, the wet sounds of their passion as he swelled inside her– his intoxicating touch on her sex – she was close and the intensity with which he held her and thrust against her said he was too. Garrus' impressive multitasking had driven most thoughts from her mind, so when she heard her own voice it seemed to be coming from somewhere far away.

"It's the danger isn't it?" she asked, her question catching in her sudden gasp of ecstasy. Her name slipped through his teeth in a long moan as her entire body tensed, riding out the waves of pleasure. He was pressing her forward, his other hand trapping hers, the length of his chest against her back as he gave several hard strokes before joining her. As he quivered against her, mandibles pressed against her ear, she reached a hand up to his face, sliding her smooth fingers along his straining neck. Gradually, the motion of his body slowed to deep, firm strokes until he stilled, his body shaking unsteadily as he resting his head against her. When he spoke, his words floated on the ends of his heavy breaths.

"No... it's not the danger. It's you. It's always been you."

'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'

What should have been the chewing out of a life time had ended up sounding like an awkward late night call from a desperate ex girlfriend. Kaidan knew he really deserved to be knocked down a few ranks for what he had done, but of course no one but Garrus knew about it. Instead, the message from the typically pompous, self assured Alliance brass had carried a tone of such uncharacteristic nervousness that Kaidan had found it more than a little unsettling. It had only been a matter of time before the batarian Hegemony began laying on the political pressure, rallying support and demanding resolution or else. It wasn't as bad as full out war, but it surely demanded concern for the future.

The captain's Spartan quarters had been offered to Kaidan as soon as the message arrived. In fact the quarters had been at his disposal as soon as he had come aboard the turian vessel, but he doubted the gesture was motivated by pure good will. More than likely it was a subtle insult - passive coddling - the offer of undeserving extra comforts for a weak, soft skinned species. Or maybe he was just looking too far into it. Stubbornly, Kaidan had repeatedly refused the offer, and yet in the end here he was, sitting in front of the glowing message screen which still displayed the Alliance logo and end of transmission message.

No one would have to twist Kaidan's arm to make him admit he had, in no way, been looking forward to sitting in the ship's common room, staring down a dozen or so curious turians. How many times would he have needed to refuse to let them touch his hair before punches were being thrown? But somehow, accepting the turian's gentler offer seemed worse.

Squinting at the holographic display, Kaidan muttered bitterly to himself - "Official secure channels my ass." As if anyone was to believe that the turians weren't monitoring every single message sent and received onboard. Eventually he'd have to send the Alliance a response, something filled with platitudes assuring them things were under control, soon to be peacefully resolved – underplaying the fact that they had no real idea where Shepard was.

Oh yes admiral, the turians are being very hospitable. No sir, no sign of Shepard yet. Oh, but I did see her turian lover about an hour ago. He assured me that Shepard was still planning to turn herself in, but he seemed to be in a bit of hurry, so I let him go without much of a struggle...

What the hell had he been thinking? Where there was smoke there was fire, and Garrus was clearly the smoke. But seeing his old shipmate again, the desperate look in his eye... Kaidan hadn't been able to follow through with his orders. A confession would feel good, but somehow he figured such a message would get him dishonourable discharged from the Alliance and probably have Osaro through the door in moments. Kaidan let out a soft, sardonic laugh at the thought of the spectre storming in, raging nonsensically about letting Garrus escape, before tearing his apprentice apart with his bare talons.

Seeing Garrus again... speaking with him... it always left Kaidan with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Shepard had always favoured the ex-C-Sec officer, but Kaidan had convinced himself it was no different that the interest she took in helping Tali. Garrus' insufferable brown-nosing had seemed like nothing more. Now he couldn't help but wonder if their romance had begun even before Shepard had come back from the dead. Kaidan was reminded of the wild, desperate look he had seen in the turian's eyes on the Citadel docks. The ease with which Garrus had hoisted him up...

Why couldn't you protect your mate?

No, they hadn't been involved before that, not if Garrus assumed Shepard belonged to him. But Garrus had been right. He had been unable to save her. Instead of disobeying orders to make sure she survived, he had been the good soldier and run like a coward.

Garrus would never allow him to forget that fact.

There was a soft growl from his stomach, and Kaidan rubbed a hand over it sadly. The physical distraction from his thoughts was welcome - though he really was starving. During all the excitement on the fuel depot, he hadn't had a chance to buy himself anything substantial to eat. Eventually, his eyes drifted to the bag Garrus had dropped. He'd forgotten about the small package, assuming it was dextro food of some sort. Turning the package over in his hand now, he couldn't help but frown as he read the label.

Pistachios? Levo food... for Shepard no doubt – it was both a painful reminder of what he'd done, as well as a gift from heaven.

He couldn't keep doing this - having to choose his loyalties every day, every hour. That very minute, where did they lay? With the Council and Osaro? With the Alliance? Or were they still, somehow tied to the woman he had followed across the galaxy... the woman he had fought beside... the woman he had loved?

Kaidan's omni tool flashed and his fingers fumbled eagerly as he checked it for new messages. It was only junk though, and he let slip a disappointed sigh. What he really wanted to do was let Solana know that her brother was safe – something he had promised he would do. Unfortunately there was no way to prevent Osaro and whoever else was monitoring the ships' comm buoy usage from intercepting the message and following up with a series of uncomfortable questions - questions he really didn't feel like answering. Instead, he did what he often did during the monotonous hours of his work - scroll back through old entries, fondly rereading the mundane history of their correspondence. It was sad, but somehow reading them made him feel a little less alone.

Another warm day here. Are they still keeping the thermostat unbearably low on the presidium?

He smiled to himself. Turians always complained about the temperature on the presidium and it had become an ongoing joke between them.

Not for the first time, Kaidan's thoughts began to drift back to the evening he had spent with Solana on the Citadel. She had been charming, smart and with a generous dose of dry Vakarian humour. Despite his tendency for self sabotage, she had somehow been amused at his fumbling, laughed at his jokes and listened thoughtfully to his stories.

Letting his eyes slip closed, Kaidan recalled with impressive clarity how he had walked Sol back to her temporary quarters - how they had bit their tongues from laughing in the elevator while a couple of drunk asari quarrelled about a sexual conquest with a salarian commando, centuries earlier. At her door she had smiled at him, thanked him for the wonderful evening... then she had tenderly placed her warm hand on his arm and smiled. Her touch, combined with the alcohol, emboldened him, enough so that he leaned in to run a gentle caress down her jaw.

Kaidan had never specifically disliked aliens, but he had never found himself attracted to another species either. Well, asari sure, they looked just like human women... but never a turian. In that moment though, the graceful curve of her fringe, the delicate dip of her mandibles and the high arch of her brow seemed so undeniably feminine and beautiful. Without any warning, he was suddenly caught treading water in an ocean of intoxication, without any clue of how to proceed.

That had been when she'd tilted her head to the side and regarded him with that strange look. He couldn't quite read turian facial expression, so he waited patiently until she stated very plainly that she had a request. A request? The nervous look in her eyes had him intrigued and worried. 'Can I touch your hair?' she had asked carefully, her eyes immediately widening as she tried to apologize for possibly offending him. It seemed like such a simple request, and Kaidan had smiled, happy to oblige. But as he tilted his head forward, he had been unprepared for what followed. He would never forget the way she slid off her right glove, her bare taloned fingers gingerly entering his soft hair. Their smooth points sent barely controlled shivers down his back as they slid across his scalp. Nerves tingling, it was the most intimate encounter he had experienced in months.

'I've never felt anything like this before', she had said softly. Neither had he. When he had asked if he could do the same, glancing up at her fringe, she gave the hallway an uncertain look, her mandibles revealing the hint of a smile. 'No, you can't' she'd said and he'd felt the immediate sting of embarrassment... until she whispered '...at least not in public...'

Unfortunately, that evening had made every successive evening feel unbelievably lonely. It hadn't taken long for Kaidan to come up with some convincing reasons why he should return to Palaven, though his new role as a spectre inductee had made quick work of his scheming. Maybe it was for the best.

There was a chime from the door and Kaidan jumped guiltily. He quickly checked his omni tool to make sure he hadn't actually been dictating some sort of confessional message. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the door slide open to reveal Osaro standing politely at the threshold, apparently waiting for an invitation to enter. Waving him in, Kaidan willed himself to relax, trying not to be reminded of how the turian had knocked around the dock clerk back on Omega only a few hours earlier.

"Commander, I trust your message wasn't bad news?"

Kaidan shrugged. Professional, courteous, Osaro always strove to be the model turian, though the cracks were beginning to show. There was really no reason to keep him in the dark, especially if he were keeping tabs on all correspondence anyway. "Relations between the Hegemony and Earth are increasingly strained."

The spectre nodded respectfully, though clearly unsurprised, as he stepped into the room and placed a small foil package on the desk. Drawing his bare, taloned hand away revealed another levo food ration. Kaidan pressed his lips together in a strained smile at the turian's offering.

Next time he saw Garrus, he would have to be sure to thank him for the nuts... and maybe for having a sister.

"The concern of the Human Alliance is understandable," Osaro was saying, "though I wouldn't waste your time being too worried about it. Don't discount humanity's status as a full member of the council. You do not stand alone. The turians know who their allies are, as do the asari and salarians. The batarians know this."

"You sound so certain," Kaidan mused as he inspected the container of questionable food the turian had placed before him. 'Cherken an rike' it read – cherken? rike? He wasn't sure which sounded worse. Setting down the package he regarded the spectre with total seriousness. "And what if we all face a greater threat than the batarians?"

Osaro didn't answer immediately, instead his eyes drifted past the seated human and held steady on a far off point. His chest heaved as he inhaled.

"We need to keep our focus on Shepard. I understand it can be difficult to arrest a former superior, but we must stay true to our course." It was hard for the turian's words not to remind Kaidan of how their roles as spectres could be so easily reduced to little more than that of galactic sanctioned bounty hunters.

"Have you ever had to do it? Arrest a superior?" Kaidan asked his mentor's turned back. The turian nodded faintly.

"I have."

"Was it difficult?"

Osaro gave a small shrug. "He was an admiral in the hierarchy. He became sympathetic to a group of neo imperial rebels and defected." Kaidan's mind was attempting to fill in the blanks when Osaro turned to him. "He had been my first commanding officer out of the academy and I had known him for twenty three years. He sponsored two of my children for special training scholarships and had, on many occasions, dined in my home, with my family. Unfortunately his actions were putting lives in danger." Osaro's mandibles twitched ever so slightly. "I was unable to take him alive," he concluded stoically.

This out pouring of personal information from his mentor was more than Kaidan had received for their entire partnership. Osaro had children? A family? It was impossible to really know based on his expression how upsetting this act had been for him, though if it did upset him, Kaidan doubted he would let it show.

"His death was necessary?"

"Unavoidable," the turian clarified. "As spectres we must embrace all extremes. Cuts heal, memories fade, but one cannot put a price on lives."

"Even Shepard's?"

"Even hers."

They regarded each other for a moment before Osaro finally nodded. "There's another nine hours until we reach Alliance space. I will keep you notified of any information I receive."

As the door closed behind the spectre, Kaidan tore into the bag of nuts, a slightly bewildered look on his face. Osaro's confession hadn't been much of a pep talk. As the Alliance commander began wolfing back the nuts, he hoped his mentor would come to the same realization he had-

That the fox was long gone, and beyond the foaming snorts of the weary horses, a terrible storm was brewing.

'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'

It had been almost thirty five hours of focused firefighting. The adrenaline that had kept him sharp in the beginning of this mess had worn off long ago, leaving his body hollow and stiff. Empty heat sinks littered the floor and he kicked them away as he clawed the ground, searching for a full one, his eyes never leaving the bridge. Finding what he was looking for, he tried to slam home the fresh cartridge, but it slipped from his numb fingers and tumbled back to the floor. The heavily armoured turian grunted as he bent down and fumbled for another, this time being sure to carefully set the cylinder.

Rolling the cramps out of his shoulder, he brought the scope of his rifle to his eye in time to catch more gun fodder as it hopped over the jerry-rigged barricade that blocked his last remaining exit.

Not that it really mattered at this point.

Archangel had known for some time that the mercenary gangs wanted him dead, but he hadn't quite grasped the immensity of their desire until now.

A few pops from his rifle added to the bodies piling up along the bridge, one of the mangled combatants crying out in agony, clutching his wound as he toppled over the side. Archangel grimaced. It was not a clean shot. Having always insisted on surgical kills with as little distress as possible, it was clear his fatigue was making him sloppy - and now people were beginning to suffer for it.

The battlefield was once again quiet, but the turian waited patiently just to make sure. From what he could see through his scope, it appeared his opponents were reassessing their strategy. It was about time they made the connection between the piles of bodies and their uninspired plan of attack. Satisfied there was no imminent danger, Archangel rose from his spot against the window and grabbed a stim injector. In the beginning he'd checked each one religiously, making sure he was not about to inject himself with a potentially lethal dose of levo stims. Now, he was far from caring. Rolling back his glove, he played another round of stim roulette as he popped the top and pressed the injector against the soft flesh of his wrist. The world brightened in an instant, his mind and lungs clearing as though he'd taken a deep breath of cool air on a brisk morning. Part of him rejoiced in having not inadvertently poisoned himself, while another part of him was secretly disappointed.

His nose wrinkled and he sighed, riding the stimulant high, taking in the immediate sensory bombardment of his surroundings - the tingling of every muscle in his strained body, the stench of death that hung like a curtain around him, and beyond that, each metallic, acidic note in Omega's hazy atmosphere, each clank and hiss from the pipes and beams, the bass heavy music from some far off place, the crackling static of sleep deprivation in his ears - they all sang together in one brief moment of euphoria.

Clenching his fists, his gloved talons dug into his padded palms as the sound of his heart pounding in his ears grew louder. Spurred by the powerful drug cocktail now coursing through his veins, he returned to the window, his keen eyes surveying the body strewn battle field.

Everything seemed calm, then just below him, movement... the hint of a shadow. He blinked. Could he have truly been so careless?

Archangel spun around just as a soft clatter came from below. Quickly abandoning his vantage point in the crew quarters, he headed towards the stairs. Rifle raised, he carefully scanned the main room below. It only took a moment for his visor to pick up a heat signature and the sound of a racing heart beat from direction of a bullet chipped pillar. Slowly, a shaky gun peaked out from behind; the merc's eyes were wide, the rest of his face covered by his helmet. He waved his pistol around wildly as he approached the staircase, clearly aware none of his comrades had made it. Concealing himself at the top, Archangel waited quietly for the human to make his ascent.

Silently counting each footfall of his foe, the turian fought off the murmured warnings from the familiar voice in his head.

You're getting sloppy, Officer Vakarian. Forgetting to reset the perimeter alarm? Letting your enemies make it this far into the complex? The Alliance would never tolerate such oversights, and I doubt the turian military would either.

Unfortunately, making a last stand meant these moments were inevitable. No doubt they would only increase in frequency until his exhaustion overcame him.

No, he couldn't think about that. The enemy never sees the back of a good turian... He'd never considered himself to be a good turian, but maybe in the end he could be one after all.

A boot appeared on the top step and Archangel burst out from his hiding spot, knocking the unsuspecting mercenary backward, sending him tumbling down the stairs in a clatter of armour and weapons. Fuelled by the chemicals in his blood, he met him at the bottom, planting a few hard elbows to the man's face before pressing a boot against his neck and prying off his helmet. The turian took a quick breath at what he saw.

Brown hair, damp with sweat and blood hung loose from where it had been tied behind the woman's head. She was taking hard breaths, her bright blue eyes wide as she surely believing she was living her final moments.

Archangel had lived moments like those before, and maybe at one time he could have empathized.

"Who's organizing this slaughter?" Archangel demanded, grabbing the woman by the collar of her armour. The stims cemented his strong grip, making her feel as light as if she were made of air. Hauling her up, she clawed at his gloved hands as he gave her a hard shake. As she blinked the sweat and blood from her eyes, she tried to form an understandable answer that might appease her subjugator.

"Blood Pack, Blue Suns... E-e-eclipse...," she stuttered, "they're working together to kill Archangel. Please... that's all I know!"

"And which outfit are you with?" he demanded gruffly. She glanced at the yellow symbol on his bicep and let out a strained cry.

"No one! I only freelance. The merc gangs are hiring anyone with a gun and I needed the extra cash!" The woman started coughing and the turian let her fall back to the ground. She rolled onto her stomach, her coughs hard enough to make her gag. Expanding his pistol, he pressed it into the back of her head. She froze, on all fours, head facing the ground.

"How did they do it? How did they find this place? How did they know how to strike us?!" He was yelling now, though still occasionally glancing to his left at the narrow bridge. No fresh meat yet.

"I don't know!" she pleaded, trying to look back at her captor, but each time she did so, Archangel pressed the pistol more firmly against her skull.

Don't forget, she came here to kill you...

"You're lying," Archangel hissed as he kicked a boot into her side, sending her tumbling over. Still on the floor, she scrambled to face him, pressing her back against the nearby wall, her eyes desperately switching between tracking the barrel of his gun and trying to read the expression on the turian's face. "Your loyalties aren't with them," Archangel continued more evenly, some part of him reminded of Shepard's more calming approach to witnesses. He was just barely able to say the words without yelling. "Tell me what you know."

"What does it matter? Either way I'm dead," the woman sobbed violently.

Killing her now, after looking her in the face would feel too much like murder, but he couldn't afford to think that far ahead. She was coming here to kill me, he repeated to himself.

Realizing she still hadn't answered his question, he whipped the butt of his pistol across her jaw, sending her back to the floor in a spray of red blood. It was like he was acting purely on instinct and impulse now.

"You'll determine how difficult this has to be," he threatened.

The mercenary squeezed her eyes closed, her tongue running over her cracked bottom lip as she sat back up. She seemed to be stalling, whether it was to come up with a lie or to extend her own life, Archangel couldn't be sure. When her eyes opened they shone like wet stones. Her bottom lip quivered as she spoke.

"Eclipse. They had an informant. A turian."

"What turian?"

"I don't know. He was meeting with Garm, Tarak and Jaroth. They were looking at schematics or plans or something."

"Was he restrained? Did he look like he'd been beaten?"

"I don't know! All I know is they let him walk away..."

"What do you mean?"

"They let him go... and he left the station," she had been fidgeting as she spoke, but he hadn't noticed - his mind too alive with possibilities.

"What did this turian look like?" Archangel demanded, but he was already putting the pieces together. The woman hesitated to respond, and the turian leaned forward and yelled, "What did he look like? Did he have purple markings? ANSWER ME!"

"Yes, maybe. I only saw him leaving!" she gasped, "purple markings, sure... they called him Sidon-"

Rage boiled up inside of him. Maybe it was the stimulants, or the hours of endless violence, or perhaps the emotional storm clogging his mind - but only one thing was clear.

Betrayal.

The hollow, echoing sound of gun fire startled Archangel, and he spun around, gun raised, to face a fresh onslaught of advancing mercenary troopers. But the bridge was hauntingly empty. Quickly, he turned back to his hostage, expecting to find her scrambling for a weapon, but his heart lodged in his throat. Lowering his pistol, he stared down at where she lay limp against the wall, her empty eyes open in shock. Scarlet blood dripped from her mouth, now left unchecked by the dirty, worn glove she had been nursing it with.

Having already killed so many, this one should have been no different, but he found himself frozen in place. It took all of his strength of will to check her wound, before grabbing her wrist to confirm what he already knew.

It was as he expected.

Despite all of his efforts, he had failed to do the one thing Shepard had built her entire life on. Protect the innocent. He came to Omega convinced he could do it. Spirits, he had tried... Now, it seemed to be the innocent that were paying for all his good deeds, tenfold. His team, their families, even the freelancers - they were just civilians that could hold a gun and needed to pay off some debts. Given the chance and with enough money, the mercenary gangs would surely throw every last citizen of Omega into the sights of his scope until Archangel was dead.

Whatever part of Shepard lived on in him had screamed for him to leave that place when he had the chance, but instead he had chosen to sit upon the mountain of bodies like a demonic demigod, taking as many mercenaries to the grave as he could. Now the game had changed, but he had backed himself into a corner. He was suddenly reminded of a human game that had become popular among turians, one he had seen Shepard teaching Tali. Two sides with different pieces, a battle of white versus black, of competition of strategy and patience. Butler had tried to teach him, but he had been too distracted by bleaching Omega clean to spend much time playing.

He had, however, learned enough to know that this was surely what they described as check-mate.

There was no way to pursue Sidonis - no way to avenge his teammates. No way to fight for Shepard's memory. No way to make life for Omega's citizens better. His final stand had been reduced to the defence of an open grave, each bullet causing a meaningless, empty death - the true target, his betrayer, was well beyond the reach of his scope.

His team...It was such a waste. Their lives, his life, everything they had worked for.

Maybe it would take a few days, maybe a week or a month, but eventually his true identity would be revealed and his family would receive word that his desiccated body had been found in a dirty Omega back alley. Or, if he were lucky, perhaps the mercs would space his corpse instead. It seemed fitting and was probably more than he deserved.

'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'

Shepard's eyes flew open, her fingers gripping for anything solid, only to find the smooth surface of the ships main control dash. Dreaming... she had only been dreaming...

Her mouth was dry and open, and for a moment she wondered if she had been screaming. Casting a quick glance at her companion, she was relieved to see him still asleep, his head drooping to the side, left mandible trapped between his cheek and the ridge of his cowl while the other one quivered slightly. His hands had stilled where they had last been cradling her feet in his lap. Shepard took a deep breath.

Bad dreams were not a new occurrence, and although sometimes Garrus' presence was enough to ward them off, ever since she had accepted Liara's offer, the flavour of her dreams had changed.

It is impossible to predict how this will affect your mind. The asari's words echoed in her mind like a gypsy curse.

How disappointed she had been after the exchange, that there seemed to be no immediate change or great moment of clarity and understanding about her turian lover. But these new dreams... at first she had brushed them off, but they held a foreign element of strangeness she found unsettling. They were so detailed and exact, it was almost as though she were watching a vid, her eyes not her own... nor were the feelings. They had been confusing alien places, unfamiliar conversations and people, usually turians. Then she had dreamt of the Citadel, the horror and chaos - an inconsolable Joker. She knew exactly what she was seeing, but why?

At first she was convinced she was searching for Garrus; some sort of stress dream where their roles had reversed - that he had died and she had been unable to save him. Then she had realized it...

It was she who was dead.

From there it wasn't a huge leap to guess whose eyes she was looking through. As each dream blossomed, so did her nauseating guilt. Such a violation of Garrus's thoughts and memories, there was no good excuse for it. Still, part of her welcomed the dreams, the pain and fear feeling more real than any video she could watch from the shadow broker's archives. Feeling his pain brought her closer in a way she couldn't or was unable to do on her own. She could only assume she dreamt of his happiness also, although those dreams rarely woke her. Still, each vision offered a glimpse into the soul of the turian beside her, her lover - her mate.

Mate...

The word sounded strange in her mind and she mouthed it silently to her reflection in the viewing windows, now dark with the nothingness of space beyond. She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the pendant resting between her skin and her heartbeat. A vow of flesh. She glanced over at Garrus, the plate on the centre of his hand grown back and healed, its surface tinted a deep red. The colour of her blood.

As if her blood were on his hands.

Immediately she wished him awake, as clearly being left alone with her own thoughts took her down undesirable paths. There would be lots of time for reflection once she was taken into custody. Damn, another topic she couldn't bear to consider.

Turning her eyes back to the viewing windows, she willed herself to relax.

When she was young, space travel had always seemed wonderfully exciting. Tales of adventure and mystery, aliens and exotic locations... As it turned out, the excitement was somewhat exaggerated and only the aesthetically pleasing parts were shown in the vids. After joining the Alliance, she had quickly learned that the reality of it was tedious - long stretches of darkness interrupted by short, bright burst through relays.

Company made all the difference. Company and sleep.

Their faces were lit by the dim orange blue glow from the Lixos's dormant main controls, the disconcertingly peaceful expression on her pale face reflected in the viewing windows. Did she always look like this? So calm and collected? Shepard's fingers touched her cheek, imagining for a moment the synthetic devices hidden beneath. Sometimes she felt like so many pieces, held together by such tenuous fibres, they might break without warning.

Earlier, Shepard had fallen asleep to Garrus' musings about how humans had such soft fleshy feet, so many toes which served no purpose, so fragile and small. He had looked down at them fondly and explained that hers were not just any feet. They were feet that had saved millions of lives, feet that had carried Shepard through hard battles and spontaneous firefights. So much of her was like that - deceivingly fragile.

Deceivingly fragile. She hadn't quite decided how she felt about that.

For some time she let her eyes scan the horizonless landscape of vast nothingness that spread out before them, letting her mind be distracted by its comforting monotony.

Eventually, his fingers began to move again. Awake, Garrus' eyes were scanning the gauges, while his hands continued to cradle her feet, his thumb pressing into the delicate curve of her arch. She let out a soft sigh.

"Who knew turians gave such good foot massages," Shepard smiled, her eyes drifting closed as the small digits on her foot gripped his finger. She heard him chuckle, and she recalled how he had described her toes as 'weird tiny foot fingers' and how bizarre it was she could grab things with them. "My own personal masseuse. This must be a dream," she continued, enjoying the gentle pressure of his hands.

"I don't know what I would do if it was." His tone caught her off guard and out of the corner of her eye she caught the plates of his brow pressing together for a moment. When he noticed her watching he gave her a small smile. "I don't think I'd ever want to wake up."

In that moment she wanted to tell him everything, to confess what she had taken from Liara. How she had violated his privacy. To tell him a million times that the burden of their pain could be shouldered together. That even though she would be taken away, they would still be with each other...

The thought of it suddenly struck her heart, and she blinked away the sting in her eyes, thankful for the dim light. It was a confession for another time.

"Garrus, what do you dream of?" Shepard asked slowly, her eyes glued to the darkness outside. He cocked his head curiously.

"Oh I don't know," he answered vaguely. Shepard gave him a somewhat pained look and he shrugged. "If you're asking me about nightmares, sure, sometimes, though usually I experience more of a waking horror."

Waking horror. That didn't sound all that pleasant. As much as she wanted to asking him more, it was clearly not something he was keen to talk about.

"What about you? What do you dream of, Shepard?"

In her mind his question was longer. Did she still dream of her death? Of hundreds of thousands of voices screaming out in unison as she exterminated them in an inferno brought on by the single press of a button? Did she dream of the millions of liquefied colonists on the collector base? Of Ashley, spending the last moments of her life watching the Normandy leave her behind, or the faces of all the men that died beside her during the blitz? Did she dream of her parents, violently torn from her by batarian salvers? Of course she did.

But how would she tell him she dreamt of his own horrors now as well?

His hands had paused, and she realized she had been silent for too long. He watched her carefully, trying to read every alien nuance of her expression. In lieu of an answer, she crawled onto his lap, letting her legs hang down on either side of him. His mouth threatened the question again but she stilled it with the soft pressure of her lips.

'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'

"Just act nervous. Humans all look alike to turians, so as long as you act as unlike Commander Shepard as possible, you'll be fine."

She could never have guessed Garrus could be full of such stellar advice. Act nervous? Shepard didn't need to act. For the first time in a long time she felt a terrible sense of apprehension. It's not like the scales hadn't been tipped so far out of her favour before, or that she hadn't needed to perform under pressure. No this time... this time it was personal. It was for her - for them - she had something to lose now.

Parallel rows of large stone pillars met in angled arches high above them, the dimpled, light blue glass that ran the length of the main room ceiling glittered under the angry eye of Palaven's sun. The design reminded Shepard of the Presidium, and she briefly wondered when it was built. "I still think I should have died my hair," she muttered as her attention moved to the bustling crowd below - her eyes cataloguing the other people shuffling through the Palaven customs port. Not just turians, but asari, humans and a few salarians - many of them looking weary from travel. Most were in envirosuits, but others like her, wore radiation resistant, lined clothing. Not cheap, and Shepard was glad she hadn't been required to pay for hers. Cerberus saves the day again...

"Remember, polite and timid," Garrus suggested, "as nonthreatening and uncommander-like as possible."

Polite and timid... Right.

"It's been a few years since I graduated from acting school," Shepard answered wryly as she caught the attention of a couple of young turians nearby. Their eyes glittered as they giggled, whispering and watching her shyly. What a sight she must be. Garrus was snickering at her comment, not noticing the way she wiggled her hands at the children, their eyes wide with shock at the cluster of untaloned digits.

Looking at the line forming behind them, Shepard was subconsciously cataloguing the crowd until she met a pair of eyes she realized belong to another human. Quickly she looked away. Had she looked away too quickly? It suddenly became clear that any one of these people might recognize her. What if Liara hadn't cleared their IDs? What if she hadn't been able to corrupt Garrus' DNA profile in the hierarchy's security databases and they would catch on that he was using a fake ID? They could be found out right there and it would all be over.

They had made it through two ship side check points, docked at the orbital wayfaring station and taken the civilian transport planet side. With only one final security check, it seemed like their well earned vacation was within reach.

Someone was talking.

"Excuse me, Ma'am?"

There was a jab to her side, and she realized Garrus was poking her in the direction of the waiting customs official.

"Oh sorry," she muttered, stepping forward. The turian tapped the side of his head, and she realized he was looking at the sunglasses she was still wearing. She folded them and slipped them into her jacket pocket.

"Place your hand in the scanner," the uniformed turian requested, his tone professional but with a definite hint of laziness, as if he were more concerned with how much time remained of his shift. What was that look he was giving her? Curiosity? Suspicion? Hadn't she been good at reading turian facial expressions? The officer in questions cleared his throat and gestured at a glowing box. It was covered in simple diagrams made to overcome any unforeseen language barriers, as unlikely as that was. It clearly depicted a hand, minus a few fingers, going into the box.

Timid and polite, timid and polite, Shepard repeated to herself.

"Yes, let me just..." she fumbled with her glove momentarily before placing her hand in the scanner. This was ridiculous. She was Commander Shepard god damn it. Once upon a time she could have shown up here, waved her credentials around and stormed her way to the Primarch's office, dressed in krogan armour if she wanted to, and with a dozen naked asari carrying her on a gold encrusted, hollowed out prothean beacon.

How things had changed...

There was a promising beep, and the lackadaisical guard gestured for her ID. It had been a long time since Shepard had been subject to the mundane bureaucracies of civilian life. She bit her lip as she watched the essence of her false life brought up on a large holographic display, the images and characters reversed from where she was standing. Not that she could have read them anyway. Still, it was an impressive amount of bullshit. She would have to send Liara a nice thank you card.

"I see it's your first time to Palaven. How long will you be staying?" the overly uninterested guard asked. He seemed to have perked up somewhat, and Shepard flashed him a friendly smile as he glanced between her and the image projection. Why was it that customs officials always made you feel like you were doing something wrong by visiting their planet?

"Three days."

He fiddled with his terminal for a moment. "That seems like an awfully short time after having come all this way."

"I wish I could stay longer," she admitted truthfully. That earned her a slight smile from the turian as he passed her portable ID back to her.

"Human female. Search booth fourteen." He pointed to a black curtained box nearby.

"Uhh search booth?"

He nodded dryly. "Palaven customs authority has the right to search all first time, incoming visitors of any species."

As she started towards the questionable booth, Shepard gave Garrus a wide eyed look over her shoulder. He nodded supportively, raising his hand to give her an enthusiastic peace sing with his hand. He probably meant to give her the thumbs up. Despite the hours of space travel, he hadn't quite mastered the art of human hand gestures, but at least he was trying. His turian hand was rather limited to the number of human hand signals she could teach him.

Reaching the booth, she pulled back the curtain and stepped inside. Another uniformed customs guard - but this one a human woman.

"Turians might not have any shame, but at least they knew enough to put curtains up," the woman joked as she gestured to a clothing hook on the low, semi permanent wall.

Shit shit shit. Does she recognize me?

Given the chance for a good look, it seemed she didn't. Shepard sighed inwardly with relief. At least it wasn't a female turian. Something about showing her bare tits to one and having to field any funny bump questions would have almost been as much as she could take. Trying to hide her uncertainty, she began to peel off her clothing.

"Business or personal?"

"Sorry?" Shepard answered distractedly as she pulled her shirt over her head.

"I'm guessing you didn't come to Palaven for the beaches..."

"Oh, uhh no. Personal." Looking up she noticed the woman was staring. Shepard followed the angle of her eyes down to the pendant hanging from her neck, the metal so warm she could no longer feel it against her skin. Without realizing it, she had wrapped a fist protectively around the small object.

The woman gave a knowing smile. "I see you're in deep. Heh, yeah, I've got one of my own."

"Oh?" Shepard was trying hard not to look the woman in the face as she slid off her pants and lay them over the back of a nearby chair. Most of her skin was exposed now, and no doubt it was telling its own story. Cerberus implants did a good job keeping her alive, but they didn't completely erase old scars... or new ones. Whatever the guard thought of them, she kept it to herself.

"Yup... when in Rome," the guard mused as she slipped Shepard's ID into her terminal. "Not all turian's approve, so don't be surprised if you encounter a little hostility. It's not always a race thing, mostly it's just bad blood still lingering after the FCW - they're sore losers, you know. " The guard smiled as she gestured for Shepard to turn in a circle. "Damn, you know, you look a lot like Commander Shepard."

Shepard held her expression in check with an iron fisted will, her next words having been planned out since leaving the fuel depot - just in case. "Yeah, I've been getting that a lot lately. I think it's my new hair cut," her tone was a lighthearted laugh, partially for the act as well as trying to convince herself this wasn't the end. Below the act she quivered, anticipating the chaos of Citadel strike forces and asari commandos storming the building and tearing down the booth's paper thin walls. Just as the high octane brew of hormones hit her body, the woman passed Shepard her ID.

"Welcome to Palaven, Sarah Moore. Since this is your first time here, I recommend you check in with the environmental safety kiosk for some pamphlets and free sun screen."

"Ok thanks," Shepard replied casually, trying to suppress the stunned look threatening to claim her face. She needed to get dressed and get the hell out of there. Sliding on her pants, she quickly reached for her jacket, fumbling with it as she turned to leave.

"Wait-" the woman said with some force from behind her, and as she turned, Shepard had a moment of horrified realization.

In her rush, she hadn't heard the jingle of metal hitting the stone floor. Now, the other woman was bending down to pick up the tags that must have slipped out of her jacket pocket.

Shepard's heart constricted, her lips parting - a thousand excuses on the tip of her tongue, but all of them sounded flat when she rehearsed them in her mind. The security officer's eyes ran briefly over the tags before offering them. Shepard took them numbly and slipped them into her pocket, nodding a silent thanks as she counted her blessing that the other woman hadn't looked too closely at the inscription.

Berating herself for such a stupid move, though realizing how unbelievable lucky she was, she had just reached for the curtain when the guard spoke again.

"Good luck, Commander."

Her eyes widened as she stepped out of the booth and back into the light.

Garrus was just getting his ID back. Clearly she was doing a good job of concealing her horror as he gave her a happy cock of his head and twitch of his mandibles when he saw her. She glanced around. No sirens, no police, no turian elite forces or asari commandos dropping through the glass ceiling. Not only had Liara had come through for them - coming up with IDs that would stand up to Council Space Security Standards, but perhaps they even still had some allies. Maybe not everyone believed she was vile person she was beginning to feel like.

Shepard gave Garrus a relieved smile. Their freedom was almost within their grasp. But just as he sauntered towards her, something in the crowd behind him caught her attention. As her eyes focused past him, she saw something that made her heart stop.

Across the wide expanse of polished stone floor and high columns was a well dressed turian. She had noticed him earlier, his formal attire seemed to be at odds with the rough look in his face and eyes. Now he was taking long, confident strides towards a group of turian school children. It wasn't so much his dress, his face or his walk that had now caught Shepard's attention, but the object he was attempting to conceal in his hand.

Without realizing it, she had dropped her bag. Taking several long strides, she threw herself past the customs official, her athletic form dodging the obstacles in her way.

"GUN! That man has a gun!" Shepard yelled, hurling herself in the direction of the armed turian. Everything seemed to slow down in that moment, the only thing she was certain of was her training and the voice in her head that was screaming for action. Completely unaware of the shouts and commotion around her, she was only conscious of the languid way the sea of people parted and dropped to the ground instinctively in a wave before her.

The grey, plated arm rose, dark talons and white knuckles gripping the pistol, and for a brief moment Shepard met the turian's wide orange eyes. In that instant she knew she wasn't going to make it. Finger squeezing the trigger, Shepard could feel the pit of her stomach drop with the terrible realization. Too far away. Too far. She cried out in anger, frustration and then...

...something unexpected happened.

There was a numbness, then a burning in her arm, she felt it crackling down to the tips of her fingers and in the same moment the turian's gun was wrenched upward in a flash of blue biotics just as the first shots were fired. It was the extra bit of time Shepard needed to tackle the turian, tumbling with him to the ground under a shower of debris falling from the ceiling.

It wasn't much of a struggle for her to wrestle the gunman into submission and kick the weapon from his hand. As the gun slid across the floor, the previously garbled shouts and screams suddenly came into sharp focus as the confusion descended upon her. Many in the crowd had run, but security and the few brave and curious onlookers were gathering around. From the floor and through the legs of the spectators, Shepard caught sight of the school children as they were whisked away. She sighed in relief.

As the hysteria died down, she realized the voices around her were muddled, the thick, flanged voices of the turians speaking in slick consonants and long vowels so utterly foreign she could not follow them. There were warm, familiar hands on her shoulders as the turian below her was dragged away. Frowning, Shepard ran a hand over her head, expecting to feel the sticky dampness of blood or a tender spot before realizing she had not hit her head, but had lost her translator. The familiar hands belonged to Garrus, who was helping her to her feet.

Concern registered clearly in the unfamiliar words slipping from his stiff lips as his hands not very subtly searched her for bullet holes. Standing on twitchy legs, Shepard self-consciously pulled her scarf back around her head as she searched the ground for her translator. Dozens of eyes in the growing crowd, any one of which could potentially recognize her. She and Garrus needed to get out of there.

"I've lost my translator," she whispered under her breath and Garrus' eyes flickered across the ground as he made a sound Shepard couldn't identify as a word or a distraught sigh.

Another turian voice was addressing her now, then another, two turian security officers, their tone serious and expressions suspicious. Garrus was quick to step in, his mandibles pressed firmly against his face and his brow pinched. His hands were in motion as he spoke, clearly trying to explain the situation. Their conversation sounded tense and Shepard felt her apprehension double.

Not knowing what they were talking about was unbearable.

"Turians aren't always the grateful type. Be a hero, and it's what they expected from you all along. And they always get stuck on the details." The voice coming from behind her was the only understandable sound Shepard could identify in the noisy chatter. Turning, she found the woman that had stripped searched her moments before.

"Details? I saw the man had a weapon and I reacted," Shepard began, but the woman shook her head.

"They're claiming you used biotics to stop the gunman, but that you're not registered. They're disputing your documentation." Shepard began to shake her head and the woman gave her a sympathetic shrug, her eyes containing an unsettling look of knowing. "Biotics have to be registered."

"But I'm not a biotic," Shepard explained, making eye contact with the two uniformed turians arguing with Garrus. It was a half truth at best. Mordin and Chakwas had been looking at removing the Cerberus implants, and in the mean time Samara had been helping her learn, but mostly to suppress the skill. Clearly she didn't have the control she had thought - though in this case, what else was she supposed to have done? Those same biotics had just saved lives.

A younger turian, also in uniform stepped up beside them, his outstretched hand offering Shepard a new translator. She thanked him as she opened the package and slipped the tiny earpiece into place and caught the last bit of Garrus' sentence.

"- it was clearly the gunman trying to prevent her intervention. I think we should all be thankful she was more vigilant then the security detail that should have been monitoring the area. I doubt the district customs security commander would be too impressed that a human tourist had to pick up his officers' slack."

There was a long exchange of glances, Garrus' steely gaze never drifting from the turian who was clearly in charge. His opponent finally sighed, his eyes drifting to Shepard.

"Nice work Ma'am. Your actions today surely saved lives," the security officer muttered gruffly, offering his hand somewhat awkwardly. Clearly it was an unnatural action for him, and one which he probably had only seen on vids. Shepard had barely begun to shake it before her companion's firm hands were wheeling her towards the door.

"I had to," Shepard whispered in response to the look Garrus was giving her as they stepped out into the shaded building entrance. Climbing into a waiting private transport, she couldn't help but sigh with relief as they lifted off, the customs building disappearing behind them.

"I know," Garrus replied, one hand on the controls, the other coming to rest on her knee. "You ok?"

"Yeah," she answered, swallowing the tension in her voice left by the rapidly diminishing adrenaline. Her gaze was distracted, the waning afternoon sun burning its last minutes on the bronze towers crowning the city of Urtros, their peaks rising and falling in a patch work of buildings beneath them. "I'm just a little shaky. It's easy to forget I'm not up to my neck in armour and high powered weaponry..."

Garrus only nodded, his eyes on the horizon. The coordinates of their destination were automatically guiding the transport's flight, so Shepard couldn't be sure if he was admiring a familiar view or offering her a respite from his concerned gaze.

"And the biotics?" He finally asked hesitantly. Shepard gave him a wary, sidelong glance.

"Frightening," she admitted. "I didn't do it consciously, I just knew I wasn't going to reach that gun in time- " she glanced down at her hands. "One more thing I don't have control of in life...Damn, Samara always made it look so easy." Shepard huffed out an unconvincingly casual laugh as she looked from her hands to stare down at the landscape of turian architecture as it began to thin out amongst rippling clumps of silvery foliage below. "A few days of personal happiness can never trump the lives of a few dozen children. "

"No of course," Garrus replied somewhat soberly. "Though... saving a crowd of school children definitely won't be bad for your reputation," he offered her a reassuring smile.

"I suppose not," Shepard agreed, squinting at the waning sun. "I can't believe we slept on the way here - now we'll be up all night. We certainly didn't time things very well."

"Who says?" Garrus' grin widened. "You aren't supposed to be out in the sun anyway."

A series of interrogative questions on the subject immediately entered Shepard's head, but the realization that they had possibly reached their destination instantly dissolved them all away. "Are we here already? I thought you said you were going to give me some warning?" Shepard rambled, a little wide eyed as she tried to catch a glimpse of the ground below. The transport was landing in a stone courtyard, in front of a cream coloured stone building covered with spiraling vines. The courtyard was mostly in the shade, provided by the drooping canopy of a erratically branched, silvery- blue leafed, ribbed tree. The tree seemed to be planted directly on the stone surface of the courtyard, it's mass poised on the tips of hundreds of vine like fingers.

Aliens she could handle. Alien worlds she could handle. Alien lover's families... she could probably handle... but weird ballerina vegetation... she was not so sure.

"Spirits Shepard, you look like you'd rather be fighting a thresher maw. Come on, I am certain this will be slightly less worse than what you're imagining."

"You think so, do you?" Shepard muttered, her eyes peering out the dark glass windows of the transport.

"It has to be a fraction better than sneaking on to the collector base," Garrus offered.

"Is it? Are you sure? I'm not so sure..." Shepard rambled, her mind actually weighing the pros and cons. Garrus paused, his hand on the door release.

"Wait... do humans vomit when they are nervous?... you're not going to vomit on my family are you?"

Horrified, Shepard looked at the turian and couldn't be sure if he were joking or not. If he was, he had clearly been working on his poker face. A mandible quivered with amusement and she shot him a scathing look of complete disgust. Garrus flashed her a quick smile, "that's alright, Dad and Sol both have good levo tolerance. It's why they got to work off world."

"And your mom?"

"Please don't vomit on my mom," he laughed as he slid out of the vehicle. Shepard gritted her teeth as she reached behind her seat for her bag.

Come on, this is the least of the trials of your life. Soldier up or piss off.

Someone was calling Garrus' name with unconstrained glee.

There was no turning back now.

'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'

"I need your help."

She was peeling back the lapels of her uniform, the dark fabric sliding away to reveal a delicate collar bone and the shallow dip between her breasts. In these moments, the mask of her command melted away, making her seem impossibly feminine.

"Yes Shepard," he whispered, letting his eyes slip closed. His hands slid around her waist, creeping up the gentle ripple of her bare, muscled stomach and pushing the front of her uniform out of the way. "I want this... I need this..."

"I've missed you Kaidan," she breathed against his lips and he kissed her deeply. Passionately. The powerful muscles in her back rippled under his finger tips as she arched against him, bringing their bodies closer together.

Four hands, travelling, exploring - he found her skin was soft and strong... but as he touched it, it seemed to change. He discovered ridges, grooved valleys. When he kissed her cheek he found the supple line of her jaw had been transformed into the yielding curve of a mandible. Opening his eyes, he did not find the gaze of another human...

"Sol," he sighed her name almost like a confession, letting his hand navigate towards all the places he so desperately wished to worship...

There was a terrible beep that cut through the serenity of his lover's embrace, so foreign in its sound that he flinched. He tried to ignore it, letting his fingers run along the length of her fringe, relishing the way her eyes drifted closed in bliss.

"Alenko," his name was on her lips, but to his horror, the voice was a disturbing low, baritone flange.

"Sol..." he mumbled, pressing his face into the cradle of her neck.

Kaidan's eyes cracked open, the vision of his dream lover evaporating in the dim light of the cramped cabin like rain in the desert. His face was pressed into his pillow and the bed sheets, which had become a tangled mess, fought him as he rolled onto his back with a tired groan.

"Commander Alenko," Osaro again barked over the comm. Fighting off the heavy, shadowy arms of sleep that still clawed at his consciousness, Kaidan pushed himself up, searching the spaghetti sheets until he found his shirt.

"Here," he replied wearily into the empty room as he glanced down at the only evidence of his somewhat confusing dream.

"We're making our approach to Eden Prime. Meet me in the comm room."

It wasn't really a request.

"Understood," he answered, and as the comm clicked off, he closed his eyes for a moment. Trying to regain the images of his dream, he slid his hand down the length of himself a few times, but it was no use. The cold, unfamiliar walls and the sound of Osaro's voice were too much. Instead he focused on tracking down his socks and patting the wrinkles from his uniform.

It took him a few minutes to make himself presentable, but eventually Kaidan stepped into the uncomfortable situation he had been expecting for hours. Osaro was waiting by the large comm viewing screen, probably to contact Eden Prime's Surface Security and Customs Officials. If the spectre was feeling like a prick, Kaidan figured he'd make him explain to the officials the vague and far reaching search parameters they were now basing their investigation on.

It was impossible to tell what sort of mood the turian was in. His back was turned when Kaidan entered, his attention clearly on a datapad he was casually thumbing. Coming closer, Kaidan guessed by the looks of the images and turian writing that the spectre was probably browsing the Palaven news headlines.

"Anything interesting?" the biotic asked, mostly out of politeness.

"Slow news day back home," the turian answered, "political scandals, colonial squabbling... oh and apparently some human tourist took down a gunman."

"On Palaven?" Kaidan asked, a little surprised. It wasn't exactly a hot tourist destination. Osaro nodded and offered up the datapad. Kaidan took it, a little curious, if not willing to play the part while they waited for a response on the vidcomm.

Sliding his thumb across the progress bar, Kaidan was still trying to shake the sleep from his mind as he skimmed the news report. There wasn't even any point asking about the possibility of coffee - he was even wishing for that mug of hot water now. Just as he was about to pass back that datapad he reached the amateur omni tool footage from the shooting aftermath. His surprise escaped him in a strangled choking sound as he watched the scene again, freezing the vid mid chaos. The hero tourist, her green eyes looking past a long scarf she pulled tight to hide her face, stared back at him.

He would recognize those eyes anywhere. Shepard was on Palaven. She had walked straight into the lion's den.

Looking up, Kaidan noticed Osaro had turned away from the comm controls. His eyes wide and lit up wildly like a startled animal.

"What did you just say?"

Kaidan hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud, and some part of him instantly regretted it. "Shepard," he repeated with stunned blankness as he passed the datapad back to the spectre. "She's on Palaven." The turian clutched the datapad with barely contained shock as he glared at the still image of his prey frolicking around in his own backyard.

"Are you certain?" the turian hissed darkly, his mandible dipping down in agitation as he studied the image.

Kaidan swallowed."Yes."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Osaro continued to stare intently at the datapad. Each moment that it continued, Kaidan grew increasingly uneasy. Without any warning, the datapad went crashing across the room."Damn it!" Osaro cursed, launching himself out of his chair in a rage. The vidcomm blinked, signalling the incoming transmission from Eden Prime, and the turian slapped an ungloved palm to cancel it before wheeling around and heading for the door. "Helmsman, set a course back to Palaven!"

Even as the door closed, Kaidan could hear the spectre's fading voice issuing clipped orders to the crew. Catching sight of the datapad, he picked it up, carefully brushing a hand across the damaged screen. Looking into the eyes of his former Commander, he shook his head regretfully, trying to block out the terrible knot forming in his stomach.

"I'm sorry Shepard."