Author's Note:

Oh, look, I'm not dead! Yay! Sorry it's been so long since the last update, but I think my delay is justified, considering:

1. This chapter is, by far, the longest in the story. Like, seriously, this is ridiculously long.

2. My life got threatened at one point since the last update and I had to move.

3. I've had some job disasters and opportunities that have occupied a lot of my time, and

4. This is the hardest semester of school that I've ever undertaken (as well as my second-to-last).

There's one last chapter after this, and it'll be short, I promise. This is the one you've been waiting for, though, so I hope you enjoy, and thanks for the patience.


They received the message just as they entered Lorek's atmosphere.

"Collectors have invaded the Normandy," the voice of EDI rang through. "The crew has been abducted. Hostiles have been terminated, but only Flight Lieutenant Moreau remains aboard."

Exclamations of "shitfire" and appeals to various deities all rang out at once in the cramped space. Garrus had remained caught up in his thoughts for the whole uncomfortable ride, sitting in one of the few seats that had been saved for him in deference to his leadership of the rear infiltration team. Now, all heads turned to Miranda. The woman looked positively sick.

"Shepard is the priority," she said.

"But what about the rest of the crew?" Jacob chimed in, in rare defiance of Miranda's judgment. "We can't just leave them to the Collectors."

"The crew knew the risks when they signed on for this mission. Without Shepard, we could lose the entire galaxy. We have to go on."

Garrus lifted his head for the first time since the shuttle took off. The words of Mess Sergeant Gardner echoed within his memory: "if any of those Collector cocksuckers show up here, you better believe it's your ass I'll be cowerin' behind."

Except my ass wasn't there. Just like on Omega.

"I agree with Miranda," he said. "It's tough to say, but Shepard is more important than the crew, than any of us."

"Bullshit," Jack said from somewhere in the back of the shuttle.

"Mister Moreau is injured," EDI broke in. "He has several fractures and is unable to treat his injuries." She sounded almost concerned.

"Can turn back," Mordin said. "Drop me off, go back for Shepard."

"No," Garrus said. "we'll waste too much time going back and forth, and besides, we need you with us, Mordin. Are Joker's injuries critical, EDI?"

"EDI?"

"They cause him considerable pain," the AI finally responded. "But they do not appear to be fatal."

Why the pause? Garrus wondered. Did EDI just consider lying to us? But nobody else appeared to be curious about that; Miranda dismissed EDI and the shuttle continued down to Lorek, occupied with yet another worry.


Shepard awoke to a world turned sideways, the wall before him a shimmering barrier. He lifted his head out of a sticky, chunky puddle on the floor that he eventually registered as his own vomit.

The spacious cell that had contained himself and Zander had been replaced by a hole in the wall barely bigger than a closet. He was alone in the cell, but a batarian guard was stationed right outside the door, his imposing figure turned away, idly holding a rifle in his arms. The area outside the cell appeared to be old and worn-down, but spacious, leading out into a hall that ended in a path leading left and right. On either side were doorways leading to who-knows-where. One surprising detail about the doors was that they had handles, unlike modern designs that opened automatically or with the push of a holographic button.

He stood, using the wall as support for his weak legs. The cell stank of old vomit. How long have I been here?

"Hey," he called out to the guard. The batarian jumped like a cat at the sound of Shepard's voice, but quickly recovered his composure.

"I need to use the bathroom," Shepard said. It wasn't entirely untrue. His abdomen felt swollen with piss.

The batarian threw back his head and laughed. "Up for ten seconds and already he thinks he can outsmart me. You're in the bathroom, I'm afraid; as well as the bedroom and the dining area."

"Even prisoners of war get access to a toilet."

"Yeah, but this ain't war. This is business."

Giving up the lost cause, Shepard stepped back and sank down against the back wall. His limbs felt loose and shaky. Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck. Withdrawal. Small shots of pain welled up in his teeth and traveled up his jaw and into his ears. Barotrauma? If he'd suddenly experienced rapid changes in atmospheric pressure, then that meant he was no longer on Omega. . .he put his ear against the floor and listened for any vibrations or engine noise. It was steady, quiet. So he was either on a more advanced ship, or on land.

The effects of the hallucinations made themselves more and more apparent as time went on. He remembered only vague bits and pieces of what he saw, heard and felt during his extraterrestrial acid trip, but he remained with a vague sense of terror, like waking up from a vivid nightmare and being afraid to go back to sleep even if you can't remember what the nightmare was about. Despite this, he also felt a simultaneous ache to go under again, to try and experience more pleasant sensations. He felt certain that another trip would result in greater fulfillment, and he;d wake feeling refreshed and euphoric. . .

Finally he curled up into the most comfortable position he could in the corner farthest from the dried vomit, resigning himself to the agonizing passage of time.

How long did Garrus say he had to deal with this? Weeks? He didn't think he could last that long, assuming he had that much longer left to live. Did the crew even know where he was? The Illusive Man wouldn't let Shepard go without a fight, not after spending billions of credits on bringing him back to life, but there was only so much he could do. . .

I wish you were here, Garrus.

"So what's your story?" He asked the guard.

"Buttering me up isn't a smart idea," the batarian warned. "But since you asked, my story can be summed up in three words: the Skyllian Blitz."

"You were in the Blitz?"

"No. My sister was."

Ah. "I see."

"The last thing she said to me was how they were going to finally take our territory back from the humans, that there was only one more human squad to deal with before they were victorious. Then I turn on the news next morning and find that a single human soldier has fought off an entire battalion long enough for the humans to get backup, and FWOOSH! That was that."

Shepard chuckled to himself.

"You think that's funny?" The batarian asked.

"Not that, but the irony of the whole situation. See, I had a sister too. Your boss changed all that when he raided Mindoir. Were you there on Mindoir that day?"

"No, but I wish I was, so I could have seen your colony burn."

"My whole family died there. You know what I wanted to be when I grew up? A football player. I didn't even think about joining the military until after my family died. Do you see the irony yet?"

No response came.

"If Fazrak had stayed away from Mindoir all those years ago, I would have grown up and joined a ball team, or gone to college, or whatever. I never would have joined the military, I never would have been there during the Blitz, and both of our sisters would still be alive. Yet here you are, working for him to get revenge on me. That's what I find funny."

The guard stepped in front of the barrier and slipped his arm inside. Shepard heard something clink onto the floor.

"Almost forgot," he said, his mouth split in a grin that seemed kind of forced. "Boss said to give you this when you woke up. I'd wait to use it, personally; if you're lucky, you'll be deep in la-la land when the Collectors come for you."

The guard turned back to his post. Glinting on the floor was another syringe.


The shuttle touched down on a clear patch of ground about a third of a mile away from the base. From the outside, the structure appeared ancient and dilapidated, the roof caving in in some areas with plants growing through cracks in others. However, a large section in the northern part of the area remained standing, and it was in this area that all the activity took place. Garrus' team landed, then the shuttle picked up and flew off to the opposite end of the area to drop off Miranda's team.

The air on Lorek was breathable, the temperature a steamy 104-degrees. Despite the high temperature, the sky was covered in gray, roiling clouds that threatened thunderstorms at any moment, with little trace of sunlight to be found. Garrus preferred the heat, but it was clear that the human among them did not; Ashley was fanning herself with her gun, her face already wet with perspiration. Grunt was completely oblivious to the heat; considering the perpetual nuclear winter on Tuchanka to which krogans had long-since adapted, Garrus could see why. Tali seemed unaffected, though Garrus had no idea how sensitive quarians were to temperature or how he would tell if she was too hot at all inside her suit.

Their team was formed for their variety of skills and the fact that, save for Grunt, they were each on Shepard's original squad. Garrus had been designated the leader of the team because he remained with Shepard the longest out of anyone present, and also had experience leading a squad on Omega. I also have experience in letting them die, he'd almost said, but objections were useless at this point. The group with him now were much more experienced than his Omega team; he'd seen each of them fight with his own eyes and knew that just one would be a formidable force, let alone all of them combined. The only one clearly uncomfortable with being led by a turian was Grunt, though the krogan knew better than to disobey an order out of prejudice, no matter how deeply felt. Still, Garrus resolved to keep him on a tight leash.

Garrus' only concern was the lack of biotic potential on his team. Between the four of them, they had exceptional firepower and advanced technological capabilities, but none of them had any biotic power whatsoever. They just had to hope that biotics wouldn't be needed.

Their mission was simple enough: when Miranda's team created the distraction, Wrex and Garrus' teams would move in and comb through the base until one team or the other found and extricated Shepard. From there, they would get to the nearest landing zone and board the shuttle back to their ship.

Which was now empty and thousands of miles away.

He'd burn that bridge when he got to it.

For now, he had to focus on the fact that they knew next to nothing about the layout of the base's interior, exactly how many hostiles they were dealing with, how well-armed they were, where Shepard was located, his current condition, and the death machine that could activate at any moment planted in Garrus' face. In all, it was a typical hopeless Shepard scenario, minus the Shepard for once.

There was a loud pop, and a gray cloud of smoke billowed up from the distant end of the base where Miranda's distraction team was planted. The ringing of alarm bells went up. Wrex's booming voice filtered through the radio in Garrus' ear: "Don't die too fast, turian. I want you to see what a krogan-led team can do first."

"That's our cue," Garrus said. They hefted their guns and tools and marched toward the base.


The syringe lay where the guard dropped it, its needle pointing at him like an accusing finger. Being deprived of the drug was one thing, but having it right within his reach at any time while the cravings racked his body was a battle on two fronts: one of stamina and one of will. Shepard was losing both. Something had to give, soon.

He felt the explosion more than he heard it. A faint rumble was accompanied by a tremor that reverberated through the walls and floor. The syringe clinked against the ground as it shook. The guard outside stood shocked, and when he peered into the cell at Shepard as though he were somehow responsible, Shepard smiled and muttered, "About time."

An alarm began to sound, its synchronized blaring cracking through his skull. His addiction-addled body rebelled against the sudden onslaught of noise. He put his arms around his head to keep it steady and closed his eyes and ears to the chaos of the world. All the while, the jittering needle sang its siren's song.

Hopefully the crew would get to him soon.


The handful of guards posted at the rear entrance remained despite the chaos. Garrus was surprised to find a human in the group. Did they not know about the attack on Mindoir, or the countless other slave raids on human colonies? Garrus felt an odd sense of outrage; he would be murderous if he found any turians working for a group that enslaved other turians, and as he thought of Shepard locked somewhere in that building the human guarded his indignation only flared. He planted his feet, squatted down, lifted his rifle and fired at the human first. The batarians in the group had just enough time to turn their heads toward them as they were bum-rushed by Ashley and Grunt with their calamitous shotguns. Tali remained with Garrus, her own shotgun raised to provide cover should any enemies come close, but her shotgun wasn't needed here. Ashley and Grunt wiped out the group in minutes, while Garrus picked off any stragglers.

When it was over, they stepped over the bodies and approached the door. They had expected to have to hack an electronic lock, but they found that it was "secured" by a mere latch. Garrus had seen a rare few non-tech doors in his life, and most of those were in museums. Grunt destroyed the door with an effortless push.

Garrus radioed the other teams. "We're in."

"Ditto," Wrex replied.

The space before them was a narrow hall leading to some downward stairs. The base apparently also held underground bunkers. Aside from the steady blare of the alarm, the place was quiet; they encountered no enemy forces. The entire area seemed completely bland and useless, but why have guards for such a place?

He turned toward Ashley. "Tell me something," he said. Ashley twitched her head in response. "Why are you here?"

"That's a ridiculous question," she said. "I'm here to help Shepard."

"You didn't seem to care so much back on Horizon. Besides, I thought you were on some top-secret Alliance mission?"

Ashley's head dropped slightly. "I've explained my piece on Horizon. As for the mission. . .I still don't know how the hell she did it."

"Who?"

"Liara. She radioed me-me, personally-telling me that Shepard was in danger and that you guys would need my help. I told her that I would be court-marshaled and likely executed if I abandoned what I was doing. She said not to worry about that, then hung up. Not five minutes later, my commanding officer radios me and says that I've been 'reassigned' and that I should report to new coordinates immediately. Liara and Wrex were there waiting for me, and here I am. Question is, how in God's black space did she get the contact info for us and somehow manage to change my own assignment? It was top secret!"

"And Wrex? He was too busy on Tuchanka to help us before."

"He wouldn't explain to me why he was there, only that Liara was 'very convincing.' When we get out of this, I'm gonna have some questions for that girl."

They reached a fork in the hall that stretched left and right. "Should we split up?"

"I can go left," Grunt said. "The rest of you can head right."

"You can't go by yourself," Tali said.

"Why not? I'm as strong as the rest of you put together."

"Enough," Garrus said. "Ash, you go with Grunt. Tali and I will head this way. Radio if you need help or if you find Shepard."

Ashley nodded and joined up with Grunt, who had already bounded down the hall. She was the closest thing they had to another krogan, as far as Garrus was concerned; the two of them would complement eachother's abilities well enough to get along.

The hall they took weaved through several old-fashioned doors. Some of them were locked, though Garrus easily broke them down with a well-placed kick or shove. They passed several small rooms that were apparently used for storage, holding equipment or armor. One room held a sort of computer lab, with several tables lined with terminals; a few batarian techies were sitting at their computers unarmed. They surrendered the moment Garrus lifted his gun.

"Where's Shepard?" He asked the closest, a scientist-type in a white coat. Four-lens spectacles donned his eyes, their handles gripping the sides of his head instead of resting on the ears, like with human glasses. Whoever this guy was, he apparently couldn't afford basic retina treatment for poor eyesight.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the batarian responded. His hand jerked a few inches toward his hip, but Garrus had already made note of the pistol concealed there. He pressed his own gun hard against the batarian's temple.

"Don't be stupid. And don't lie to me. Where. Is. Shepard?"

The four eyes moved to the gun. The batarian slowly pointed a shaking finger toward a door at the end of the room.

"Through the hall, take a right. Holding cell. At least one guard."

"Smart move." Garrus took the batarian's gun and kicked him away. He stumbled on his coat as he ran in the opposite direction of the group. They continued through the door, heading down another dilapidated hall until it forked. They headed right, like the batarian said.


Where are they? The question popped up in his head a thousand times, with the same answer right on its heels: they'll be here soon.

Every passing minute brought increasing waves of nausea over his body. He could feel the withdrawal like some wriggling creature eating him from the inside-out. Whenever he looked down at the floor, he found himself a few inches closer to the glass needle. His rational mind told him that whatever relief he felt from the drug would be temporary and fleeting, that he had to break the cycle before it could have a chance to begin. . .but the raging chemicals of addiction that had taken up residence in his brain sent their own blaring messages that echoed across his body, drowning out his rational mind-along with everything else, except for one stark reality: he couldn't wait much longer.


They reached another door. Garrus could hear the faint electrical hum of a force field from the other side. He silently signaled to the others to take point, putting his ear against the door to listen for any sounds. Aside from the hum, he heard nothing. Taking a deep breath, he reared back and broke the door down with a sturdy kick.

There was a single guard. He was dead before he could even raise his gun. Behind him, the cell crackled alive, with a distinctly human figure hunched in the center. Except the human wasn't Shepard.

It was Goldstein.

The woman had been beaten within an inch of her life. Black, purple and sickly yellow bruises coated her face and arms. Her left eye had swollen shut and the right was bloodshot. One of her fingers was bent at a disturbing angle, her arms outstretched on the ground as if she were dead.

The sight stopped Garrus in his tracks. What was she doing in here if she was the traitor? Had they been wrong about her after all?

He cautiously approached the cell. Goldstein was alone, but the cell was big enough for more than one person. The human noticed Garrus' presence and looked up.

"Ugh." The noise she made was a mixture of pain and disgust, spat out with pink bile. "My day just keeps getting better," she grumbled.

Tali whipped out her omni-tool and disabled the force field. Garrus stepped into the cell, keeping his gun in hand but not raised. The woman was hardly a threat to their group, and they all knew it. He squatted down by her face.

"Where is Shepard?" He asked.

"Go to hell."

Garrus stood and pressed a foot down on her broken finger. Goldstein shuddered, unable to conceal a whimper of pain as Garrus applied the pressure.

"I can break the others, if you'd like," he said. "One by one, joint by joint. Then I can move on to your toes. You humans have so many; I'm sure a few wouldn't be missed." He pointed his gun straight down at the woman's fingers sprawled out from under his foot. "Now, I'll ask politely, one more time: Where is Shepard?"

Goldstein eyed the gun with more than a hint of fright. Garrus was prepared to do whatever was necessary to get the info out of her. Some sick part of him enjoyed the pain he was inflicting on her; she deserved it after all she did to them, after all.

For a moment, she didn't answer. His finger had just begun to graze the trigger when she finally opened her mouth. "I-I don't know," she said.

"Not the answer I'm looking for," Garrus replied, pressing harder on the finger. The woman damn near squealed.

"It's true! I don't know where the hell they took him."

"How did you end up like this?" Garrus gestured to her face.

"Most of it was from your boyfriend. The rest was from Fazrak fucking me over. They took him from here a couple of hours ago, I don't know where. They could have left the whole damn planet for all I know."

"Where else could they keep him?"

She shook her head. "Only place I know of is an underground bunker where they used to keep supplies."

"This whole operation seems a bit. . .rustic," Tali interjected. "Why is this place so low-tech?"

"Fazrak likes to pretend he's still relevant, but the truth is, the bastard's hurting for cash, bad. I think he hopes turning Shepard in to the Collectors will put him back on top of the slave trade. He'd better hope so, because even his own crew is talking about ditching him if this doesn't work out."

Garrus lifted his foot off her hand. He took the butt of his gun and smashed it into the side of Goldstein's head. The woman instantly crumpled to the ground with a nasty-sounding thunk.

"Grunt, can you carry her the rest of the way?"

"Of course," the krogan replied. The unconscious woman seemed pitifully tiny compared to the beast lifting her over his shoulder. "What are we gonna do with her?"

"Nothing, for now. But I want her to own up to what she's done after this is all over."

Grunt's lips curled up into a fierce grin. He adjusted Goldstein on his back to allow him to hold onto her with one arm and his shotgun with the other.

Garrus radioed the other teams. "We have Goldstein, but Shepard's still MIA. What's your status?"

"No sign of Shepard on our end," Wrex said. "A few guards here and there, but none of them knew anything about anything important going on at the base. We're combing through every room now."

"We need to hurry," Miranda said. Garrus could hear gunfire and explosions coming from her end of the line. "They're going to figure out what we're doing eventually, if they haven't already."

"EDI," Garrus said. "Can you get us directions to that bunker Goldstein mentioned?"

"Calculating now," EDI said. Her voice chimed in a second later. "Done."

A map of the facility projected onto Garrus' visor, with the bunker highlighted by a gentle flash. The map was a rough sketch, of course; but it helped, and he could see exactly where to go from where he was. The only problem was that there was no guarantee Shepard would be there when they made it.


His hand shook as he lifted the needle off the floor. The liquid within the syringe stirred violently as he stared, contemplating the absurdity of the situation. All he had been through in his life and he was slowly being rendered powerless by a few millimeters of fluid. The occasional rattle of the walls and floor intermingles with the spasms of his muscles until he could no longer distinguish the difference between the two. A wild fear struck his skull that maybe the fighting within the base was over and the team either lost or retreated. . .but that was absurd. It was his team, after all.

He heard shouting from the other end of the door outside of his cell. He quickly slipped the syringe into his sleeve, working more on instinct than any strategy. The needle had just disappeared into the fold of his shirt when the door opened and Fazrak entered, his black eyes furious. The batarian stomped over to the cell and disabled the field. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been shouting for a long time.

"Get up," he said, pointing his gun at Shepard.

He was clearly agitated and in no mood to broker arguments, and he still had the controller to whatever was in Garrus' face. Shepard obeyed, maintaining direct contact with Fazrak's four eyes. Fazrak gestured to the guard watching Shepard's cell, who grabbed Shepard's wrists and cuffed them together with an omni-interface. Satisfied that his hands were secure, Fazrak grabbed him and led him out of the room down a raggedy hall too narrow for two people to walk side-by-side. The guard followed behind, keeping his gun on Shepard as if the man could do anything to resist his current situation.

About halfway down the hall, Fazrak stopped so suddenly that Shepard nearly walked into him and spun on his heels. He glared at Shepard mere inches away from his face.

"Your friends are a persistent bunch. How did they know where we were?"

Shepard made his best effort to shrug with cuffed wrists. "Like you said: persistent. You should see them disobey a direct order."

Fazrak smashed the butt of his rile into Shepard's stomach. The sudden wave of nauseating pain doubled him over and threatened to expel whatever food was left in his body, but the guard forced him back up on his feet. Fazrak waved the remote in Shepard's face.

"Do you want me to make your lover's scaly head explode?"

Whether it was from the hunger, the nausea, or the mindfuckingly acute withdrawal, Shepard never knew, but he laughed. All sound and motion seemed to pause to make room for his laughing, and once he started, he found it difficult to stop.

When he did, he took a moment to catch his breath. "I figured it out," he said.

Fazrak's voice hissed through gritted teeth. "What's that?"

"This whole setup you have going on? The ancient doors, the cheap walls, the skeleton crew. . .I really fucked you over, didn't I?"

Fazrak's spine suddenly straightened. Shepard continued:

"I survived your raid on Mindoir. No big deal back then; I was just a kid, after all. But then that kid grew up and became the first human Spectre, the most famous human in the galaxy. Everyone in the Milky Way knows my heroic story of survival on Mindoir and my subsequent victory on Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz, and that must have really shit on your street cred, didn't it? 'There goes Fazrak, the one who created Commander Shepard.' You don't have any money because nobody but your most devoted goons will work for you, and I'd bet even they're starting to have second thoughts by now. All this time I've been fantasizing about my big grand victory over you, and here I am defeating you every single day by merely existing. It's fantastic."

As he spoke, Fazrak's composure gradually steamed away until nothing was left but a seething rage that Shepard hoped wouldn't drive the batarian to too rash action. He knew as well as Shepard that the knife he had hanging over Garrus' head was double-edged; while Shepard would do whatever he could to keep Garrus alive, Fazrak also had to know that killing him would sever any hold he had over Shepard, or his wrath. Everyone knew what happened to Saren.

Rather than activate the controller, Fazrak merely took his gun and hit Shepard's knees with a force that certainly would have shattered them if they hadn't been cybernetically enhanced. He wasn't allowed to collapse; instead, the guard picked him up by the collar and pushed him forward through the hall. All the while, the cool glass of the syringe rubbed against the skin of his arm.


They ran through the base, guns constantly at the ready. Grunt didn't appear to even notice the unconscious Goldstein slumped on his shoulder like a sack of rocks, thumping against his armor with every sudden movement. The woman would have several more bruises when she woke.

She'll be lucky if that's all she gets.

The last door they went through opened into a hall that had been recently destroyed; they were exposed to the outside as they maneuvered through debris. They stepped over a few batarian bodies. Garrus wondered if the disaster was caused by Jack-or possibly Wrex.

There were stairs in the next room heading down. The map in his visor took them down into a much more modern-looking area; while the doors were still ancient, the walls were reinforced and appeared to have been upkept. A droning alarm also hinted at speakers somewhere in the infrastructure. The halls were wider as well, wide enough to possibly fit a small vehicle through, if need be.

They crossed into what appeared to be a massive underground vault full of surprised batarian mercenaries. On the far side, Garrus caught a quick glimpse of familiar black hair disappear behind a modern electronic door.

"Target spotted!" He called, raising his gun to the batarians. "Get to the other side!"

There was no cover between them, and the batarians outnumbered their group approximately three-to-one. The closest of them died quickly, but Garrus could feel the pressure of bullets hitting his shield and armor. Grunt dropped Goldstein like a burlap sack and charged into a group of three, crushing the head of one batarian under foot while breaking the necks of the others upon impact. Garrus saw Tali flinch away as her suit got grazed by a bullet, a tiny opening in the shoulder that exposed bright gray skin stained with violet-covered blood, mere moments before repairing itself and applying necessary antibiotics to keep the quarian from becoming too sick. She retaliated with an attack drone that exploded into her attacker's face.

When the shooting was over, all the batarians that hadn't died threw down their guns and fled, leaving the group to chase Shepard's captors through the door on the far side of the room. The door led outside onto a large runway. Several small supply ships lined the way, ready to take off at a moment's notice. It was onto one of these ships that Shepard was being forced, about two-hundred yards away, a guard at his back and an authoritative batarian Garrus supposed to be Fazrak at the front. They were already pushing up the ramp into the ship's cargo hold; there was no time to run across to the ship.

So he aimed.


He had to resist somehow. If he got on that shuttle, there was no guarantee that the crew would find him again. But his options were limited. If he attacked Fazrak, assuming he could dismantle the batarian with no hands and in a state of withdrawal, the guard behind him would shoot him dead before he could turn around. If he went after the guard, Fazrak would have more than enough time to kill Garrus-and him, most likely. Monetary compensation was only worth so much nuisance.

He pretended to wobble and misstep on the gate lift, and went to his knees in an effort not to trip. The guard behind him grabbed him by the shoulder and started to lift him up. There was a crack of thunder from far off. Something wet splashed on Shepard's back as the guard's grip suddenly jerked away, a hole where his head once was.

He was back on his feet in an instant. Fazrak was still climbing up the ramp, unaware of Shepard until he was right on him. Shepard put all of his speed into a roundhouse kick that caught Fazrak in the side of the head, knocking him to the ground below. He jumped after the batarian, attempting to land on his head, but Fazrak rolled to the side at the last moment and Shepard's unprepared knees caught solid concrete. He fell, and with his hands bound he couldn't do anything but roll with the gravity and get up as soon as possible.

Fazrak staggered to his feet as Shepard rose to his own. The batarian held his pistol in one hand and the controller box in the other; though unsteady, he had enough sense to keep a thumb on the trigger. Keeping his gun aimed at Shepard, he quickly got behind him and pressed the barrel to his temple, searching the area until he found Shepard's group. Garrus was at the lead, his sniper rifle in hand and aimed, with Tali close behind. Grunt kept up with something slumped over his shoulder.

"Call them off!" Fazrak said, jerking Shepard's gaze toward the trigger. "Now!"

"They can't hear me from here," Shepard responded.

Fazrak leaned in so close that Shepard could feel his fish-like skin brush his face. "Then you'd better talk loudly."

The group slowed their approach when they saw Shepard being held at gunpoint, but they didn't stop entirely.

"You can't think you'll get out of this," Shepard said. "Kill me and they'll kill you. Kill Garrus and I'll kill you. I doubt you can fly that ship on your own, and even if you can, you couldn't possibly outrun mine."

"Three seconds, boy. One. Two."

Garrus, Tali, Grunt and Ashley were more than close enough to strike, but none of them had made a move with Shepard locked in Fazrak's arm. The controller sat at the edge of his awareness, and now he had to decide if his life was more important, or Garrus'. In the span of a blink, his mind made itself up.


"STAND DOWN!"

The order reached their ears like the ringing after an explosion, and the only reason Garrus stopped was because he was too stunned to move.

"Did I just hear that?" Ashley said to his right. "Tell me I didn't just hear that. You guys didn't hear that?"

"SHEPARD!" Garrus called back. He lifted his rifle. Less than a hundred yards. It would be extremely risky with Shepard so close to the target, but he could probably do it if he needed to. . .

"I SAID TO STAND DOWN, VAKARIAN!"

"It's a trick," Grunt said. "Some kind of plan, or joke. I say we charge in anyway."

"Not while Fazrak has a gun on his head," Ashley said.

That wouldn't stop Shepard.

"He has to know something we don't," Tali said, her shotgun hanging relaxed in her hand. "Something important. I can't see him doing this otherwise." Suddenly her helmet jerked toward Garrus. "Do you think. . .?"

Garrus caught her meaning immediately, and it made perfect sense. Shit-shit-shit!

"SHEPARD," he called out, "I'M NOT WORTH IT!"

Fazrak was inching Shepard into the ship. Garrus looked at his little group. They were all counting on him to bring Shepard back. All of them; the entire Normandy crew. Then there was his family, his planet, the whole galaxy. All of them needed Shepard.

Not him.

"Advance," he said. "Retrieve the Commander at all costs."

"But what about—" Tali interjected.

"I said, move!"

They nodded, lifted their guns, and continued their advance. He stayed behind, better use from a distance, and soon to be useless besides, if he was correct. The only theory that made sense was that Fazrak could activate the thing in Garrus' face. Shepard wouldn't care about a gun to his own head. . .but his squad? He would do the same for any of them.

"STAND DOWN!" Shepard called again. "THAT'S AN ORDER! STAY BACK!"

Garrus lifted his head. "NEGATIVE ON THAT, COMMANDER."

He looked down at his armored hands. There was still one option available to him. . .one last drastic measure.

Well. We've been all about drastic measures lately.

Shepard wasn't the only one willing to sacrifice for the group. He ungloved his right hand, flexed the digits in the warm air. Then he took off his helmet. The atmosphere hit him in the face and stung his eyes, but he adjusted quickly enough. He brought his hand up to his face, pressed against the soft scar tissue that had become part of him. In there. It's somewhere in there. He only had a couple of minutes.

The things I do for love.


The hell are they doing?!

Fazrak dug the barrel of his gun into Shepard's head. "Why aren't they stopping? Call them off now!"

"I don't know! They're not listening."

Fazrak made a horrible gurgling noise. "Sucks for you, then."

Shepard immediately ducked against Fazrak's grip and tried to bowl him over, but the batarian maintained his hold. He brought a foot up and kicked Shepard's bound arms. Shepard felt something break against the kick, followed by a sharp pain in his arm. Oh, shit.

Fazrak's gun rang out almost right next to his ear, aiming for the group. Ashley was at the forefront, followed closely by Grunt, who served as a shield for Tali. Garrus remained behind, doing. . .what?

Fazrak growled again. "I warned you." He held the controller a few inches in front of Shepard's face and turned it up to the maximum setting before throwing it away.

Red dashed before his eyes, and before he could think about it he threw himself forward with every bit of strength his legs had left. The two of them tumbled down the ramp, Fazrak's gun going off and shattered glass digging into Shepard's arm as they went. At the bottom, he rolled himself onto his feet and moved to the fallen Fazrak, his arm bleeding from a stray gunshot. Shepard jumped down onto his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. He pressed a foot onto Fazrak's neck. Fazrak grabbed his ankle with both hands and tried pushing him off, but Shepard planted his other foot into the ground, allowing him to push. For a moment, Fazrak's four eyes went wide with wild terror. It was at that moment that Shepard brought his other foot up to Fazrak's head and, with one spinning movement, snapped the batarian's neck.

His momentum knocked him to the ground next to Fazrak, flat onto the concrete against his face. The batarian's head was twisted in a grotesque angle, facing him, eyes still wide open but now completely empty of all life. Shepard thought he could see Fazrak's spirit in the reflection of those dead eyes, being dragged down into Hell kicking and screaming, but a dim part of his consciousness knew it was only the drugs entering his system.

Hands gripped him from behind. His first instinct was to struggle, but Ashley's familiar voice stopped him. She said something in a warbling tone that was met with the electronic waggling of Tali's envirosuit. He tried to walk, but the effort was too much and he tripped into Grunt's massive lifted him over his unoccupied shoulder—the other one had Zander, he finally noticed—and they headed back where they came.

The ensuing chatter passed through him like a dream. He understood the words "dead," "extraction," "Normandy." Garrus' body was on the ground, his face resting in a pool of liquid sapphire. Shepard envied him. Something large and red picked the turian up—a dinosaur, he thought. His consciousness slipped further and further along into space by the minute. He saw each star as someone he'd lost. Garrus' wasn't there; his star would be the youngest, a bright orb of light with a large dark hemisphere coating the side like a scar.

There was a flash.

Then darkness.


His face hurt.

His face really fucking hurt.

He was aware of the pain before anything else. Light came next, searing his retinas for a few painful seconds until his eyes adjusted. The gray ceiling above held the familiar lighting of the Normandy's med bay. His armor was gone, replaced with bandages and underclothes. Slowly he raised himself up and took in his surroundings.

Doctor Chakwas' chair was empty, a sight so unusual that he had to do a double-take. Mordin was nowhere to be found, and the CIC outside was completely deserted, like an abandoned home in a warzone. It was frightening, in a way.

A soft noise emitted from the bed next to his. Shepard's bruised head swiveled in a pillow made for a larger species. They were so close that Garrus could reach out and touch him. He lifted his hand out from under the sheets, then stopped it in midair when he saw the dried blood under the talons. His own blood. He touched his face. The scarred side was covered in bandages again.

Chakwas would have my head if she saw this.

Then he remembered: the message they received in the shuttle, the alert that the crew had been taken by the Collectors. How long had they been gone?

"Garrus?"

He had never heard Shepard sound so tired. The human was already trying to rise up in his bed. Garrus saw that his arm had been bandaged up, but everything else was fine, save from some bruises and swelling in the face. Shepard looked at Garrus almost like he were an undiscovered life form.

"You look like hell," he finally said.

Relieved, Garrus chuckled, then instantly regretted it. "Damn it, how many times do I need to tell you not to make me laugh?"

"Can't help myself." Shepard lay back down with a full sigh. "It's over?"

Garrus shrugged. "I don't think I was around at that part."

"I remember. . .I snapped his neck. Then. . ." His eyes met Garrus'. It was so good to see them again. "You were bleeding. I thought. . .I thought you were. . ."

"Not yet."

"What did you do?"

Garrus held up his hand, showed Shepard the dried blood. "I improvised. I think I did pretty well, considering. Though I guess I'm not going to get any honorary degrees for face surgery. . ."

Shepard's eyes went wide. "You dug it out? The bug? Of your own face? What—how—"

"With immense difficulty, a shit-ton of medigel, and good old-fashioned Vakarian brand stubbornness. By the way, never give yourself up for me again. It's corny. You know I hate corny." He tried waving his finger in a scolding way, but found he didn't have the energy.

Shepard smiled, but he seemed very sad nonetheless. Have I become that good at reading human expressions? He lowered his hand to point toward Shepard's bed, and after a moment Shepard's own hand emerged to grasp it. They stayed that way for a long moment.
"We're screwed up, aren't we?" Garrus asked.

"Pretty much."

That was the extent of their conversation for a while.

"Where is everybody?" Shepard asked.

It was the question Garrus hoped to avoid having to answer. Lawson, Joker, anyone else would have been preferable. He took a deep breath, resigned himself to it. "Shepard. . ."

Just then, the med bay doors whooshed open, showing Mordin and Joker on the other side. The scarred salarian sauntered in as they let go of each other's hands. "Ah. Awake. Good. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Shepard said.

Mordin sniffed. "Shouldn't lie to physicians. Xhoavor withdrawal serious. Would prefer to wean off of it, but no supply. Will ask again: how are you feeling?"

Shepard shook his head in defeat. "Okay, I feel like crap, but nothing I can't handle right now."

"Good," Joker said, "because there's more bad news."

Much to Garrus' relief, Joker explained the abduction of the crew, how he managed to escape, where the ship had been damaged. Shepard reacted as Garrus expected; shocked, appalled, and ready to fix the problem.

"How long?" Shepard asked.

"About nine hours ago."

"Fuck all," he said, struggling to get on his feet. Nobody tried to stop him, but Mordin hovered close by, ready to catch him if needed. Garrus also rose out of bed, trying to keep his balance. "Get my clothes," Shepard said to Joker. "We're going after them. Today. Now."

"Must take prescriptions!" Mordin said. "Took liberty of putting medicine on night table. With instructions." He looked at Garrus. "Painkillers may be necessary."

Garrus waved him off. "I can't shoot if I'm loopy. I'll make do."

They changed, an agonizingly slow process. Before they left the med bay, Shepard sat down on the floor.
"I don't know what to do, Garrus."

"What do you mean? You just said you were going after the crew."

Shepard raked his hand through his hair. The man looked exhausted beyond any organic capability. "I have to go out there and tell everyone that we're going to invade a Collector base and rescue our entire crew. Assuming they're still alive, which they probably aren't, I still have some issues on this side of the Omega-4 to resolve. I promised Jack we'd go to Pragia, Grunt's still antsy in the cargo hold, we need to finish upgrading the Normandy. . .If we charge after the Collectors before we have everything finished here, we'll all die. But if I wait, the crew over there will die. I'll be failing someone no matter what I do, Garrus; now I need to decide who it's going to be."

Garrus put an arm around his shoulder. "That isn't true. Nobody's going to die, Shepard, and even if we did, if I died right here and now, you wouldn't be failing me, or any of us. This mission is more important than our lives. If we can get any shred of intel on the Reapers, or when they're coming back, or how to stop them entirely—it would all be worth just that. That's what we're here for. Not the Illusive Man, or anything else."

Shepard nodded, looking ahead. He didn't seem too convinced, but he got up and exited with his head high regardless.

Now I just need to convince myself.


The crew waited for him in the debriefing room. Miranda stood a half-second before everyone else when he entered. Her loyalty to the mission had never been in doubt, but now she was loyal to him, thanks to his saving her sister. And she had been a real asset.

"I understand that I owe my life to you all," he said, looking around the room. A few faces were missing. "Where are Ash and Wrex?"

"They went back to their respective planets," Miranda said. "They couldn't postpone their own troubles any longer, apparently. And yes, you do owe your life to us."

Shepard found a seat, folded his hands on the table. "So. What are we going to do?"

The crew looked around at each other in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Jacob asked. "We're going after the crew, right?"

"That's one option, yes."

"Forgive me, sir, but I don't see any other options at the moment."

Shepard gestured to the room around him. "Miranda, would you say we're sufficiently equipped to mount an assault on the Collector base?"

Miranda stood up, prepared as always. "We can go through the Omega-4 Relay at any time, but considering the destination, and what awaits us on the other side, no, I can't honestly say that we are prepared. Multiple upgrades are still recommended, especially to our hull. As it stands, this ship cannot survive an attack from a Collector warship; the result will be the same as the SR1."

"But upgrading the ship will take too long," Tali interjected. "Who knows what they're doing to the crew right now! Gabriella, Kenneth, Adams, Chakwas. . .if we don't go after them now. . ."

Silence hung over the room like a thick fog. "The crew was taken approximately nine hours ago," Miranda said. "We don't know if they're still alive. Our wisest course of action is to be fully prepared before—"

"That is bullshit!" Jacob said. "Those people devoted their lives to us, have helped us from every step of the way, and now you want to just leave them behind? This is callous by even your standards, Miranda."

Miranda's gaze zeroed in on Jacob. "I hand-picked most of those people myself. With the exceptions of Doctor Chakwas and Chief Engineer Adams, I personally knew and/or worked with every single one of them at some point or another. I don't make the suggestion lightly, but they knew what was at stake when they agreed to be part of this. They knew from the beginning that the mission takes precedence."

Joker raised a hand. Shepard nodded to him. "Those people saved my life when the Collectors came. Hawthorne got pummeled keeping them off me. And you didn't see that girl Kelly's face when they. . .they dragged her out. They're more than tools for an objective. They're people. We have to save them. They'd all do the same for us."

"I never said they were tools. I'm only trying to minimize the number of casualties—not just among us, but the entire galaxy. And the best way to do that is being as fully prepared as possible when it happens."

Shepard contemplated the points made. "I want to hear from everyone. Jacob, you feel that we should go after the others ASAP?"

"I do, sir."

"What about you, Tali?"

The quarian's head drooped in contemplation. "I think," she said, her head lifting back up, "Miranda has a point. This ship is the only home I have left, and its crew is like my family. But. . .I don't know. This is beyond me, Shepard."

"Fair enough. Grunt?"

"I agree with the female. A few losses shouldn't endanger the entire mission."

"Jack?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't really care what you do. What's it to me if Cerberus loses a few goons?"

"And you, Samara?"

The serene a sari looked around the room. "I believe. . .that each side has perfectly valid points. I will remain neutral. Know that you have my support, whatever your decision."

He went around the room, hoping for some insight or clarity that would solve the entire problem for him. One by one, each crew member listed their decision. Lastly, he turned toward Garrus.

"Garrus? What do you think?"

He didn't take his eyes off the turian for a moment. His left mandible twitched while the right fought against the bandage that was back on his face.

"If it were me," Garrus began, "I would. . .I've already lost one team, Commander. I don't want to lose any more."

Shepard nodded.

"But," Garrus continued, "if we don't at least upgrade the ship, we'll lose more than a team. We could lose everything. All known life, gone. And then the Reapers will be back in another fifty thousand years to do it all over again. We may have to sacrifice a lot more before this is all over. I don't know, Shepard. This is that gray I was telling you about."

So much for clarity. Shepard sighed, and stood up. The rest of the crew stood with him.

"I'll consider it and let you know. First, there's one other matter to attend to."

He thought of the one responsible for all of this, the one who brought him to this point. He felt the blood rush to his head, pulsing through his temples. He still had to deal with her.

"Bring Zander to me. Now."


Goldstein—Ellie Zander, Garrus was informed—was brought up in cuffs to the CIC. Her injuries had been treated, and her clothes changed into a new Cerberus uniform, but her bruises remained. Garrus and Tali brought her up, unarmed—they had no need for guns in space, after all. She had nowhere to run, no reason to escape.

They took her to the CIC, at the opposite end of the elevator, to the hall where the CIC connected with the cockpit. Shepard stood there, blue eyes burning. Garrus felt a new emotion towards the man that seemed a lot like fear. Zander stood straight, staring Shepard in the eye.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Shepard asked. Zander just kept up her stare. Shepard cocked his head slightly to the side, as if confused. "You lie to your superiors, you abduct me in the middle of the most important mission ever undertaken by any species, you try to sell me to my worst enemy, you injure the one I love, and because of your actions, a lot of good people are likely to die. Nothing to say to me now?"

Zander's mouth twitched slightly, but she kept her silence and her stare.

"Fine," Shepard said. "Open the airlock."

The doors whooshed open into the little square space that separated the ship from the vacuum of nothingness beyond. Zander's eyes went wide. She attempted to step back, but Shepard grabbed her by the hair and threw her into the airlock, closing the door.

It was horrifying for Garrus to watch. He looked around. Even the others appeared stunned, but nobody dared say anything. Shepard spoke to the door.

"You said you wanted to be like me. Well, I survived this. Let's see if anyone brings you back to life."

Zander's muffled screams came through the door: terrified pleas like a woman about to be murdered by a captor.

Garrus took a step forward. "Shepard, this isn't right."

Shepard didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on the button that would release the airlock—and send Zander to her death.

"Know what it feels like?" He said to the door again. "It's like drowning, only worse. The air gets pulled right out of your lungs until they're nothing but shriveled little bags. The vessels in your eyes pop and all you see is red. You can't control anything anymore, not even your own breath. And it's cold. Very, very cold."

Garrus grabbed Shepard's arm, forcing him to look up in shock. "Stop," he said, not thinking. "I'm all for punishing the bitch, but this is over the line."

Shepard jerked his arm away. "Who are you to talk about 'the line,' Garrus?! Stand back now; that's an order!"

"Shepard, do you remember what you said when you stopped me from killing Sidonis? 'You're never responsible for someone else's choices. Only your own.' That's what you told me. Well, here's my choice."

He grabbed Shepard's arm again and pushed him back several steps, then stepped between him and the doors. Shepard's hands kept clenching and unclenching. "This is different. You have no right—"

"No; in fact, I have less right than anyone else in the galaxy, but I can't let you make the same mistake you kept me from making."

The rest of the crew watched the exchange, some with mouths agape, their eyes darting back and forth between Shepard and Garrus as if a mutiny were occurring.

"This isn't you, Commander. This isn't the man I watched try to talk sense into Saren until the end. This isn't the man who stood in my own crosshairs and taught me justice. And this sure as hell isn't the man I fell in love with."

Shepard's body was visibly shaking, whether from anger or something else, Garrus didn't know. It hurt every inch of him to say these things, to be looked at like an enemy. It was Shepard who taught him how to be a man, that the ends don't always justify the means, that killing for the sake of revenge solved nothing.

Now, if he had to, he would be the teacher.

Shepard took a few deep breaths. "Fine," he finally said. "Fine. Open the doors."

Garrus pressed the button and Zander tumbled out, sobbing. He lifted her up and Shepard came within an inch of her face.

"I'm dropping you off on Earth. The Alliance can have you. And remember this: I am a Spectre. I can do whatever I want to you and there is no legal system in existence that will stop me. The only thing standing between you and empty space right now," he pointed at Garrus, "is this turian. Do you understand me? I want you to live the rest of your miserable existence knowing that it was a turian that saved your life. Answer me!"

"I—I understand," she said.

"Good. Take her to the brig, or the cargo hold, or anywhere that's out of my sight."

Grunt was the one to escort her away. Garrus turned away from Shepard and returned to his spot amongst the crew.

"I've decided," Shepard said, regaining his composure, "after our detour to Earth, we will continue to upgrade the ship. We can only hope that the crew will hold out as long as possible. Dismissed."


Tomorrow. We're going into hell tomorrow.

Shepard lay in bed, looking up into space through the window on his ceiling. Seemed a little counterintuitive for a hull upgrade, but then, he wasn't likely to be in his cabin if they were attacked anyway. Not that it mattered.

Jack's former home on Pragia was destroyed. Grunt's issues were just krogan hormones. Jacob's dad was a dick. He had proven himself loyal to his (remaining) crew, and they, in turn, were fiercely loyal to him. Even Jack seemed to be liking him more.

In addition to the hull, the weapons system finally got upgraded to the Thanix cannon. The ship's tracking systems were also updated tot he latest technology, allowing them to gather more materials when needed, at faster pace. Their weapons and armor were upgraded in the lab thanks to Garrus and Jacob's expertise.

His relationship with Garrus had hit a standstill. Their every interaction since the Zander incident had been entirely formal. Garrus addressed Shepard as "Sir" and "Commander." They no longer messaged each other or tried to sneak a few words in for personal conversation. The few times they found themselves in a combat situation, Garrus obeyed orders and took no unnecessary risks. Shepard found it difficult to look Garrus in the eye since Garrus' rebellion. Partly because he was still mad. Mostly because he was ashamed.

Not that it would matter for long.

When everything was fully upgraded, they all decided, as a crew, to make the Omega-4 Relay jump. They would be transported to the center of the Milky Way, where the Collector Base resided. Mass effect technology would protect the ship from the supermassive black hole's gravitational pull—presumably, the Collectors used the same tech—but they also had to expect background radiation, potential object collision, and, of course, armed combat on the other side.

Zander herself had been turned in to Alliance officials, who were all very interested to hear about the life of a defected N7 marine. The woman would never be free again. It wasn't enough, but he settled for it.

Now he could focus on their impending suicide mission. They would reach the Relay in less than twenty-four hours. Despite knowing that he should be rested when the time finally came, he found himself unable to sleep or stop his thoughts from spinning through his brain. Memories, regrets, desires, the disturbingly satisfying crunch of Fazrak's vertebrae under his feet; they all hit his eyes every night, all at once.

Finally, after a futile hour of trying to find sleep, he got up and decided to shower. At least he'd arrive in hell feeling clean.


Now or never, I suppose.

The thought was disturbing. Though he had the feeling that Shepard wanted to see anyone but him. . .it could be their last chance. If they died the next day, wouldn't it be better to die knowing, rather than guessing? And if. . .

Kasumi saw him going into the elevator with the bottle, though odds were, that woman saw a lot more than she put on anyway. Garrus could have sworn he saw her wink at him just as the doors closed.

It wasn't his first courtship, but it was his first male. And first human. And first time being so damn nervous.

He half-expected to be thrown off the ship after confronting Shepard. Instead, things seemed to go back to the way they were before, only it was entirely business. Was that Shepard's way of saying he was no longer interested? Or was Shepard just focused on getting his priorities done as soon as possible? Both?

When the elevator stopped, he was so confused that he considered pressing the button, going back down and enjoying the wine bottle all to himself. Even a turian woman was less confusing. But he'd never invested so much of himself in a turian woman. But he remembered how it was, that feeling he had that made him open himself up to Shepard like he'd never opened up to anyone, how the human would laugh at his jokes and make him feel like he made some difference in the universe.

One thing was certain: if he was going to die tomorrow, he had to know how Shepard felt, and if those feelings would ever return. So he took a deep breath, steeled himself as if he were going into battle, and marched through Shepard's door.

He could hear water running in the bathroom next to him as he entered. He hadn't prepared for this. His next step was lost on him.

Should I just join him? That's how a lot of the vids started, with one or the other marching into the shower like he owned the place and proceeding from there. Or I could wait for him on his bed? But what if Shepard wasn't interested anymore? Garrus pictured getting up and grabbing his clothes on the way out, jumping into his pants before he got to the door. . .Talk about an awkward moment. There was a console on the wall that controlled the radio. Ahh, music! Music had a calming effect on all species, except possibly krogan, but nothing could calm them anyway. I should wait until he gets out, though. . .

He kept turning one way and the next, the wine sloshing in the bottle in his hand, all the possible choices overwhelming his basic cognitive faculties. He never even heard the water stop flowing in the bathroom.

He had just decided that he should probably put the wine bottle down when the bathroom doors opened not five feet away from him. Shepard stood, dressed, a towel over his shoulder, blinking a few times at the sight of a very nervous turian in the room.

Confidence, Vakarian!

"Hey," he said. He felt like an adolescent all over again. "Didn't know you were. . .ahh. . .I brought wine." He meekly held the bottle up. "Best I could afford on a vigilante's salary. Dextro and Levo safe, of course."

Shepard glanced at the bottle.

Okay. Now the music.

He put the bottle down on the nearest surface he could find, then clicked on the radio. Shit. I don't know what he likes. The radio automatically turned to the electrosynth noise that blared in nightclubs across the galaxy. I guess this is sorta sexy? He stepped back from the console, looking at Shepard the whole time, trying to gauge his reaction. Confidence. Confidence! Why's he not saying anything? Compliment him or something!

"If you were a turian I'd be complimenting your waist or your fringe. So. . .your hair looks. . .good. And your waist is. . .very supportive. . ."

He finally got a reaction, at least: Shepard's face began contorting in a strange way that he'd never actually seen before.

"I hope that's not offensive in human culture. Crap. I knew I should have paid more attention to the vids." Shepard still didn't say anything. "Throw me a line here, Shepard."

Shepard's mouth made a noise, then the man spluttered, barely suppressing a laugh. A deep snort rang through his throat. He turned around, took a deep breath, and turned back again.

"Well," he finally said. "Consider me seduced."

Garrus did his best to look annoyed through his immense relief. "You don't have to drag my male pride through the mud, you know."

Shepard took a few steps forward, absently turning off the radio as he did so. "You need to stop worrying so much."

Garrus thought about that, all the things he had worried about in his life, and how hard he tried not to. "I just. . ." he didn't know how to say it smoothly, so he just said it. "So much has gone wrong, Shepard. Sidonis, my work with C-Sec. I just want. . .I want something to go right. Just this once. Just. . ."

Shepard approached him and gently touched the bandage on his cheek. Driven by his feelings, Garrus returned the gesture, placing his hand on Shepard's face, and, leaning slightly, gently touched his forehead against the shorter human's. Shepard did the same, though he seemed to be starting a different move at first, before changing direction. It was the most significant, meaningful touch he'd ever given. It only lasted a few seconds, but he knew immediately that he'd never forget it.

Shepard inhaled slightly when it was done. "I feel like something significant just happened," he said.

Garrus chuckled. "You mean you don't know what that was?"

Shepard stood back for a moment, giving Garrus an incredulous look. "That wasn't the turian version of sex, was it?"

It was Garrus' turn to laugh. It was even worth the pain it sent through his face.

"No, no," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Thousands of years ago, during our darker ages, tyrians believed that the spirit resides in the head. I suppose they were right, in a way, but anyhow. By touching our heads together, they believed that our spirits met and became one. The gesture has always been an endearing one; it means we're very strongly attracted to someone."

"I like that," Shepard said. "That sounds really sweet."

"A scant few still believe it. And, uh. . .do humans do anything like that?"

"Just this."


Shepard had to stand on his tiptoes to reach Garrus' mouth, but the kiss was successful regardless. Garrus' lips didn't bend the same way Shepard's did, but he felt a return of pressure that he took to mean Garrus received it. The kiss lasted longer than the cute but strange head bump, and by the end of it Garrus was craning his neck forward and pushing Shepard's head forward into his.

When Shepard peeled back from the kiss, and opened his eyes again, Garrus was staring at him with a look almost of wonder. "I think," Garrus said, his voice slightly lined with breath, "I like your version better."

Shepard chuckled at that, then took Garrus' hand and led him to the bed. They sat down at the foot of the bed together. Garrus' hands fidgeted with each other on his knees.

"I'm sorry," Garrus finally said. "About before. I never. . .it wasn't my place to. . ."

Shepard put his hand over Garrus' mouth to shut him up. "I'm glad you did. I was pissed, but if I did that. . .I don't know if I would have come back again."

Garrus nodded absently, but Shepard still sensed the immense regret in him. He sighed, looking at the console on his desk.

"Here," Shepard said. "Let me show you something."

She had asked him not to, but Garrus needed to see. He moved to the console and pulled up Nalah Butler's message. He moved over to let Garrus read it for himself.

As he read it, Shepard watched his reaction. His mandibles twitched slightly while his eyes scanned back and forth. It took far longer than Shepard felt was needed to read a few paragraphs, but he didn't interrupt or say anything until Garrus was finished.

Finally, Garrus sat back, his eyes moist but his body steady. "This isn't right," he said.

"Garrus, I told you to stop beating yourself up about—"

"No," Garrus interrupted, holding up a hand. "I mean, this isn't right, Shepard. I never sent her a message."

Shepard blinked. "You what?"

Garrus shrugged. "I didn't know Butler was married. I didn't go into the personal lives of my squad on Omega, Shepard. Whoever sent this woman a message wasn't me. Still, thank you for showing it to me. You shouldn't have, but I'm glad you did." Garrus reached over and pressed a button, turning the console off with a click. "Now, I'd rather focus on. . . something else." He gently rubbed Shepard's arm as he spoke, his tone going distinctly softer.

He tried to get into it, he really did. But thoughts of his crew again clouded his awareness and pushed all sexual desire out of him.

"What's wrong?" Garrus asked. "Did I do something?"

Shepard touched the turian's rough-skinned hand, gripped one of his large fingers. "No. I can't stop thinking about them. I don't feel right being this. . .this happy when they're going through who-knows-what. . .if they're. . .if they're not already. . ."

"John." Garrus got off the bed and gripped Shepard's head in his hands, sitting so close that he could feel every gentle brush of air escape from Garrus' nostrils. Shepard suddenly felt very aware that Garrus could crush his head in his grip like an orange if he wanted.

"You deserve happiness," Garrus said emphatically. "You are worth your life, and all the pleasures it brings. So are they. That's why we're going after them now: so they can live their lives with the happiness they deserve. But if they die, they die so you, and me, and all the rest of us, can be happy. Do you understand me? Saying you aren't worth happiness is the same as saying that everyone who has died so far has died for a worthless cause. And I will not allow you to think that way. You taught me this. I thought you were wrong, just like you think I'm wrong now, but you weren't. I will never forget my team, or think about what I could have done better, or regret my faults by them. . .but I can't go on denying myself happiness for it. It was killing me. Being with you, being happy again, that brought me back to life better than any Lazarus project could. Now let me bring you back to life, John. Let me. . ."

His eyes closed. Shepard accepted his kiss, letting Garrus' long, rough purple tongue bypass his lips and caress his chin. Their breaths came in shuddering gasps and sighs; Shepard ran his hand along the back of Garrus' neck and along his carapace, sticking his fingers down the turian's thick collar. When they paused, Garrus pressed Shepard's head down against his neck. Shepard lay there, still, feeling Garrus' heartbeat, watching the muscles in his throat undulate with every swallow he made. He never wanted to move from there again.


Separating was almost physically painful for Garrus, but his urges were driving him into something he knew he had to avoid, so he eased Shepard off of him until they were a few inches apart.

"So," he said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. "Now that my speech is over, should we. . .talk?"

Shepard nodded, ran a hand through his hair. I think I made him speechless. "I'll open that bottle for us."

"Oh," Shepard said, "that reminds me." He got out of the bed and rummaged through some things on his desk. "Where is it. . .ah." He held up a small bottle of pills.

"Mordin gave me this with my pain meds," he said. "Apparently it's supposed to let dextros and levos eat eachother's food safely. And, according to Mordin, it allows for the consumption of certain other things."

"No way," Garrus said. "Reversal? I heard about that in the news while you were. . .uh, away. I thought it was still in the prototype stage."

Shepard shrugged. "He made it in the lab himself. It's supposed to last twenty-four hours, may cause upset stomach, etcetera. I figure it'll make things a little bit easier for us, you know. . ." He inclined his head.

The idea was certainly intriguing. "Sure," Garrus said. "Hey, the worst it could do is kill us, right?"

Shepard opened the bottle and popped out two pills the size of Garrus' talons. They swallowed them with a glass of wine, which Garrus made sure was pathetically weak. He didn't want to be inebriated for this. He didn't want either of them to be.

Shepard broke the silence before it got too awkward. "My parents were always harping on about safety from the moment I hit puberty. But I don't think they counted on me being with a turian. I'm. . .uh, kinda at a loss."

"Heh, same with my parents. Though, I gotta say, their obsessive advice has gotten me out of a good few. . .undesirable predicaments." He looked up at the vast empty space outside the window. "Frankly, I want to just say to hell with safety. If this is the last night of my life, I don't want to spend it being health-conscious. But if it's important to you, Shepard, it's important to me. So you can decide. I don't even know what. . .ah, what I'm willing to do. Positions, I mean." Good job, Vakarian; that wasn't awkward at all. "What I mean is—"

"I'm a bottom," Shepard said.

"Huh?"

"Bottom. Catcher. Sub. I like to be the receptive partner. I can top, but I prefer not to." He cleared his throat. "Is that okay with you?"

Garrus fiddled with his wine glass. "I can't say I one-hundred percent know my preferences, this being my first male-on-male, but. . .I think that'll be fine. I, uh, tried. That. A couple of times when I was by myself. It was. . .nice, but uncomfortable. Is it like that for you?"

Shepard nodded. "Yeah, but for me, the discomfort goes away. Not the pain, mind you—the pain's always there in some form, especially after it's all over and you have to stand up again. But it's not uncomfortable for me anymore. You take the pain and it becomes part of the pleasure. Does that make sense?"

Garrus couldn't resist the opportunity to tease. He twitched his mandibles a little. "Why, Commander, I had no idea you were in with that kind of crowd. This is getting a little dangerous."

Shepard smacked him in the chest. "I'll show you dangerous."

"I didn't say I disliked danger."

"Good. Now. . .is there anything you would like me to do? Specifically? Or anything I should avoid?"

Garrus went through his hidden bank of pleasures, trying to picture Shepard in each scenario. "I'd rather just make it up as we go along. See what happens. As for avoiding: I'll let you know if anything comes up. Just. . .nothing that would otherwise require a toilet. I'm not quite willing to take that level of risk just yet."

Shepard laughed, throwing himself back on the bed. His stomach violently lurched up and down with his every noise. Garrus, still sitting up by Shepard's side, hooked a claw under his shirt and slowly pulled up. Shepard's laughing ceased the moment he felt Garrus' hand expose his torso inch by inch, Garrus watching the shirt curl up his chest with a mixture of alien curiosity and banal desire. The finer hair that lined Shepard's torso and chest brushed against his finger as he lifted, creating a small trail that traveled up the crease of his chest and branched off to circle his two pink nipples. When the shirt was as high up as physics would allow, Shepard took it and pulled it off, tossing it away.

Garrus ran his hand across the surface of Shepard's body. His smooth skin was hardened underneath, creating the sloping shape of well-toned human abdominal muscles. He watched every little black hair give way to his hand, bending down and springing back up. He felt the human tense slightly as his hands brushed against his nipples, odd little nubs that were clearly sensitive to the touch.

"I could get used to the fur," he said mock-condescendingly.

"You'd better," Shepard replied. "It doesn't stop there. Can you. . .can I see. . .?"

Garrus twitched his mandibles slightly. "You want me to take my shirt off?"

Shepard nodded, his face steeled except for the subtle pleading in his eyes. Garrus could see it plain as day, and he wanted to see more.

"Maybe I don't want to," he said.

Shepard cocked an eyebrow at him. "You know, I could technically order you to do it."

Garrus chuckled and decided to make his move. "Ah, you certainly could, Commander. . .but you forget. . ."

He positioned himself above Shepard, his arms supporting him on either side of his lover's body.

"Right here. . ."

Each word moved him closer. He wanted Shepard to hear his every enunciation, feel his every breath.

"Right now. . ."

Shepard's eyes rolled back for a split second. Garrus took a hand and gently traced his talon up Shepard's side.

"In this room. . ."

Their faces met. He let his tongue loll out slightly to brush against Shepard's cheek as he spoke.

"In this bed. . ."

He put his arms around him and pulled his ear to his lips. He let him hear the growl he'd built up in his larynx as it whispered through him. Shepard's breathing had become heavy, his chest rising and falling in deep spasms beneath him.

"I give the orders."


His body moved of its own will at that point. His hands decided to travel the course of Garrus' body, feeling him through his clothes, looking for a way to unclasp that ridiculous turian outfit. Garrus sat up and watched him try for a moment. His almost mocking look of superiority somehow drove Shepard on until his hands finally found a clasp connecting Garrus' shirt together. He fiddled with it for a moment, quietly lamenting every straight guy's endeavor to undo a bra, until a satisfying clip was heard and part of the shirt came loose.

Garrus, apparently feeling merciful, did the rest. He removed the shirt in a way that Shepard couldn't follow if he wasn't focused on what was underneath, and when it was off he tossed it in the same general direction of Shepard's own shirt. Garrus puffed out his chest slightly, inviting Shepard to explore him as much as he could. His skin, where it wasn't covered in hard scales, was rough, like old leather, but still somehow soft, breakable. It was like having a nearly impervious suit of armor on top of him.

"Ready for your first order?" Garrus said, his words traveling along the wavelength of a husky growl. Rather than ask rhetorically, he waited motionless for an answer.

"Yes." He felt slightly ridiculous, but the pressure building in his pants wanted more. So much more.

Garrus cocked his head. "Yes. . .?"

The military man forgot his manners. "Yes. . .sir."

Garrus' mandibles parted in a grin. "Lose the pants."


He moved out of the way to give Shepard room to obey his order. As he took off his pants and exposed himself, Garrus felt something welling up inside of him, overriding his anxiety and propelling him onward. Something wonderful, and frightening. And familiar.

Shepard's cock flopped out, already stiff and ready to go. It was so alien to him, how fast he got aroused, how it always stayed outside his body. And the sack beneath. . .all he had to do was touch it and his lover shuddered all over. He tugged at a hair connected to him and watched him wince. He loved seeing Shepard so exposed. So vulnerable. So completely his.

He took hold of his own pants and undressed himself. Naked, he climbed back on top of Shepard and embraced him. Shepard hooked his legs around his and pulled him as tightly against him as possible, kissing the soft areas around his neck. Garrus explored his body with his hands, feeling, grabbing, pinching, scratching. And he allowed Shepard to do the same. A five-fingered hand squeezed his ass and traced the area along his sheath. Garrus awarded his bravery with a soft bite at the neck, unable to suppress a purr of lust for the human's benefit.

Power. That's what the feeling was. The human beneath him was one of the most powerful and important creatures in existence—if not the most. Every civilization in the galaxy owed their continued existence to him. Entire governments had opposed him and failed. Not even death was enough to stop him.

And now that creature was submitting to him.

It was what Garrus had been after his whole life. He joined C-Sec for the power of authority. When that failed, he formed his squad for the power to change the way things worked. Power was what propelled him to assault Sidonis; any ounce he could grab and hold onto, he wanted it. Now he had power over the most powerful being in the galaxy.

What, then, did that make him?


All his life, he'd been responsible. Ever since the Mindoir attack, and even sometimes before, he was the man in charge, the one everyone looked to for guidance and salvation. Shepard the shepherd, they called him, after the Skyllian Blitz. Even now, as he hurtled after the Collectors, the responsibility weighed down on him more and more with each passing day.

But now. . .

Here. . .

In this room. . .

In this bed. . .

He didn't have to be the one in charge anymore.

He watched Garrus' member emerge, inch by beautiful inch, from its sheath. He held it up against his face, warm and light blue, beating in tandem with his pulse. Garrus shuddered as he kissed it, gripping his head with one hand. Grasping the base, he took as much into his mouth as his biology would allow, letting its alien taste coat his tongue.

"Oh, John. . ." Garrus rumbled above him. Even his sheath seemed to twitch with eager lust. He slowly traced a finger downwards, probed inside.

Garrus seethed and jerked back, grabbing Shepard's hand and wringing his cock out of his mouth in the process.

"I'm sorry," Shepard said.

"It's all right," Garrus replied. "Just. . .don't poke in there. It doesn't hurt, but there's a lot of culture stuff I need to get over before I can be comfortable with it. What you were doing before. . .that was working just fine."

They changed position, with Garrus laying back and Shepard between his legs. Shepard went back to work on Garrus' cock, shaking it when his jaw got tired, rubbing the tip against the stubble on his chin, doing anything he could to make his Commander moan. Every time he heard his name, he felt a rush of satisfaction.

"Oh, John. . .John. . .just like that. . .yessssss. . ."

Garrus' hips buckled, barging forward into his throat.

"Stop!" Garrus suddenly exclaimed. "Stop, stop, stop. . ."

Shepard released him. "Did I get you with my teeth?"

Garrus lay there, panting, as if he'd been running a marathon. "No. . .you just came really close to an early end. Are you sure I'm your first turian?"

"Well, if you're not, then I need to make a few phone calls, because some people owe me an explanation."

Garrus chuckled at that, then pulled Shepard up to his eye level for another kiss. This time it was Garrus who locked his legs around Shepard's, his bony knee spurs pressing back against his shins as they embraced. Garrus' hands grabbed at his ass, stretching and scratching while his long turian tongue touched his throat. Their cocks knocked eachother as they bucked their hips, grinding on the other's body. It was bliss.

"I want this," Garrus breathed as he grabbed his ass particularly hard.

He wanted to give it to him. Needed to. "Is that an order. . .sir?"

Garrus looked him directly in the eye. "Bend over. Now."

"Yes, sir." But first he reached across to the small bottle of silicone lubricant on his night table. He squirted some into his hands, then reached down to slick up Garrus' cock. He made sure to cover every inch, massaging the leaking member at the base and tip. When he finished, he got off of Garrus and positioned himself on the side of the bed, leaning over. "I'm waiting," he said.

Garrus issued another growl, though Shepard couldn't tell if it was from lust or frustration, as he climbed out of the bed. He casually made his way to Shepard's side, making sure Shepard saw as much of him as possible along the way.

When Garrus was behind him, he couldn't stop his heart from racing with the anticipation. Powerful hands grabbed his ass, stretching his cheeks apart. Garrus' thumbs prodded him, his skin flinching at the touch. A sharp sting made him jump.

"Ow, be careful with those claws."

"Sorry," he heard behind him. "Maybe you'll like this more. . ."

He wondered for a moment what he meant, then stars flashed before his eyes when he felt Garrus' tongue glide across his flesh, the soft, wet muscle circling his entrance before dipping in.

"Oh, God, yes. . ." The noises emitting from him would have been embarrassing in any other context, but he couldn't help himself; he presented his ass and allowed his turian to carry him away into whatever role he wanted, surrendering the power that had been his lifelong burden to someone else, even if only for this moment.


Every movement, every action, every lick and touch built up his power over Shepard more and more. He could taste his every need as he clenched on his tongue, feel it in his pulse. As time passed, his own needs surged. His prepared cock begged for the release it had been previously denied.

Satisfied with his work, he pulled back from Shepard's wetted hole and positioned himself over his lover once more. He gave a few grinding thrusts before positioning his cock where he wanted it.

"You ready for this?" He asked.

"Yes. Fuck yes."

He slowly pushed, treasuring the resistance Shepard's body initially put up, letting it adjust to his invading presence while never quite stopping his advance.

"Oh, fuck," Shepard said. "Holy fuck."

"I don't think I'm quite that good, but thanks anyway."

When he was as deep as he could go, he waited a moment to relish the feeling of Shepard's ass squeezing the base of his shaft before sliding back out. His second thrust went all the way, from tip to base. Shepard rocked back and forth beneath him, pushed and pulled by the force of his thrusts. All the while, Garrus kept nibbling at his neck and ears and holding him down.

"You're so soft, John. . .like fucking a pillow. . ."

His orgasm slowly rose within him, his body heating up, his cock throbbing, his every atom focusing on accomplishing the biological goal of every species.

"Oh, John." The words came of their own accord. "I'm gonna. Yes. Yesssssss—!"

He pulled out as the first pulse shot his pleasure, held his cock as he unloaded everything he had onto Shepard's back. The power in his system boiled out of his throat in the form of a fierce growl, and in the throes of his climax he bent down and clamped his teeth onto Shepard's shoulder as hard as he could.

"Mine," he said through the bite, repeating it with every burst his cock gave. "Mine, mine. . ."

He let himself fly away for a moment, fly far away from his troubles or the dangers awaiting him, out of the Milky Way and into unexplored dark space where only he and Shepard remained. When his spirit returned to him, he released his hold on Shepard, licking the purplish-pink indentations his teeth left on his skin. His lover's back was dripping in his mark, and as his cock retreated back into him he felt victorious, satisfied—and a little depressed.

He rolled the panting Shepard onto his back and lied down next to him on the bed, spent but not finished. "Did I bite too hard?" He asked. Now that his desires were sated, he felt only concern for Shepard.

"No," the man said. "I'm. . .I'm okay."

"Good. Good." He looked down at the appendage still standing between Shepard's legs. "Now," he said, moving his hand to touch it, "what are we going to do with this, hmm?"

"Whatever you want," Shepard said. "It's all yours now."

"You shouldn't give me so much freedom. I tend to get carried away."

"Maybe that's what I want."

"Well, if it's what you want. . ."

He took it in his hand. Even when it was hard, it seemed soft to him. He tried to get in the same position Shepard used earlier, but his thighs cramped up almost instantly. Instead, he lay parallel to Shepard, his feet up by the human's head. He sniffed at it, touched it to his lips. When he licked, Shepard's fluids tasted bitter and strange, but he felt Shepard's breathing shift into a new gear. His mouth wasn't designed for sucking, but he cautiously took as much as he could, rubbing the roof of his mouth against the tip and wrapping his tongue around the base. He tried licking Shepard's balls, but the hair got in his way; he'd be spitting out stragglers for hours.

"Maybe I should try a different approach," he said.

"You're doing fine," Shepard replied.

"'Fine' isn't good enough. I'm just not used to being in this position. I don't really know what to do."

"You'll get there. Trust me, we'll have plenty of training sessions."

He thought about how Shepard took his cock and wondered how it felt. "Do you. . .think we should. . .?"

Shepard gave him a sly look. "Now who's being too generous with freedoms?"

"I'll have to try it sooner or later." He looked for the lube Shepard used on him. He accidentally squirted more than he intended into his hand. "Crap," he said. "I'm making a mess. Sorry."

"Quit apologizing," Shepard said.

So he quit and returned his attention to Shepard, coating his cock in lube.

Shepard made a "mmf" sound that Garrus enjoyed. "Keep that up, you won't have to worry anymore."

"Oh?" The idea now in his head, he took both of his hands and started massaging Shepard's penis, tracing his thumb across his piss slit and trying to find the human's sensitive areas.

Shepard leaned back and closed his eyes, gasping periodically. Garrus figured his most sensitive spot was near the tip at the back, different from his spot at the base. He rolled the skin and held it between his fingers, tugging lightly at the flesh. Shepard grabbed one of his hands and guided it down to his balls, made a circling motion that he very much seemed to enjoy.

"I love learning about you," Garrus said as he stroked Shepard with one hand and massaged with the other. "I love your body. I love the sounds you make when I touch you right. I. . .I l—"

"I'm gonna cum!" Shepard exclaimed, cutting off the moment just in time. Was I really just about to say that? Idiot!

Garrus stopped talking and focused on his movements. Shepard's breathing tripled in rate and his hips humped into Garrus' hands. "Faster," he gasped. Garrus obliged, trying to keep his arm from cramping up. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stooooooooop!"

He continued shaking as Shepard spurted into the air, coating his hand and pooling on Shepard's stomach. He could feel every relieving pulse of Shepard's cock in his fingers. On a whim, Garrus brought his hand to his mouth and licked off what Shepard spilled. It tasted like his own.

He must've made a face, because Shepard smiled up at him and said, "You'll get used to it."

The human sat up, kissed Garrus' soaked hand. "That was incredible," he said. "I officially envy every girl you've ever been with. Speaking of which, how was it. . .being with a man?"

"There are some things I'll have to get used to, but for you, it's worth it. Completely worth it."

Shepard looked down at the wet sheets. "And I just got out of the shower, too."

Garrus chuckled, feeling his cock stir again at a new idea. "Want to go back in?"

But Shepard either didn't get the hint, or he didn't want to proceed. He just lay back down, clearly concerned. "We should probably at least try to get some rest." He looked up at Garrus and squeezed his hand. "Stay with me tonight?"

"Of course."

He lay down on the bed next to him, and after a moment Shepard cuddled close, kissing Garrus' bandaged cheek. "Does your face hurt?"

It burned like the fires of Hell, but he couldn't tell him that. He just shrugged. "It always hurts."

"I'm sorry." He stayed quiet for a few moments. "I made a decision," he said.

"What's that?"

"We're going to live tomorrow." He said it with perfect finality, as if he were declaring the laws of gravity. "No matter what. You and I are going to survive. We all are. And when we're done blowing those bastards to hell, we're going to go home and I'm going to meet your family and we're going to have some semblance of a normal relationship. We'll have a real first date, god damn it, and we'll buy eachother dinner at places we hate, and we'll argue about stupid shit that doesn't matter, and we'll have some semblance of normalcy in a galaxy without Reapers or Spectres or politics. That's what I've decided."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Garrus responded. "Although. . ."

Something Shepard said hit a nerve in his stomach that he tried to keep covered. Like a weak point in armor that had been hit just right, it started to crumble and a dark mood descended on him.


"What's wrong?" Shepard asked.

Garrus shook his head. "It's stupid."

"Nothing's stupid. Tell me."

The turian sighed in defeat. "I guess. . .now that there's a chance I won't see them again. . .I've been thinking a lot about my family lately, what they'll do without me, how my father might react if I don't come home. And Palaven. . .I suppose I'm just starting to miss it. The green sky, the heat, even the damn Cipritine traffic. I never thought I'd want to see all that again. And now it's too late."

Shepard scooted closer to Garrus, rested his hand on his shoulder. "Hey. You'll see it again. And when you do, I'll be there to see it with you. You can show me the sights. And you can finally introduce me to your father. 'Hey, dad, you know the most famous human in the galaxy? Well, meet my boyfriend.'"

Garrus looked at Shepard and laughed, far harder than Shepard intended, the turian's back shaking in spasms of howling joviality. Even his face, which Garrus held as if to keep from ripping apart, didn't deter the sudden burst of amusement.

"I didn't think it was quite that funny," Shepard said.

Garrus wiped a tear out of his eye. "Oh, it's not that. It's just. . .about meeting my dad. You've, ah, kind of already met him, actually."

Shepard blinked. "What? I don't remember that."

"Well, knowing him, it was probably an experience you wanted to forget as quickly as possible."

"I don't understand. When did I meet him?"

"Think about it. What have I told you about my dad?"

Shepard thought about all the turians he'd met, the conversations he had with them, and compared them to what Garrus had told him about his father: hates Spectres, very by-the-book, famous in C-Sec. . .when Shepard figured it out, his eyes widened. "You're shitting me."

Garrus grinned in that goofy turian way. "Nope."

"No way."

"Way."

"But. . .but you. . .I mean. . .he. . ."

"Yep."

Shepard sank into his seat, his whole world flipped upside-down. "What about. . ." he made a circling motion with his hand in front of his face.

Garrus held up a hand, stopping him. "That's a long story. Let's just say that he and I haven't gotten along in a long time."

Shepard stared at him, trying to see a resemblance. "Wow. I don't think I'm scared of the Collectors anymore."

Garrus winked. "See? I knew I could cheer you up."

Shepard shook his head, trying to comprehend his future. Facing the Collectors was one thing, but dating the son of Executor Pallin was a whole new danger all on its own.


Author's Note: Ah, yes, did I happen to mention that it is my firm headcannon that Executor Pallin is Garrus' father? No? Well, it is. I even thought up an entire turian cultural nuance to explain it. But you'll have to wait for my next story to see what it is. . .