Liara put her omnitool on silent mode before sending Miranda her ping. We're here, it said, and G's about ready to tear down a wall. Can I let him in?

She glanced over at the tall, wiry turian who, while not clawing at the walls yet, was certainly pacing fit to wear a hole through the floor.

Miranda's reply was curt, though Liara expected it was out of haste rather than annoyance. No. She's fine. Calm him down first.

Liara lowered her omnitool and bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. "Garrus," she began, turning towards him.

He stopped on a dime and whirled. "What is it – is she okay? Is she not okay? This wasn't supposed to happen for weeks yet. Tell me what's going on, Liara."

The asari resisted the urge to raise her eyebrows, and took a deep breath, instead. "Miranda says that Shepard is fine. She's a little busy to tell me anything more. But she says they need calm in there, and … " She looked pointedly at him.

Garrus sighed and tried to assemble himself into some modicum of calm – arms at his sides, mandibles semi-loose, pacing halted.

Liara smiled. "I'm sure that will do. Now don't bite Miranda's head off."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Liara keyed in the code and the door opened just as Shepard let out a shriek. Garrus' hands flew together and started twisting in worry, his mandibles clamped tightly against his face, and his entire body went as tense as a Council meeting as he hovered on the threshold.

"Go on, Garrus," Liara said, "Miranda said she's fine." She nudged him in, and he stumbled forward into the room, the door closing behind him.

Liara shook her head and headed back down the hallway to the waiting room, already calling up the latest batch of reports from her agents. No point in standing around worrying – Garrus definitely had that one under control.


Dr. Fallujah was scurrying around, checking charts and jotting down numbers, recording every moment of this once-in-a-lifetime event. Miranda was massaging Shepard's shoulders, trading meaningful glances with the doctor every minute or so. Garrus was fairly hovering beside the bed, having carefully nudged aside bits of Reaper in order to hold Shepard's hand.

Shepard was trying to have a conversation with him. She kept interrupting herself.

"Garrus, please, I – aaaaaaaah shit – don't know what the fuck is – oh God – going on!"

The tall, nervously-shifting turian was doing his best to keep his voice level and calm. "Well, you're in labour—"

"I figured that one out you idiot, but how the fuck—aaaaah what the almighty hell –"

Miranda spoke, still rubbing Shepard's shoulders. "That was a contraction."

"No fucking shit—"

Garrus grasped her hand. "It's gonna be okay, Shep, it'll be okay."

"Don't you fucking tell me it's gonna be okay you bastard turian—" She broke off in a gasp, eyes going wide and her hand clenching his. "Ow ow ow ow!"

He looked at Miranda pleadingly. Miranda looked over at Fallujah.

Emma Fallujah checked the numbers, took a look around the other end of the table, and then spoke. "I suspect you'll be crowning relatively soon, and then it's just a matter of time. Judging by how long this has taken, I'd say we're in for another couple hours. Fairly fast, for a first child. Though the Commander is well-known for doing things efficiently – I suppose childbirth is no different."

Shepard just moaned, then slumped back onto the table as the worst of the contraction subsided. A few tears glistened in her eyes. "Oh fuck, Garrus, it hurts worse than a damn gutshot."

He winced and brushed some hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Shepard."

She closed her eyes and tried to relax. "No. We said we wanted kids. I just – ohhhhhh – didn't think I'd be delivering any … " Her muscles went taut again and she shook. "Miranda, for the love of all things good and wonderful in the universe, why can't I have any fucking drugs?!"

"Because," the Australian replied tartly, "they'll metabolize too fast. They won't do you any good. I had to reformulate your damn medi-gel on the Normandy just so Chakwas could patch you up after missions. Unfortunately I lost that particular schematic and I've been a bit busy."

Shepard not-so-subtly mumbled a blue streak. Miranda tried not to smile. A minute passed, then another, and then another contraction made itself felt, closely followed by another.

"So … " Shepard finally said, roughly twenty minutes later, " … how did it get there? I mean, it's … not as if we could … you know … this wasn't supposed to happen."

Miranda and Garrus shared a look. Shepard was, Miranda thought, probably keeping her eyes closed deliberately. Miranda nodded at Garrus.

Garrus swallowed very hard. "Well, I … you … we … um. London."

Shepard cracked a half-smile. "The last heat sink before the battle."

"Oh Spirits. Yes. That." Garrus looked like he wanted to hide in a hole. "That happened."

"Yes, I remember. But … Garrus, that's not a thing that can happen. That doesn't work. We talked about this. Oh fucking hell here comes another one—" She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood, and Garrus pulled a glove off and pressed it to her lips. She bit down on it instead, and Garrus made a mental note that he'd need new gloves by the end of the day.

When the contraction had subsided, Shepard let the glove fall from her mouth, panting. "Garrus. I—tell me. What happened. Whose is this. What don't I know. What year is it. Did I die again? Where am I? … I guess asking if we won is a bit moot … "

Garrus had to smile. "That's a lot of questions, Shepard."

"Humour me."

"Right. Well. Let's go with some of the most pertinent ones first. As far as we know, you didn't die. It's, ah—" he checked his omnitool—"September twentieth, twenty-one-eighty-seven, standard Earth calendar. You're on the Parigoria. There's a lot you don't know. There's a lot I don't know. Hell, there's a lot that no one knows."

She breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, processing the information. In the middle of her thoughts, another contraction rolled in, and it was another several minutes before she was able to speak coherently again.

"Garrus—ow … " She clenched her eyes shut, willing her body to relax as much as she could. Miranda had left her shoulders and was helping Doctor Fallujah with final preparations – Shepard was progressing fast. "Garrus – you didn't answer the important questions." She opened her eyes and mustered a glare. "Whose is this. What don't I know."

Miranda interrupted before Garrus could open his mouth again. "Shepard, you're minutes away from crowning. You're at ten centimetres and still dilating, believe it or not. That skin weave is better than I thought it was."

Shepard looked over at Miranda. "All these words, Randa, they go straight over my head and keep on flying."

"What I mean, Shepard, is that if you thought this was bad, it's about to get a lot worse, so I'd suggest you hang on tight and breathe deep, because—"

"Holy fucking shit on a—"

"Yes. That."

Minutes passed, rolling into the dozens. Shepard's curses slowly graduated into a mostly-incoherent string of moans and shrieks with the occasional swear thrown in for good measure – Miranda absently thought that Jack would be proud – and any slight colour that you could detect in Garrus' gray plates had long since faded. Emma and Miranda worked nonstop, carefully helping the child (and Shepard) along its exodus into the greater galaxy.

Finally, Shepard fell back onto the table with an exhausted moan, her skin and hair drenched in sweat. A small, squawking cry came from the other end of the table, and Shepard's eyes shot open as Garrus fairly leapt to his feet.

"That sounds like a—"

Miranda held out the squalling, squirming infant turian out to Garrus, who took it almost reverently and cradled it against his chest. Shepard stared, lips parted in shock, and she attempted to push herself up to her elbows. Doctor Fallujah slipped an arm under her shoulders and helped her up as Garrus passed the child to Shepard's trembling arms.

Shepard's voice was hoarse from exertion and thick with emotion, tears welling in her eyes as she cradled the child. "I … we … we have a baby … "

Garrus perched on the table beside her, slipping his arm around her lower back and stroking the child's head. "We do. And she's gorgeous."

Shepard couldn't tear her eyes off the tiny warm body in her arms, which had since calmed down and was nestled against her bare chest. "It's … she's a girl?"

He traced the outline of the soft plates on the little turian's skull, feeling his chest swell with pride and love. "So it would seem."

Shepard swallowed hard, blinking away tears. "We have a daughter." She leaned her head down and kissed the little one on her forehead lightly, the still-soft plates yielding ever so slightly to her lips. "Hello."

Garrus wrapped his other arm around Shepard, holding both her and the baby close, protectively, lovingly. "We have a family."