Author's Note: And here we are with the latest update! Thanks for sticking with me - hope you enjoy this!

CHPT07:_AGGRIEVED

The thing with grief is: everyone handles it differently.

When Mom died, Solana splurged on dresses, and then cried for a week straight. After that, she picked herself up off the floor and began volunteering at the hospital that cared for Mom – after hours, of course. That was before she broke her leg getting off-world. I don't know how she handles the grief now.

Dad, instead of shopping and crying, because that's definitely not his thing, bottled everything up. He kept going exactly as things were. He made all the arrangements for her funeral, he visited every Sunday – but her gravesite instead of the hospital, and he kept pushing Primarch Fedorian about the Reapers. But the world kept shaking the bottle he kept his grief in, until it blew in an argument with me one day. About how I was never around enough when I should've been, too busy following you around. He never apologised, and he never lost it again.

I haven't really dealt with the grief of losing Mom yet, because this war demanded my attention, and is more than my sadness. I can work through this – I've proved it.

I don't know if you can, Shepard. Not anymore. And I don't know what you need, either.

EDI has been quietly helpful where she can, emailing me suggestions based on human culture. A lot of things that help humans with grief are pretty similar to what turians would do too. The number one tactic is distractions, and I can easily be full of those.

So when your cabin door opens, I raise a bottle. "Wanna drink?"

You shake your head and let me in anyway. I leave the bottle by the table by two important things. One: Kai Leng's dossier, sent to you by Anderson. Two: a picture of Thane, whose black eyes will never see again.

"I thought you might want to spar, Commander."

"Drop the title, Vakarian."

My smile thins as I move towards the most open part of your room, walking backwards with a grin, "You know, Shepard, you could use a few practice rounds with me. That way, the next time you see Kai Leng, you can pop his head off his neck with your bare fist."

You hide your pain behind a humorous hum, "I do want to do that."

We haven't fought hand-to-hand for a long while – since Horizon, when Kaidan shied away from your Cerberus armour. But whereas I'm the better shot, you're the better fist – not saying that I'm bad, of course, just that you're better. Though I'll never admit it to your face.

Your punch to my scarred mandible has no restraint. I wince. You don't see it.

We circle each other and analyse each other, even though we already know each other beyond that of a dossier. Even though I know you, and how you always pivot off your left foot when you go for a lunge. Even though you know me, and how I'll always try to protect my hands, because I need them for shooting.

So very few know you – and I'm grateful to know you.

And I think this is the right thing, in the end, as you pin the front of me against the wall and hit my carapace with your fist again, and again, and again, where I can't feel anything. And in the reflection of the aquarium, I see the neutrality on your face drain, replaced by anger, and frustration, and grief – and then you're mumbling to yourself.

"…doesn't deserve a second chance."

No, Kai Leng definitely doesn't; though I wonder if you would've thought differently, like you did on the SR-1 over two years ago. I wonder if you still hope for change.

"…meet him across the sea."

The hit of your fist slows against my carapace, until it rests there like a soft touch; but I can feel your fingers trembling, and I can feel your breath against my back. You inhale harshly and step away, and in the glass I see your ocean eyes rimmed with a different kind of salt water, but they never fall. Even your red hair seems doused under the Normandy's lights.

And I'm still drowning, submerged, underwater; but I will not let you sink into the black waves.

You speak again, clearer this time, "He won't be alone for long, because I will meet him across the sea."

My head snaps to you so fast that something cracks in my neck.

You step away and turn, so that your spine is to me. You reach out to the alcohol I brought with me, ripping it open and reaching for glasses across the table. I fight the urge to hold you like I want to, because I know that's definitely not what you need right now. You don't need to drown in your own ocean – you don't need to hear my subvocals, or notice my strangling grip has slowly slackened on them.

Instead, I say, "Thane wants you to live, Shepard. He told me so himself. Live for him."

"This isn't a life anymore."

"Then live for me, Jane. Please."

I shut my eyes and strangle my subvocals and I can't dare to look at you.

Live for me, like I've lived for you. Like I survived after you died, shadowed by a flaming ghost through Omega, clinging to my brain like seaweed on driftwood. Aimed for my heart and brain without meaning to; and somehow giving me a way back, and saving me. When I open my eyes and stare at your colourful fish, I see your gaze levelling on me, analysing me in a way that sets my skin ablaze.

You give so many people a reason to live. Me, and Thane – drowning in you.

"I will try," you say finally, pouring a glass.

"I've got your six. Always."

You ask, "Would you stop me?"

My eyes dart from the calibrations to you.

"Would you stop me from killing Kai Leng, like I stopped you from killing Sidonis?"

In truth, I don't know – but it's a thought that has kept me awake at night, lately.

So I push back, looking at you, "Are you still the same Shepard as when we were on the SR-1 together? Do you still believe in second chances? That people can come back? That we should hope for change?"

"Yes, and no," you reply, your jaw clenching. The stars across your nose shift, like a hard wrinkle across the galaxy. "People can come back, they can change… We don't have to look much further than two familiar drells on the Citadel."

Of course.

"A long time ago, I thought everyone could – some with more help than others. As a fellow soldier, and a turian, I'm sure you would've thought that was silly of me." I go to speak, but you raise your hand sharply, so I bite my tongue. "We've both seen a few things, Garrus. No matter how much I saw, I kept hoping that people could come back, could change… but Kai Leng can't."

"Then you are going to collect a life for a life."

You raise your hands to the edge of the console, gripping it for lack of something to hold onto. You stare at the opposite wall like it's Kai Leng himself. "I don't want anyone else to suffer because of that brat. The next time I see him, he's dead."

"I hope you see him soon, before one turns into ten."

When you realise I'm not going to stop you, you exhale, drained of the bravado you shouldered to face me – even though you didn't need it. You turn to look at me, dead in the eyes like a still tide, and I still choke as you speak, "I'm sorry I stopped you killing Sidonis. I understand now."

"Letting Sidonis go was the right thing to do. You reminded me of the truth – people can change… just not all people. Those men were my friends, my comrades. They died because I didn't think, because I didn't listen. And it still hurts, but…" I grit my teeth for a moment and then exhale, "none of them were to me what Thane was to you. He was the brightest star in your galaxy. Your lighthouse in the storm. Don't let him go unsung."

"We both lost sight of our shorelines, and now we're just drifting," you say, your hands slipping from the console's edge. You wring your hands – a very un-Shepard-like thing to do – and I feel the pang of longing for my team, surfacing from the deep. "Sidonis was remorseful – even when you were blinded by pain, you saw that in the end. But Leng isn't, and will never be."

Your optimism – not burned by the world, or controlled, but tamed by reality. And it's still refreshing in a galaxy at war, even if your brightest star has faded.

Because you still shine on – and I will protect his Siha.

Thessia pushes hard on the wound that is yet to start closing. I wonder if it ever will – or if the pain will be as constant as the memory.

Kai Leng kills again and takes data and the Prothean VI and escapes.

Javik steps into the CIC ahead of you and Liara, wearing a scowl deeper than an oceanic trench. She grieves for her planet, and your grief for Thane resurfaces like a blackened tide. From across the room, I can see the flashbacks swimming across your face.

You check your omni-tool and growl, like… like – Javik's eyes flash to me.

You stomp across the room, heading to the elevator, and stop by my side, "Question."

"Shoot."

"I want Kai Leng's heart," you seethe, all teeth and turian.

No second chances here. Not for this… this sin.

Liara hears the bitterness in your voice and exhales sharply. Traynor too.

Your head snaps to me, your oceans staring into my skies, pulling me under. "I want to shatter it beneath my bullets, or split open from my blade. I want to watch him struggle for breath. I want to watch as he can't get oxygen into his lungs. I want to watch him suffocate."

I say nothing, drowning and remembering how a good drell clung to every inhalation.

"Would you take his brain?"

"Anything for you, Shepard."

Anything at all.