Author's Note: Hey hey, here's the second chapter! Thanks for the love. Enjoy!

CHPT02:_ALLEGIANCE

And every week since feels like a lifetime.

"Boss?"

My foot moves of its own accord, nudging the helmet all the way off the head of the merc dead at my feet. Blue Sun, I'm sure, but her chest has kinda exploded from my gun, and taken the crest with it. But there are five digits on each hand, and a wisp of red hair seeping out under a sharp jaw. And for a moment I can't help but stare.

Red hair that is bright like paint, but doesn't bleed red or burn like the sun. Blue eyes with no oceanic depth, instead matching mine. No stars etched across the bridge of her nose, just a great expanse of emptiness. No life. Not like you.

Not like you had been.

You still crawl from thought to thought, Shepard. Unwavering with time, almost two years hence. Undiminished, and eternal. And in truth, I think I'm still waterlogged.

I shut my eyes and turn away, "I want this cleaned up within ten."

"Because I have to believe that people can come back."

That is what you once said to me, in another life. Carved into my memory. Hope for change.

I carried it through Omega, like I will carry you forever inside me. Tethered to the sea floor while fighting to stay afloat. Staring into the dots in the sky, wishing they were the ones on your face. Trying to find north in the ocean by looking for the bright red star, even though there was no way back.

And I tried to live by your example. Optimism in Omega. To help the station, where I could make a difference without being strangled by red tape. To misaim in the dying hope that they could be reformed, only to be betrayed by the galaxy every time. To uplift my squad when they were down, because you gave me the chance to.

But now they're out, because of my mistakes, because of my misplaced trust. And there is no grave for Erash or Monteague or Mierin or Grundan Krul or Melenis or Ripper or Sensat or Vortash or Butler or Weaver or you, Shepard.

There's no place in this galaxy for optimism. Not when it's draining Mom's life. Not when it took them. Not when it stole you.

I will… destroy Sidonis if I ever see him again. His heart and his brain.

He can't come back because he doesn't deserve to. Because I won't allow him to.

And I'd give anything to be in your presence again, Shepard.

To hear you laugh when Joker tells you some human joke that I don't understand. To watch you ask about the crew's personal experiences, to see you listen and mould yourself to share in their joys. Tali and engines, Liara and the Protheans, and more that I missed. To see your red hair glint like flames under the Normandy's lights. To see the quirk of your brow when I say something dumb.

Would you have been here for me? What would you say now?

Who am I kidding, Shepard: I'm talking to a damn ghost. And Grim's impatiently knocking at my door.

The scope shows me my wildest dream. I watch it run down the damn bridge, and I shoot it a few times to make sure it's real.

And then I hear the same steps, and the same hard voice as two years ago, "Archangel?"

And then you look at me, and everything is all right again.

I have never wanted to hear you say my name more than this moment right now.

It takes everything I have to maintain my composure. To raise my hand and remove my helmet, and sit and stare at you. To watch you recognise me, from my eyes to my markings and beyond. I will never forget your face, and the stars mapped across the bridge of your nose – and it looks like you will never forget mine. "Shepard."

"Garrus!"

Our meeting is brief, because this is life or death. We discuss strategies and arrive at the same conclusion; and then we fall into the same routine. Death from above and carnage from below. I don't know who your two new humans are, and I don't really care, because you're by my side again, like you're supposed to be. Like you've always meant to be.

And it's like nothing's changed – no deaths, no years, just two great shots and a line of mercs to kill.

But behind the stream of bullets, the roar of fire, and an explosion that rings in my ears and makes my head spin, I hear your shout my name with more fear than I've even known in you. And I don't know what else happens when I phase in and out of consciousness; as I lie here and cling to my breath.

The last thing I see is your face, in the waves of desperation, and I still can't swim.

The way you look at me makes me feel like I can do more than just survive, Shepard.

The way you look at me creates a way back.

The SR-2 doesn't feel like home, not yet, save for one thing: you. And I'll always be loyal to you.

My right mandible feels weak, and my skin feels like it could split open at any time. But I try to hide it in your presence, this discomfort and lingering pain, because you've sought me out among your crew. You stand beside me at the console, watching my fingers work the console in the main battery.

Every time I think we're going to fall into a comfortable silence, you always break it, speaking, "I'm glad you're here, Garrus. If I'm walking into hell, I want someone I trust at my side."

"Why do we always have to walk into hell?" I grumble. "Why can't we walk into a bar that gives us free drinks?"

It makes you laugh, just a little bit. The red star still exists, but it seems dimmed in the aftermath of the Amada System. I don't say anything for a time, too content with the silence. Too content with hearing your breath – a reminder that you are alive with a second chance.

But it seems you're no longer accustomed to silence, Shepard. You exhale, "I saw Tali."

"You did? How is she?"

You go into detail about your experience at Freedom's Progress. About Veetor and the attack. About how she briefly doubted you at the start, that you were back from the dead, quite literally. And I understand that, I do – but I knew it was you the moment our eyes locked on Omega, because you made me feel like drowning again.

"It's good to know she's alive and well," I offer.

"They spent two years rebuilding me."

My fingers stop, hovering above the keys, before they go to grip the edges of the console.

"Two years of time and effort and resources just to resurrect a woman who choked to death in space. Brain dead and beyond hope. Cerberus, and Miranda, and the Illusive Man." You shake your head and grip your red hair with one hand. "Who does that? What do they want with me? Why me? Can't I die in peace?"

"I'm suspicious too; and you deserve peace, Shepard. I'll help you find it if I can."

"What if I'm a fake, or a replacement?"

"I know it's you, Shepard. There is only you."

"And sometimes I just… remember the choking and –"

I take your free hand and grip it, "Hey, breathe with me."

My observations from two years ago need updating, it seems. Because yes, this is traumatic; and yes, you never had anxiety before. And I don't blame you. I can't imagine how it would've felt to wake up two years after your own damn death.

You give my hand a squeeze when you seem more centred, so I let go and I wait.

Your voice drops, "You are the only squadmate on this damn ship I trust."

I know, and I won't let you down. "I've got your six."

"And I've got yours."

I can see you're at ease with me, and it's the same for you. And I'm grateful for that. But I'm still drowning in your eyes, Shepard, and I'm still trying to swim. But I'm learning that maybe I can't – maybe all I can do now is stay afloat in the waves.

You ask quietly, "Will you tell me about your two years that I missed?"

Erash and Monteague and Mierin and –

I taste metal on my tongue. "I can't. Not yet. Sorry."

"Okay. When you can, I'll listen."

You, staying by my side even when I don't feel ready to be spoken to, means more than I could ever say. After a nod, I turn right back to the console, clear my throat, and strangle my subvocals. It takes a few more moments of calibrating under your gaze before I feel like I can speak again. "Right, so, Horizon. Not long until we arrive, right? It'll be good to be by your side on the ground again. I'm ready any time you need me."

"I know, Jack is on standby too. You'll love my new shooting technique."

"Oh?"

"Aim for the heart. Aim for the brain." Your smile fades a bit. Looks like death collected your optimism, after all this time. The red star dimmed.

"Heh, well Shepard, I know you're great, but I'm still the best shot."

You laugh. I choke and swallow salt water.

"The Illusive Man has a few more dossiers lined up after this mission," you say. It feels like your eyes trace my scars, the way mine have traced yours. "We'll be going to Illium."

"Who will we find there?"

"There's two, but I'm going for the assassin first: Thane Krios."