Sorry about the unscheduled posting gap - summer! We should be good for a while now. Thank you for reading!

"Vakarian! Back to base camp, on the double."

Garrus squinted through the dust rising from the moon's surface, unable to determine who was calling him. "By whose orders?"

"Corinthus!"

"Understood." If Corinthus wanted him, there would be a reason. And it wasn't as though he was doing any good out here on the front lines, anyway. His vaunted 'Reaper experience' was no good against actual Reapers. Nothing seemed to be any good against actual Reapers. It wasn't that he hadn't helped in the preparations—more evacuations had been possible because of him, more stockpiles were prepared on outlying colonies for those who had fled Palaven—but that it hadn't been enough. Couldn't possibly have been enough. He was almost glad Shepard was dead so she couldn't see how impossible the task before them was. They were going to die; he knew that now. Like every race before them, they would be wiped out by the Reapers, left to hope that someone would be able to uncover who and what they had been thousands of years from now.

But he was damned if he wasn't going to sell himself, and his people, as dearly as he possibly could, he thought, taking aim at one last husk and enjoying the sight of it blowing to pieces as his shot impacted.

Then he began the jog back to base camp, wondering what Corinthus wanted from him.

They had pulled back to Menae when it became clear the Reapers wanted Palaven and were paying relatively little attention to the moon. The troops were still getting slaughtered, but in a less focused way. Perhaps enough of them would survive to make some kind of stand. Garrus wondered, not for the first time, how the humans were managing on Earth. Communication from the planet was all but gone, just as communication from Palaven would be shortly, he thought, stopping to watch as the red of the fires expanded, sickened by the thought of how widespread and devastating the destruction must be if you could see it from space.

His father and sister should have been gone—he had tried to put them on one of the first transports. Then his sister had broken her leg, badly enough that she was immobilized in a hospital in traction. The best Garrus had been able to do for them was to see to it that they were moved to one of the smaller communities, far from the major cities. His father was chafing at the inaction, he was sure, but they were as safe as he could make them for the moment.

He reached the outer edge of the base camp. A group of soldiers was sitting around a fire, their postures indicating how long they had been fighting and how far past mere exhaustion they were. Nevertheless, they struggled to their feet to salute him. Why, he didn't know. He had done his best to help, but all you had to do was look around to see how ineffectual that help had been. "At ease, men. Save your strength."

They nodded and sank slowly down again, staring morosely into the fire.

"Any news?"

Most of them shook their heads, slowly, as if even that was too much effort. One finally managed to speak up. "Human transport arrived just now."

"Humans? Troops?"

The same soldier responded, slowly, as if his voice was coming from a long way away. "Single shuttle. Two humans and an asari."

"So they've come to ask for help, not to give it."

"If that's so, they've figured out by now they've come to the wrong place. Not gonna be any of us left by tomorrow."

Weariness was something Garrus could understand. Despair wasn't. Worse, despair was contagious. If you left it alone in one group, soon it would be everywhere. "On your feet, soldiers!" he snapped. "Get up and find somewhere useful to be. And that's an order."

They grumbled, but it was the grumble of men who were obeying their superior officer, and there was an awakeness in their voices that hadn't been there a moment ago. Sometimes you had to talk like a commander, he thought, trying to ignore the stab of grief that came with the thought of the term. He would be with Shepard soon enough, no doubt, and they could spend eternity hashing out what they could have done differently.

With that moderately cheery thought, he moved on into the main camp, and was waved on by the sentry toward the pod where General Corinthus waited.

"Sir!" It was a relatively young recruit, jogging up to him. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"They're saying—I mean, you would know, having traveled with her and all … They're saying the human here talking to the general is Commander Shepard."

Despite himself, Garrus's heart leaped in his chest, thudding and pounding as if it had been stopped all this time. "Who's saying that?" he demanded.

The kid shrank back under the intensity of Garrus's gaze. "It's … it's just a rumor, sir. I thought—I thought you would know."

"Well, don't listen to rumors. Go find something useful to do."

As the kid scurried off, Garrus tried to get himself under control. It couldn't be Shepard. Shepard was on Earth; she couldn't have survived. But … if anyone could, maybe the Normandy, maybe Joker and EDI? Hope burned bright in his chest, scalding him with its hopelessness.

He approached the pod with some caution, wanting to know before he showed himself, wanting to be sure it wasn't her before he embarrassed himself when he saw the strange human. Instead, he heard that distinctive, rich drawl, and his knees weakened, threatening to buckle. He put a hand out, catching himself against the side of the pod. She was alive. Shepard was alive. However unbelievably, she was alive and here on Menae, almost within reach.

Unless they were both dead, he thought. But that would be okay, too, as long as he was with her. With that thought, he pushed himself off the side of the pod and took the ramp up inside it.

Shepard was saying, "As long as they can get us the turian resources we need."

If it had been anyone else, Garrus would have told them to get the hell off his moon unless they were bringing help, not asking for it. But this was Shepard, and if Shepard needed something, there was a good reason for it. "I'm on it, Shepard," he said.

Rounding the corner, he saw her, and he was so damn glad to see her that he wanted to fall at her feet and put his arms around her and kiss her and weep all at once. But he was a turian, and this was war, and he held himself like a soldier.

There was wonder, and relief, in those soft brown eyes. "Garrus!"

Corinthus was speaking to him, but he only dimly registered the words as he and Zia stood there and stared at one another as though there were no Reapers and no battle and nothing there but the two of them. She was unharmed, as far as he could tell, and as indomitable as ever. He realized Corinthus was waiting for a response. Glancing in his direction, he said, "At ease, General."

Shepard had come toward him, so close he could almost touch her. "You're alive. I thought—I was worried …"

"Tell me about it," he said gently.

She reached out to shake his hand, and without thinking he put his other one on top, folding her small hand gently in both of his. It was hard to tell exactly where they stood as a couple in the middle of a battle—it had been a long time, after all—but she was still his friend. She would always be that.

"Besides," he added, "I'm hard to kill. You should know that."

"Glad to hear it. It's … good to see you again," she added, almost shyly. "I was afraid you were on Palaven."

He shook his head. "If we lose this moon, we lose Palaven. Since I'm the closest damn thing we have to an expert on Reaper forces, I'm … advising. For all the good it's done."

"Don't let him fool you, Commander. We're in as good shape as we're in because of his help," Corinthus put in. "Without him, I don't know where we'd be."

"I could say the same for myself, General." Shepard turned and gestured to her two companions, unnoticed until now in the shock and wonder of seeing her here when he had never expected to see her again. The first was a big, heavily muscled human male who studied Garrus with some suspicion. "James, this is Garrus Vakarian. He helped me stop the Collectors. He's a hell of a soldier. Garrus, James Vega. He's new to the crew, so go easy on him, will you?"

"No promises. Lieutenant." Garrus was as stiff as any turian leader, wanting to put this kid with the blazing eyes in his place from the get-go. Over Vega's shoulder, he recognized the asari the soldier had mentioned, and he smiled. "Liara. Good to see you, too."

Her smile said she knew what had kept him so distracted and understood. "Glad to see you in one piece, Garrus. We were worried."

"So was I," he told her. "So was I."

But he wasn't anymore. Shepard was alive. And in letting Shepard escape Earth in one piece, the Reapers had made the biggest mistake they could have made. From expecting only to sell his life dearly, Garrus had now come to believe that maybe there was a chance—maybe civilization as they knew it would continue. Anything was possible.