Blood and Rain

by ChimeraArts

A snippet from my alternative universe where Shepard gets lamed for Nihlus's death and Garrus is ordered by Palaven to execute her in return. thedandiestoflions' amazing cover art. Inspired by/written while listening to "Things We Lost in The Fire" - Bastille. /watch?v MGR4U7W1dZU

2. Chapter 2: Filagree of Scars

This takes place in an AU I have been playing around with. It is a follow up to my other piece Blood and Rain and takes place a few months after that story. In this AU Shepard was believed to be responsible for Nihlus' death. Due to this accusation and lingering tensions between Palaven and Earth in the wake of the First Contact War, Palaven sent orders to C-Sec Officer Garrus Vakarian to hunt down and terminate Commander Shepard. Though Saren and the Reapers' attack on the Citadel showed that he was clearly no longer working with the interest of the Council in mind, it was not enough to absolve her in the eyes of Palaven. Garrus orders remain unchanged. Garrus has never joined the Normandy's crew and worked to separate Shepard from the others in order to complete his assignment without taking other innocent lives.

There is a lot of head cannon stuff I was playing around with here. It was more of an experiment and is still a WIP, but I hope people enjoy. Very curious to hear your thoughts.

Alluen - a expensive fabric decorated with holographics

Shade paint - a face covering used by C-Sec officers on covert missions to preserve anonymity.

"Join us and Sovereign will find a place for you, too..." Saren said. Moria glared back at the mutilated turian, ignoring the deep unease in her gut caused by that cold blue glow in his eyes. The unnatural brightness seemed to be boring into her head, like drills and cables winding into...
"Join Sovereign and experience true rebirth..." he continued.

"I'd rather die than live Iike that!" Shepard yelled, her throat tightening as she shouted in the smoke-choked chamber. She kept her gun trained on him, wishing that she wasn't alone. Hoping that the rest of her team would make it to Tali and Wrex, fighting the guilt and fear she felt at leaving them unconscious so that she could race after the Spectre.

It might have been so different. So different if the Council had believed her... if that damned C-Sec sniper hadn't taken out both her squad.They hadn't been kill shots - not that he wasn't capable of them - they had clearly been calculated to completely incapacitate, not kill. But if she lost either of them to blood loss or infection...

I'm gonna crack his carapace with my bare hands. Biotics danced up her arms at the mere thought, as visions of Wrex's disturbingly relaxed face and the crack in Tali's mask flashed through her mind. She tried to take a steadying breath, coughing slightly at the smoke that accompanied it.

No one lives if the Reapers make it through. There won't be anyone to treat Tali's infection if they make it here. No Tuchanka...no Migrant Fleet...

"The Reapers cannot be stopped. Not by the Protheans, not by you. The cycle always continues." Saren said, his voice almost a purr, eyes cold and as empty as the space between the stars.

Shepard made herself relax and grinned back, her eyes equally cold. "Not while I'm standing" she yelled, and the room erupted with her biotics.

Biotic blasts ricocheted off Saren and Moria's shields. Furniture and sections of the wall were warped and thrown around the chamber by the dueling biotics, each desperate for any advantage. Bullets were halted mid-air and flew for their targets, missing by only a hair or a horn.

"This has been entertaining, Shepard," Saren called, the edge of his mouth twisting in a sneer, "but Sovereign will wait no longer." He released a blast of biotics at the floor in front of Shepard. She heard a deafening crack, felt the ground vanish beneath her feet, and then everything went dark.

/

Smoke stung her eyes and burned her throat. She fought to open her eyes, to draw breath, and then felt something slam into her side, flipping her so that she landed sprawled on her front, something sharp cutting into her face. Her eyes finally opened and spots danced before them. She'd hit her head. She could feel something warm running down her cheek. She needed to move. She needed cover. She needed to get out of the open and find a -

But then something pressed into the back of her neck, pressing it into the ground, pinning her. She gritted her teeth and reached for whatever had fallen across her neck, straining to shift it. Her hands met cool metal that moved on its own accord but did not allow her to move, and a voice above her hissed, "What was that about standing, Shepard?"

Shepard tried to curse at him but so much of her face was pressed into the ground that it came out as nothing but spluttering and grunts. Saren laughed. Fury swept through her and she pressed into the ground with all her might. She felt the pressure applied to her neck shift - he was slipping-

"Oh...I don't think so." Saren said lightly. She felt the back of her armor move, heard pops and cracks, and suddenly felt cool air against her back. It didn't make sense...the force required to...she pressed with everything she had into the ground, felt herself begging to move, and then screamed.

Six points of agony were tearing down her back, sweeping their way from shoulder to hip like lanes of fire. Then the spread of pain stopped and her entire back began to throb. She tried to move her arm but it wouldn't respond.

Booted feet stepped into view and Saren lowered himself to squat before her, his arms resting on his knees, hands loose, the ends of each of his talons dripping with red blood. He tilted his head to the side a little as he studied her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smile.

"Better." he said quietly. "Soon you will see, Shepard, it is far easier once you stop fighting the inevitable." His eyes somehow became even brighter. "Now that you're...open to change, let's see what you might become." Cables began snaking down his arm as if they had a life of their own as he reached for her.

/

"Shepard!"

She had to run. She had to get to her feet and move. Had to get away before the hands reached her, before the cables made their way into her mouth and under her skin.

"SHEPARD!"

Hands touched her face and she tried, in futility, to flinch back

And it was in her mind. She could feel it pressing, trying to get in… blue eyes… gentle blue eyes over periwinkle cheeks speckled with dusky blue… jasmine in the evening breeze...

Shepard opened her eyes and stared into Liara's. The asari's were wide, lines of worry creasing her graceful brow, her expression one of concern, not the picture of calm and safety that she had projected into Shepard's mind. Liara's brow relaxed in relief as Shepard blinked at her and Shepard's breathing began to slow. But Shepard still couldn't move. She spotted a blue glow along her limbs where she lay on her front on their bed. She tried to give Liara a questioning look, hoping Liara would understand despite Shepard's inability to move her face.

Liara gave her an apologetic smile. "Nightmare..." she said, "you kept tensing, trying to turn on your back, and tearing at the bandaging. I was worried they were going to open again." The fanned fingers on her left hand relaxed and the cabin became a little more dim as the stasis field vanished and Shepard's weight shifted back into the bed. Her back gave a painful twinge as the still knitting muscular tissue protested the rest of her body's motion. Shepard winced.

"I'm sorry!" Liara said quickly.

"Don't be," Shepard said weakly. "My stupid nightmares. You probably saved me another trip to the medbay. Chakwas said she'd just kill me if I showed up needing them re-bound a fourth time." A datapad and Shepard's omni-tool both pinged and she groaned as she tried to roll onto her side a little to free her right arm. "Don't understand why this crap is taking so long to heal. Normandy must have been given a bad batch of medi-gel."

Shepard saw Liara bite her lip to hide a smile. "I'm not that kind of doctor," she offered gently, "but I think that expecting medi-gel to reconnect approximately eighteen feet of severed muscular tissue in under a week is a little unrealistic."

Shepard made a noncommittal noise and Liara rolled her eyes. The ping sounded again and Shepard gritted her teeth as she reached in front of her. "I can just read it off your datapad..." Liara said, "if...if you would be comfortable with that."

Shepard raised a brow, softening the expression with a smile. "I'm pretty comfortable with you sharing my bed. I think I can handle you reading my mail," she said, letting her eyes rove over Liara's naked curves, missing the heat of the assari's naked body against her own. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she relaxed back onto the bed again and muttered, "probably just Hackett telling me I need to wipe out a band of mercs and pick up his dry cleaning."

Liara giggled, something Shepard always considered to be a personal victory given how serious the asari could be, particularly in the weeks following her mother's death. Liara picked up the datapad and tapped the message, coming to sit on the bed next to Shepard, placing a hand hesitantly on an unbandaged part of Shepard's shoulder.

"Oh my," Liara said suddenly, her hand fluttering off Shepard's shoulder, her voice sounding a little appalled.

"He wants me to go transport his love child across the system?" Shepard asked.

"No." Liara said, missing Shepard's joke completely. "He...he wants you to...I don't understand how they think this is appropriate. They saw you climb out of the rubble. How could the Council possibly think-"

The mattress bounced a little and Shepard winced in pain as Liara stormed to her feet and began pacing the cabin angrily. Liara was on her knees in front of her in a heartbeat.

"Goddess! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine!"

"Shepard, I really didn't-"

And this time Shepard put her hand gently on Liara's cheek. "I know," she said softly, "It's alright, Liara. What do the Council want now? They going to strip me of my Spectre status and throw me in the brig or something?" she asked with a teasing smile.

Liara's brow furrowed again, "No, they want you to attend a gala."

Shepard blinked in genuine surprise. "A what?"

Liara retrieved the datapad again and held it so that Shepard could see. "They are having a gala, to honor the unity shown by the different species in taking down the Reaper, and you have been asked to attend as the guest of honor..."

"'-to mark my and my species' great sacrifice on this dark day that we will endeavor to never forget.'"

Liara made a soft snorting noise and Shepard gave her a questioning look. "I may be young, Shepard, but even I know that 'endeavor to never forget' means 'let's do something shallow and public and sweep it out of sight under a-' "

"Red carpet covered in celebrities?" Shepard asked.

Liara gave her a sideways glance. "Exactly, and... let's invite an injured war hero who could never be fit to attend so soon."

Shepard laughed darkly as she reached forward and scrolled towards the bottom of the message.

"But Hackett wants me there..."

Liara's lips thinned. "Yes, but he says he understands if you are physically unable to-"

"Call them on their bullshit." Shepard growled. She hissed in pain as she pushed herself off the bed, careful to keep her back as straight and still as possible. With some difficulty, she made it to a sitting position and then closed her eyes as her head swam a bit from the stabs of pain that still emanated from her back. "Well too bad for them. Chakwas has to have something to speed this up in the next day or two-"

"It's tonight, Shepard..."

"Tonight?" Shepard tried to push herself off the bed, then exclaimed in pain as the motion caused a spasm in her still-healing muscles. Liara caught her and eased her back onto the blankets. "And they're fucking telling me now?"

"There's no shame in taking time to-"

"Yeah, but it's political leverage for them." Shepard's face hardened. She nodded at a drawer across the room. "Top drawer. Silver box." She glanced at Liara, a slight plea in her eyes for a moment. "Please?"

Liara's lips tightened but she slipped off the bed, opened the drawer and returned with the box in question. Shepard took it carefully, trying to figure out how to move her arms without engaging the muscles in her back. She flipped the lid open and selected one of the orange cylinders that were inside. The box's lid clicked closed and Shepard pressed the end of the cylinder against her bare thigh, grunting and her jaw tensing as she did.

Liara's periwinkle brow furrowed. "What did I just let you give yourself?" She asked, folding her arms as she watched the Commander.

"Steroid." Shepard lied with an innocent shrug. The motion didn't make her nauseous. Good. She checked the writing on the side of the cylinder. Fourteen hours; the gala started in twelve. That should give her enough time to get things settled here on the Normandy and make an appearance… she could take another along in a pocket… but she'd dosed back to back before and ended up spending three days in the medbay. If I spend more than an hour in there, after this week, I'm going to lose it.

She gingerly edged herself off the bed, trying to get her weight centered over her legs before standing, and made her way to the long mirror on the closet door. A haggard face stared back. There was still some slight bruising around her left eye and across the front of her throat where Saren had pinned her to the ground with his boot.

...smoke, pressure on the back of her neck, pain ripping down her spine, cables winding towards...

Shepard blinked away the onslaught of memory and focused on her reflection again, turning to look over her shoulder at the cream colored panel of medical equipment that stretched from the top of her shoulders to her hips. Chakwas had gotten so frustrated with Shepard's inability to stay still and keep her bandages on, that she had ordered Shepard on two days of bed rest and begged an old acquaintance to send this current medical apparatus specially from Sur'Kesh. A smooth flexible material with an unpronounceable salarian name covered Shepards back, sealing the healing wounds from exposure in a antiseptic gel. A silver border ran along the edge, apparently securing the device to her back with the clasping claws of thousands of nanites too small for her to even feel. Shepard tapped at the small stretch of controls on the edge of the bandage by her arms and the medical covering went from opaque to clear. Six blazing trails of angry flesh framing dark, fresh scabs adorned her back. Shepard stared at them. Breathing deeply through her nose, Shepard focused on the wounds, flexing her shoulders, arms and hips as she did. The drugs were doing a damn good job. She could almost move without pain. She'd just need to be careful to not sit down or lean on anything. Her eyes roamed up and down the reflected nightmare that was now her back. It was fine. They would scar. She had lots of scars. She didn't mind scars. But she had never seen a doctor's face pale like Chakwas' had when she looked at them; after Kaidan had finished fireman carrying her back to the Normandy; after she emerged from the rubble of the downed Reaper. Chakwas had been quiet for nearly a minute before swallowing and telling Shepard that the damage to the muscles could be repaired, but there would be nothing she could do to prevent scarring.

Scars are nothing. Scars are human. They are not implants. You have always been scarred. You are still yourself.

She caught sight of a crest of blue tendrils over her shoulder; they were moving towards the mirror. Shepard reactivated the opacity of the bandage and stepped away from the mirror, running a hand over her neck.

Liara stopped, staring at her. She tilted her head a little. "That's the second time you've done that." She said quietly. "You didn't want me in the medbay either..."

Shepard shrugged. "You don't need to see something like this."

Liara crossed her arms, "I'm a hundred and seven, Shepard. I don't think I need protection from a twenty-nine year old."

Shepard rolled her eyes, "I'm not trying to protect you. It's just...enough horrible things have happened to people you care about."

Benezia's death hung in the air like a phantom between them.

The cross of Liara's arms seemed to tighten a little, as if hugging herself for a fraction for a second, then she shook her head, "Asari must quickly learn how to accept the impermanence of life," she said quietly. "And if I see them...maybe I can help?"

Shepard gave her the ghost of a smile. "You're not that kind of doctor, remember?"

Liara narrowed her eyes at that. Shepard stepped forward, slipping her hands onto Liara's hips and slowly drawing them upwards, leaning in to give her a long soft kiss till those blue arms uncrossed. She shivered slightly as Liara's hands came to rest on her bare chest and hip. "I'm fine," she whispered.

But Liara's hands pulled her closer, careful not to near the bandage. "You were worse than Tali or Wrex," she murmured, voice shaking. "That C-Sec bastard gave a krogan a concussion and Tali had a respiratory infection from the helmet breach-"

Shepard pulled back a little from Liara, staring into those deep blue eyes. "And Saren is dead. I shot the C-Sec sniper in the head, and I am here," she said quietly but firmly. "My back just looks like a varren's scratching post," she added teasingly. "Is it so bad that I don't want this really hot alien I've got a thing for to see it?"

Liara's cheeks turned slightly purple as she blushed. "Oh, you have a thing for me, do you?"

"Yeah." Shepard said. "I have all the things for you."

Liara's eyes flicked between each of Shepard's and then began to flit down the Commander's body. "Really?" She asked, "because...right now you don't seem to have anything..." She gasped slightly as Shepard's finger slipped between her long legs.

"Mmmmm..." Shepard said as she nuzzled the side of Liara's neck. "I think I have everything right now..."

Liara slipped back from her, batting at Shepard's hand as it tried to follow her. "Well," she said firmly, light dancing in her eyes, "you are going to need something to wear."

This time Shepard crossed her arms, settling into one hip as she did. "I don't know. This getup seems to be a crowd pleaser."

Liara shook her head in exasperation. "Perhaps, but I don't think it will please the Council or the Alliance."

Shepard sighed. "Fair enough. They also don't pay me enough for this kind of a show..." She stepped out from Liara's arms and crossed to the bar in her cabin, pouring herself a drink.

"Shepard..." Liara said from behind her, "I don't know that going to this is a good idea."

Shepard grinned at the asari's reflection in her cabin window. "What? Just want to keep me to yourself?"

But Liara didn't smile. "I know the Council is showing their support with the Spectre appointment and the gala...but Palaven hasn't retracted their statements blaming you for Nihlus' death."

Shepard took a long drink, "If I won over Sparatus, Fedorian has to pull his spiny head out of his ass eventually."

"And the C-Sec Officer tasked with killing you?"

Shepard turned back to the bar, "C-Sec answers to the Council."

"But turians answer to the Hierarchy."

Shepard poured another measure of golden liqueur into the glass and turned to face Liara. "And I don't miss headshots." She downed the drink. "It will be fine, Liara," she added more gently as she crossed to her closet and opened it, staring at the various crumpled uniforms and workout gear that were unceremoniously shoved inside. "And, on the bright side, dress blues will mean no one will see this shit," she muttered, gesturing to the bandage. "I just hope Hackett remembers not to clap me on the back in congratulation at being the first human Spectre."

"Actually," Liara said, slipping in front of Shepard and closing the closet, "I had an idea about that..."

"You did?" Shepard asked, raising a brow.

A surprisingly devious grin flitted across Liara's face. "Yes. And I think it's something that might put the Council in their place."

/

Garrus tugged at the uncomfortably tight collar of his C-Sec dress uniform. If he was a good turian he wouldn't be fidgeting. His back would be straight. He'd be standing at attention, embodying the honor and discipline of a proud servant of the Hierarchy. But he was hot, he felt like he could barely breathe, and his head was still pounding from getting shot by the N7.

"You look like hell, Vakarian," a turian voice said too loudly in his ear. Someone clapped him on the shoulder and he staggered forward, turning to glare at the turian whose approach he hadn't noticed. Not a great sign of cognitive function.

Appolis' eyes widened above his red clan tattoos. "Shit. What the hell happened to your eyes?!"

Garrus' jaw tensed as he rubbed his temple, "Ended up on the wrong end of a shockwave from a drugged up asari on a Minagen bust," he lied quickly, shrugging off his friend's concern.

"Damn," Appolis said, a brow raising, "you had that checked out? I don't think I've ever seen you look this messed up, man." Appolis wasn't wrong. Apart from having a deep dislike for these kinds of stuffy formal events, Garrus had been dreading the reactions his appearance would cause. The whites of his eyes were flooded with deep blue from burst vessels. It made his right eye nearly as dark as that of an asari in a mind meld, while the other was mottled and patchy. And, of course, visors were a violation of the strict formal dress code for such an event, making him feel even more naked, and depriving him of his one shot at covering up the mess his face had become.

"It's been checked out and it's fine," he said with a wave of his hand. "They just stuck me out front and center to be eye candy, to show off our 'unflinching service.'"

Appolis eyed him dubiously, "Krogan eye candy, maybe," he said, nudging Garrus with an elbow. They straightened quickly and both C-Sec officers saluted as the Turian Councilor walked past them, a frown across his face. The Councilor engaged himself in conversation with Councilor Tevos, glancing back at Garrus as he did.

"He looks happy," Garrus muttered under his breath as he dropped his salute. He kept his shoulders back and a look of serene dignity on his face.

"He's in a tight spot," Appolis said out of the corner of his mouth, "That Reaper thing showed up and Saren turned out to be everything the human was saying he was."

"Or so it would seem." Garrus grumbled.

Appolis frowned at him, "You still don't believe her? After how messed up Saren's body was and the freaking squid ship thing?"

"We still have nothing but human word that Saren took out Nihlus." Garrus said, not meeting Appolis' gaze. He could feel the other turian's stare.

"So your orders haven't changed?"

"No."

Appolis was strangely quiet and Garrus finally looked at him, "What?" He demanded in a low tone.

Appolis' mandibles tensed against the side of his face and he shrugged. "nothing. Just...she survived Saren. And..." He glanced around the heavily decorated hall. There were bunches of flowers, silk banners (many bearing the human's System Alliance insignia) a surprising number of well dressed humans. "I don't envy your assignment at the moment." His eyes flicked back to Garrus, "especially after-"

"Tarrus," Garrus hissed, "you swore you wouldn't-"

But his tirade was cut short as Sparatus approached and Garrus and Appolis quickly saluted. "At ease," Sparatus said, waving off their formalities. He nodded to Appolis, then said, "Vakarian, a word if you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course, sir." Garrus said, trying to keep his breath even. Appolis gave the Councilor a slight bow and departed, casting an apologetic look back at Garrus while the Councilor's back was turned. Garrus did his best to ignore it.

Sparatus didn't begin speaking immediately. He stood where Appolis had been, next to Garrus and regarded the room at length. Garrus tried to wait patiently, staring out at the gathering throng of guests. He spotted several from the N7's celebrated crew in the crowd. The muscular dark haired human biotic was chatting with the Normandy's pilot, who was seated at a table at the edge of the hall. The krogan and quarian were there as well. They were the only members of their species in the room. The quarian seemed to be watching the various couples of other races on the dance floor with an almost wistful tilt of her helmet, and the krogan was tearing through a slab of meat despite the fact that the dining portion of the festivities were not supposed to start for an hour. Garrus was deeply thankful that he'd never been in close enough proximity to the krogan for the male to recognize his scent. He didn't think that introductions would go well given their last encounter. The asari archeologist was sitting beside the human pilot. She seemed deaf to the two human males animated conversation and kept glancing worriedly at her omnitool, its orange glow sending red sparkles down her long violet beaded gown.

"I spoke with our Primarch today." Sparatus said at last. Garrus was deeply grateful that his extensive sniper training prevented him from jumping as his mind was pulled back to the present.

"Did you, sir?" Garrus asked quietly.

"Yes. It seems that things on Palaven and Palaven's position remain...unchanged."

"That is my understanding as well, sir." Garrus said, watching as a salarian and asari couple glided by on the dance floor, the flared pants of the salarian fanning out elegantly with each step. The evening breeze carried the scent of flowers down a sweeping set of stairs from the French doors thrown wide at their summit. The stream of arriving guests had faded to a trickle in the past quarter hour, and the first lilting notes played by the small live band in the corner had quickly filled the dance floor.

"I would hope," Sparatus continued, nodding warmly at the next couple who glided past, "that you can see the wisdom of honoring your duty to your people without causing a galactic incident when the guest of honor-"

Lilac, citrus, gunpowder. Sparatus' sentence was cut short as Garrus whirled, his entire body snapping in the direction of that scent that somehow cut through all the others. He scanned the few people on the stairs looking for armor or Alliance blues and that wild hair. A frown creased his brow as he failed to find the source of the scent in the few humans making their way down into the hall.

Sparatus had narrowed his eyes in distaste at Garrus' reaction, "this is not the time-"

"Where is she?" Garrus snapped, then, mandibles tense, hastily added, "sir," at the ire in the Councilors gaze.

Sparatus's mandibles twitched disapprovingly but he gave a small nod towards the landing halfway down the stairs. "With her Admiral."

Garrus found this completely useless, and as he struggled to tell the similarly dressed humans apart, a female that had just reached the landing halfway up the stairs caught his eye, and the eyes of nearly every guest turned in her direction. She wore a sweeping gown of navy, the fabric shimmering with lighter hues as she moved, The sleeves sat just off her shoulders and were lined with silver, as was the hem. Dancing pricks of silver light glimmered through the skirts, seeming to move on their own, winking in and out of focus. The bodice hugged her chest, narrow waist and wide hips before flowing into the rippling skirts, light dancing across every curve. It was like someone had captured the night sky and poured out a measure for this woman to wear. Garrus blinked a few times, shaking his head to break the spell of the dress, and took in the rest of her. Lines of silver and clips in the shape of crescent moons bound up red hair, and a smattering of scars gleamed silver as the decorative lighting fell on her golden skin. A human male approached the woman and her green eyes, bright with mischief, and artfully shadowed, looked up as he approached.

The woman saluted and Garrus' heart skipped a beat. She was relaxed, power and grace in every movement. Garrus' mandible twitched. He could see it now. He didn't know how he'd missed it. She held herself differently from the other females in the hall. Her shoulders looser, the flair of her skirt slightly wider, perhaps because her feet were in parade rest rather than the dainty positions favored by many of the other females and a few of the more lavishly dressed males. Garrus heard someone call her name, and watched as she turned towards the darker skinned Alliance officer who was descending the stairs behind her. A hush fell over the room.

The back of her dress was as spectacular as the front, low cut, silver running along the edge, a crescent moon sitting at the small of her back catching the light, drifting in a sky of deep shifting blues and dancing stars. But no one was looking at the dress.

"Spirits save me," Sparatus swore in a low voice, as he beheld the horror that was the human's back. Six raw lines of scabbed and broken skin ran from the tops of her shoulders all the way down her back to vanish beneath the blue fabric. The surrounding skin was an angry red, and the dark brown of the scabs had the unmistakable sheen of a wound that had barely started to heal. It was completely unbandaged and uncovered, as raw as scorched earth after a battle.

"What is she doing?" said a soft, horrified voice next to Garrus. He tore his eyes off the humans' mutilated back and turned to see that Councilors Linron and Tevos had come to stand by them.

"Calling our bluff," Linron told Tevos, calculation gleaming in her cool gaze.

"We are acknowledging that humanity clearly has a great role to play in our galaxy," Sparatus said sternly, without looking at the salarian.

"Maybe you are," Linron snorted. "They didn't have my vote."

Tevos gave Linron a derisive look out of the corner of her eye and said gently, "In time, my dear you may-"

"Find a way to shove the supposed "wisdom" that came with those wrinkles up your ass?" Linron asked with a raised brow.

Garrus coughed uncomfortably and those calculating reptilian eyes flicked to him. "Oh, grow a quad, turian. You heard worse in boot camp." Her eyes shifted back to the Commander, "and this one is making sure no one forgets what she and her little species have done." She snorted, then turned her back on the stairs and started for the bar, brushing past Garrus as she did and murmuring, "Happy hunting," before throwing back her head with a cackle.

Sparatus' attention snapped towards her at her words but she merely gave him a look that said. Of course I know, fool, and hailed a turian waiter with a tray of drinks. Sparatus and Garrus turned back towards the stairs and found Commander Shepard descending towards them. Her gaze shifted between the two remaining councilors as she approached, her expression calm and unreadable. The dark haired human from her crew had made his way from the table to the foot of the stair and started to say something, but she raised her hand in some military gesture and he fell silent, holding his position and watching her as if they were in the middle of a mission and not a society event. The musicians had ceased to play as she approached. The only sound in the hall was the whisper of her skirts and the clumps of guests watching around the room, both of which fell silent as she stopped before Tevos and Sparatus.

She stood in that silence for a moment, commanding all, not just the Alliance crew assigned to her ship, and then she bowed. The motion left the ravaged expanse of her back in full view for any who had not somehow seen it yet. She rose smoothly, a few strands of her hair now dangling by her eyes which she ignored, and said in a melodious voice that reached every corner of the room, "Commander Moria Shepard, Citadel Spectre, reporting for duty, sirs."

It was as if no one breathed. Then Sparatus released a strained laugh and said, "It's a celebration, Shepard. No duty tonight," and Tevos coughed and made small noises of agreement.

Shepard gave the Turian Councilor a warm, knowing smile and said, "A good turian once told me that a soldier is never without their duty."

"And it wasn't long ago that according to humans the only good turian was a dead turian," Linron said coolly, stepping into their company once again, sipping a drink with narrowed eyes focused on the Commander.

"Councilor Linron," Shepard said, giving the Dalatrass a smile that did not reach her green eyes, "a pleasure as always." Linron snorted. "I must point out that it also wasn't long ago that hundreds of humans gave their lives so that a good turian, asari," she nodded to Sparatus and Tevos, "and salarian...might live."

"And we are very grateful for their hospitality and invitation this evening." Udina suddenly cut in, appearing at the Commander's elbow, his jaw tense, shooting daggers at her with his eyes, "aren't we Shepard?" He added sharply.

The Commander actually laughed. She looked at him and then the assembled Councilors before saying, "Oh yes, it was a very kind and appropriately timed invitation." Udina glared at her again and then gave Sparatus a strained smile.

Garrus saw Appolis emerge from the crowd of guests doing a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop. His fellow officer stopped a few feet behind Tevos, watching the human Councilor and Commander cautiously. He frowned, his nostrils flared and then his eyes snapped from Shepard to Garrus and back, a look of slight horror on his face.

"Well, since this is supposed to be a celebration," Tevos said as the band began to play again after receiving a pointed look from Sparatus, "Vakarian, you and your father have served the Citadel for decades. Be a 'good turian' and offer the Commander a dance."

And then Shepard looked at Garrus for the first time. He braced himself for the spark of recognition that would fill those green eyes, for the snarl to curl across her face, for the lethal biotics to spark to life. But she merely frowned uncomfortably at him, her poised and controlled expression breaking momentarily.

She doesn't recognize me. Garrus realized suddenly. He wasn't sure how it was possible, though he guessed one turian or another might be as similar to her as unfamiliar humans were to him...and without his armor or visor...and the shade paint...

She glanced at the dancers who had begun gliding around the room once again, and he saw his escape. "I...ah...I'm afraid I'm not familiar with this dance," he said hesitantly, trying to give the Commander a convincingly apologetic look as he grappled with the anger, discomfort and apprehension her proximity stirred in him.

"Oh...well then-" Tevos began disappointedly, but was interrupted by the Commander.

"No need to apologize, Vakarian," she said with a lift of her chin, "as the Council knows, I am more than happy to lead when others do not know the way."

And she extended her hand to him.

Everyone stared at it.

Linron, of course, was the first to break the silence. "Well what are you waiting for, Vakarian? Your species is the one that bites. Not hers."

That's what you think. Garrus held back his own snort at the thought of the flat toothed scar that Shepard had left in the hide on the side of his neck just beneath his uncomfortably tight collar (which he was grateful for at the moment).

He swallowed hard and stepped forward, taking Shepard's hand. "Thank you, Commander," he said, managing to keep enough venom from his voice that only turian ears would catch it. . He saw Appolis' mandibles tense as he allowed the Commander to lead him out onto the dance floor.

They walked hand in hand into the center of the spiraling couples that, to Garrus' relief, created a wall of moving silk, velvet and ever changing alluen between them and the watching Council. Shepard turned to him when they were in the heart of the dancers, who sent glances their way as they circled. She adjusted how she held his right hand and allowed him to place the other on her waist as she rested hers on his shoulder. The dance copied the posture of a human waltz but was what humans would call 'alien' in many other ways.

"You're a C-Sec turian?" she asked as she stepped forward and he stepped back, "good at following orders right? This won't be bad." Her tone was casual and she gave him a small wink. He felt her apply a little pressure to his shoulder, helping guide the angle of his retreating steps so that they whisked into the tide of other dancers.

"Uh...yeah," Garrus grunted. "I mean in theory."

She gave him a quick smile before her eyes focused over his shoulder on the couple just in front of them, "yeah, I'm shit at following orders too." They picked up their pace, their feet now moving twice between each beat of the drums in the corner. "I'll let you in on a humanity diplomatic secret, Vakarian." Shepard continued, posture and footwork flawless as she spoke. "The new Councilor I appointed would really like just about anyone else as my people's first Spectre."

"You don't say." Garrus said, his tone as bland as possible.

"Noticed, have you?" The light in her eyes dulled a little as she added, "and honestly I don't blame him."

"Know you don't deserve it?"

There was hardness in her eyes as they met his. "I know I don't want it." Her head tilted a fraction, the way it did when he'd watched her find a new angle to approach a firefight, "and now I know a particular C-Sec officer's opinion on my appointment."

"Uhhh-" Garrus started, but she just shrugged.

"It's fine. Disapproval is familiar terrain for me."

Garrus felt his face heat a little and he looked down to avoid her gaze, hoping she wouldn't notice the deepening blue of the plates across his face if his head was bowed. He watched her feet peep out from the front of her skirt as she continued to lead them though the dance; flat sensible shoes in the same silver and blue as her dress. No wonder she seemed more at ease than many others, she wasn't wearing those strange spiked things...

"Earth to, Vakarian?"

His head snapped upwards. "What?"

"Human phrase for 'where did you go?'" She said.

"Oh..ahhh..just…" his mind raced, "seemed like an advantageous opportunity for Operation Footwork Study." He said at last, his shoulder shrugging beneath her hand.

She chuckled. "Ah - ever the good soldier."

And then her pace changed. She took three quick steps in the time they would have taken one, pushed off of him and spun away only to turn back, a hand raised. He placed his hand up against hers only a fraction of a second after the beat where they should have made contact in a formal gratza. They stood facing in opposite directions, joined solely at their raised right hands and circled, though they were meant to go through two other forms of the gratza before reaching the twin suns section she had jumped to.

She gave him a wolfish smile. "Good soldier. Bad liar. You know this dance."

Shit. Garrus looked away from her for a moment, his cheeks heating again, this time in anger. "Better than you apparently." He glared at her out of the corner of his eye. "You skipped serene waters and glacier's path."

"They're boring," she said casually, watching as the dancers around them slowly and gracefully raised their arms and dipped their heads. "Most of this is till you get to darting flames."

Garrus snorted. "Of course you like that one."

She cocked her head at him as they resumed their original position, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She demanded.

But Garrus was spared answering as a lilting voice said "The greater gravity catches the star." He and Shepard both turned to see the asari who had been sitting with the Normandy crew and an apprehensive looking salarian facing them; the two new arrivals clearly intent on cutting in to the dance.

Shepard's eyes danced. "The fallen wish for catching." She pressed off Garrus' hand and made three wild spins towards the asari who stepped gracefully into the last turn, catching Shepard's hands as the Commander laughed with delight, and they were off, winding their way around the other couples who had only just begun twin suns.

Garrus took the salarian male's hand and began spinning him into the same steps following them, quickly turning his head on each rotation to keep sight of the redhead. The salarian's woody scent filled his nose as they picked up speed and he found himself missing the citrus and lilac...and the gunpowder that was somehow the perfect compliment.

The asari whispered something in the woman's ear and green eyes danced, she laughed again, and Garrus wished it had been he that had made her throw back her head in mirth. The sound of her laughter over their comms from a few weeks earlier haunted him...

He watched the bar carefully, the sight of his rifle focused on the elbow of the leather jacket protruding from behind the cement column. He had debated shooting this corner of her. Seeing if the wound would disrupt her balance on the stool. If, in the shock of pain he could get her to stumble out from behind the column, get her into the open so he could finally snipe her from this position on the balcony across the street from the bar. But he'd dismissed the idea. All those scars...she would know better, be too experienced to make a mistake like that. She likely had instincts honed to snap her further behind cover upon receiving any kind of injury, more the pity.

His omnitool pinged.

Shepard: You know, a girl could get the wrong idea from all this attention.

He kept his eyes locked on the elbow, which was surprisingly still. Much to his irritation, he hadn't been able to figure out just how she had gotten a connection to his messaging system. Appolis, who seemed to have a salarian-like aptitude for technology, hadn't been able to find how she'd gotten in either. Shepard, Garrus suspected, had rightly guessed that he was tracking her continuously at this point, going so far as to sleep on the roof of the building across the park from her apartment, allerted and awoken by heat seeking sensors every time she moved more than two meters. And his sleep had become shit because of it. The ridiculous creature seemed to get up every two or so hours to relieve herself or do spirits knew what else in the middle of the night. Turians needed about two thirds the sleep that humans did, but her cycle was so erratic that it was starting to severely throw his off.

The omnitool beeped again.

Shepard: Blue eyes?

He kept his body loose.

Shepard: Hello?

But if he played off her impatience…

Shepard: Ah, ok I get it. Playing hard to get are we?

His body was still except for the twitch of his lip. Then he heard the quick triple beep of an incoming audio call. Maybe the Primarch checking in? "Open line." He said quietly.

"Ahhh, ok I get it now. You wanted me to come to you." It was Shepard's rich alto, the thrumming music of the bar and other muffled voices audible in the background. She'd hacked his comms now? Spirits damned -

"What? Weak in the knees at the sound of my voice?" He could see the corner of her mouth turning up with a smile in his mind's eye.

"No," he growled, "sorry, your monotone grunts don't do it for me."

For a moment he could only hear the clink of drinks and muffled jazz, then, "Oh, yeah?" She asked in a husky drawl. A slight shiver went down his spine. But, that was expected. The station was rotating away from the sun. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Fraid I don't know." He drawled back before he could stop himself. "Maybe an inability to believe the reality around you is a side effect of being a pathological lying murderer."

More jazz, no voice.

"Nah, I definitely think you're just trying to cover up how much you like me."

"Fat chance, human," he sneered.

"The birdman doth protest too much, me thinks."

He narrowed his eyes, "us 'birdmen' know a thing or two about the power of a voice," he said, letting the tri-tone resonance play on his breath, "but please, grunt away in that bar all you like. Just don't be surprised when you go home alone again." He purred the last few words in contempt.

He heard coughing. The elbow remained frustratingly still.

"I haven't gone home alone in quite a while. This tall, dark and deadly bloke has been keeping me company."

He snorted. "If I'm what you consider "company" you have far deeper problems than this contract in your life."

A spluttering laugh filled his ear with more coughing. "Oh - oh, gods I think I just inhaled ryncol. Don't make me laugh like that when I'm mid drink!"

He grinned. "Then come out into the open where I can see you."

He heard a throaty chuckle. "Yeah, but it's so cozy behind this nice half meter concrete column...but hey, you made me spill like half my drink. Gonna have to go get a fresh one eventually, so you might get lucky."

"Thanks for the offer, but you're not exactly my type," he said without thinking.

She snorted, but didn't say anything. Garrus tried very hard not to think about hot skin against his hands...or the curve of her back…

"You know, not everyone is as lucky as I am," Shepard gloated after a moment.

"So you admit it's luck keeping you alive?" he asked dryly.

"Ah, no not that. Skill and a curse if you ask me." He heard her sip her drink. "You are a very very good shot and have nearly had me a few times there. Again, cursed."

"That you are still alive?" He asked as he raised a brow. She was the most puzzling contradictory-

"Yes. Well...alive when others are dead. Like, way better people." Her words were slurring a little. Garrus moved the center of his scope further up her elbow so that his bullet would nearly graze the column.

"Like Nihlus," he growled.

She was quiet again. "Yes," she said, her voice heavy, "though we'll have to agree to disagree on the 'how' of my involvement in that." She sighed heavily, elbow remaining still. Damn her martial training and poise.

"Not so sure that I agree on any of that...but why exactly are you lucky?" Keep her talking. Keep her drinking…

"Oh, well, I've got my very own archangel watchin over me. Making sure I get home safe, keeping me company at bars, always there in the middle of the night when I'm feeling lonely…"

Garrus frowned into his scope. "Um….hold on. I don't think you have that right."

"Oh, sorry, it's a human concept. I should have explained. Rude, Shepard."

"No, I've heard of an 'archangel'."

"Oh! Yeah, the thing with the wings that like protects you and shit. Is always watching your back."

He cocked his head, "mmmmm….no, I think you've got that wrong."

"Nah, look, its this religious concept of a spirit watching over you," Garrus looked up from his scope and ran a search for 'angel' in his omnitool as Shepard continued to talk, "there were like songs made about them and shit…"

"Yeah, you're thinking of a 'guardian angel'." Garrus corrected,

She made a noise of dissent then was quiet. "Wait, a what?"

Garrus snorted. "A guardian angel, an angel assigned to protect a particular person, group, or nation."

"Oh...ah...well you were assigned to me."

He rolled his eyes. "To kill you."

"Tomato, tomato."

"What?"

"Human idiom. That one isn't worth explaining. Wait, what did I say you were again?"

"Your archangel."

"Which is?"

"I like how I'm educating you on your own culture," Garrus grumbled as he opened the information on the archangel.

"Eh, look, all the religious mysticism became pretty low priority and questionable after the First Contact War."

"I can see that. Disembodied voices telling you what to do changes a little once you have communication implants." He affected a deep voice. "Shepard, this is your god. I command you to go to the dance floor and show off your moves."

She laughed and he grinned. "Yeah, that is SO not happening."

"But Shepard, your god commands it."

"One," she said, voice bright. "I happen to know that the dance floor is nicely located in the middle of your sightlines, so thanks for asking me to dance but not tonight." She chuckled again, softly this time, and over the comms it was like she was there beside him, breath hot on his ear… "and two," she continued, "more importantly I am a TERRIBLE dancer and I would happily let you shoot me and everyone else who suffered the misfortune of seeing my moves."

He shrugged, "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"So what was the archangel then?"

He sighed. "An archangel is an angel of high rank."

"Hierarchy devotee! Reminds me of someone I know."

"Well, you're making some assumptions there, but sure," Garrus said wearily, "and...looks like the most famous one lead your god's armies against some dude named Satan, and was associated with righteous justice and mercy."

She laughed, "oh right, that Satan 'dude'...he could throw one hell of a party."

She continued to laugh quietly to herself and Garrus let the sound wash over him. He didn't understand her comment but didn't really care. "If you approve of the kind of party he threw, maybe he is someone I would lead an army against," he mused.

She laughed soft and wickedly and he shivered again despite the temperate evening. "See, I was actually right. You are my archangel."

"I will give you the righteous justice aspect. But that was not part of your initial description," he said sternly.

"Oh sorry, the comm must have glitched. All I heard was. 'Shepard was right,' "

He couldn't stop himself from laughing. He shook his head and then settled back into position.

"And, you are watching my back!" she added excitedly, as though that aspect had just occurred to her.

"Not what that phrase usually means, but technically-"

"All I'm hearing is I was right again. Technically totally counts."

"I am really going to enjoy killing you," he chuckled.

"You should know that I'm fanning myself. You have to stop it with all this flattery."

"Shepard...that was not a compliment."

"Look, if I took personal offence to everyone who wanted to or tried to kill me, I would have very low self esteem and a body count to match."

"And inflated egos and body counts seem to summon an archangel."

"Yeah, but mine's fairly entertaining," she said, her voice full of mirth, "and you made an excellent guardian angel for my coat."

Her coat?

Garrus' head snapped up, muscles around his eyes tensing so that his visor zoomed in on the edge of the column, not quite as tight as the scope of his rifle but close enough to see Shepard finish crossing the dance floor. Her golden arms were bare, her strapless cocktail dress clearly visible. She raised her glass to him- He dropped back to the scope, only to watch the last tendrils of her red hair slip behind the column. The elbow of the jacket hadn't moved. Then it shifted as the barstool it was on was pushed into sight, jacket draped on the back, left arm falling from where it had been resting on the bar. A slim hand picked up the jacket, then reappeared to display a rude hand gesture and pull the stool back behind the column.

"I seriously owe you one," she said brightly, "this place is packed and I never would have gotten a seat again."

Garrus said nothing. Seething silently.

"Archangel?" she asked softly. A muscle in his jaw twitched, "oh come on don't sulk. It's your own damn fault. You made me snort up like half my drink. I needed another." She must have gone around the other way...while he'd remained fixed on the damn arm of her jacket, or when he used his omnitool..fool...he never should have. "Satan loving filth to Heavenly smiter?"

He swallowed. "Sorry human, had your god on the other line. You've been added to the 'slow and painful death list.' "

And she laughed at that, "oh, finally! That's harder to get onto than the VIP list for Purgatory."

"Whoopee," Garrus grumbled.

"I know your shooty feelings are hurt right now, but you should know that I just made another excellent religious joke there."

"Cool."

She sighed up, "Oh, cheer up. You'll get me eventually."

"What's the human phase? Your lips to god's ear?" Her lips...

"Ahhh, nicely done. Alright, the religious joke tally stands at Shepard: one, Archangel: one. Speaking of which, we'll make this a fair and multicultural competition so…." a glass slid out on the bar, pushed by a slim gold finger, "I took the liberty of getting you some 'spirits.' "

Garrus couldn't stop himself from snorting. "You should just let me kill you for that terrible pun alone."

"Puns are highly underrated," she said defiantly, "but...we could call a temporary armistice and you could come down here and join me?"

Garrus didn't answer. Instead he changed out the ammunition in his rifle, replacing the regular bullets with ones containing compact and highly unstable mass effect fields that essentially burned away on impact with any surface. Ghostshots, C-Sec called them.

"Is this the silence of you walking across the street to join me?" Shepard asked.

He adjusted his sight, and fired.

The glass of spirits exploded in a shower of glass and booze as the bullet hit it, spraying the surrounding area with the displaced beverage. Shepard let out a shriek that then turned into laughter.

"Shit!" A hand flashed into sight as she shook it dry. "Oh my god, I'm soaked. Oh...and by the glare I'm getting I'm gonna have to leave a huge tip if I ever want to get back in here," she sighed, "eh, worth it. Man, Archangel, that was awesome." The hand came into view again, mopping the counter with a napkin. "That was a 'no', though? Right?"

"Afraid so, Shepard." He murmured.

"Can't blame a girl for trying," she said with a chuckle.

And Garrus smiled.

Her scent brought him crashing back to reality. His gut twisted with conflicted feelings as her hand met his again and they stepped back into twin suns, their steps matching the other dancers' once again. As he felt calloused skin against his palm, he tried very hard to repress memories of other parts of her body under his hands.

She was smiling back over her shoulder at the asari, wild, fierce joy and challenge in her eyes. They pushed off each other again and the horror of her back came into view. How is she not in agony right now? But she spun back, radiant smile across her face, such a contradiction to...to everything. That's what she was. A spiraling nebula of contradictions. Ferocity and grace, beauty and savagery, wild temper and the lethal control with which she'd descended the stairs. Mirth in the middle of conflict and pain.

But this was why he was part of the Hierarchy. You could trust those above you, those removed from the situation to make the tough calls. To maintain order. To know what to do when someone on the ground was too close to - She swept under his arm. A few strands of her wild hair had, as usual, managed to escape the sparkling clips and were curling gently around the base of her neck and onto her shoulder, shifted by their movements and the gentle night breeze that carried her scent to him: lilac, citrus, gunpowder. Contradiction.

All eyes in the room still seemed to be following them. Well, following her. But they were all looking at her back, which Garrus supposed he understood...but it was her expression he couldn't take his eyes off. Those green eyes he kept getting lost in.

And now they were looking at him.

He turned away hastily. Scanning the guests sitting at the edge of the room, he made eye contact with the dark haired human who had come to meet her at the bottom of the stars. The biotic's expression promised a painful death if he deemed anything to be off while Garrus was in the company of his Commander. The human's arms were crossed, the fingers of one hand drumming against his elbow, blue light sparkling along their length. Garrus gave the human what he hoped came across as a small curt nod, and immediately made eye contact with Shepard's krogan. The one he had shot.

The krogan was watching him in a completely different manner. His large slitted yellow eyes were flicking between Shepard and Garrus, as if waiting to see what she would do to him. Garrus swallowed, looked away and found that Shepard was also watching him, her expression similar to a varren watching a pyjak.

/./././././././././././././.

As Shepard placed her hand against Vakarian's, she continued to watch Liara. The asari rolled her eyes at the Commander as she resumed her dance with the salarian.. Shepard wriggled an eyebrow at Liara and the asari's cheeks turned a little purple, likely remembering all the things Shepard had pointed out would be possible later tonight as a way to distract the asari from worrying about the effects of the "steroids". Shepard let her eyes drift down the asari's dress, then saw Liara's slightly furious glare and laughed, winking at her flustered and embarrassed girlfriend.

She could feel eyes on her. She was aware that her back was drawing quite a bit of attention but this...this felt different. She turned her head: Vakarian's gaze was fixed on her, his expression unreadable and then he quickly looked away. She wondered what had happened to his eyes to cloud the sclera, whether it was hereditary or the result of some horrible accident. They reminded her of marble with the veins of darker and lighter color sweeping through the white. Despite his disapproval of her Spectre status and evident belief that she had killed Nihlus, she felt a little sorry for him. She didn't enjoy this many people watching her. She couldn't imagine that he found it pleasant. And with what the Hierarchy were saying about her and the fact that one of his fellow officers had been, and probably still was trying to kill her, she figured it was pretty hard for any turian to see her as anything but a murderer who was going free.

He was doing a decent job of hiding it though, apart from their conversation. His grip on her hands was firm and gentle, talons mostly sheathed. He was following her steps and movements well, too well, that had given him away, and wherever his hands were there was just enough support and connection to keep him moving with her. She'd bet every credit she had that he was a breathtaking fighter. He was a damn good shot too, his hands nearly as callous as hers. She became preoccupied with the feeling of his hand in hers, marveling at the similarities and differences in how their two physiologies were affected by the weapons they wielded.

There was no callus deep in his palm along the muscle that controlled his...thumb? Was it still a thumb when you only had two other fingers? That was different from her, so she guessed he wasn't one for using pistols on a regular basis. The weight of his weapon of choice must be dispersed elsewhere, not primarily supported by the hand. He probably favored something larger, designed for long range...maybe a shotgun like Tali and Wrex? There was something comforting about turian hands, she decided, maybe it was the way that the distribution of her fingers along his felt like holding a gun, instead of the finger-to-finger interlocking of human or asari digits. She felt a little guilty at the thought. One wasn't better. They were just...different. And when she spent more time holding a gun than someone's hand...well that was why the turian hand was more comfortable for her. Although other parts of turians weren't bad either…

It was getting a little hard to not think about the other time that turian hands had been on her. Not Saren's. Her jaw clenched at the memory. No not Saren's, but…

Warm rough hands against the underside of her thighs...at the small of her back...pressing her closer...talons in her hair...cool plate against her burning forehead, velvet smooth scales on her lips...the smell of rain and greenery… like the mountains after a storm…

She shook her head slightly to clear it. Not now, Moria. Very different turian. Very different circumstances. She glanced apprehensively at Vakarian, but to her intense relief he hadn't been watching her. He was busy dealing with the hostile and amused stares of Kaidan and Wrex.

Poor scaly son of a bitch.

/./././././././././././././././././././././././././././././

Shepard lifted one of her dark eyebrows at Garrus. "Sorry about the nanny brigade!" As they swept past her crews table he saw her narrow her eyes at its occupants reprovingly. The asari in the purple dress glided past, watching Garrus as well.

"You seem to have a surprising number of highly protective aliens given that you-"

"Killed one?" she asked, expression calm.

Garrus' jaw tensed as he searched her eyes. Her expression was unflinching. "Yes." He said finally.

Her brow furrowed a fraction. "I have killed aliens. I have had aliens help me kill other aliens. In my service of the Alliance I have made the best calls I could to protect the most people. No matter what species they are.. And those aliens," she jerked her head at the table. The quarian had returned from the dance floor, and by the angle of her helmet she seemed to be looking in Shepard's direction, "know that."

"Who are you to decide who lives and dies?" Garrus demanded.

Her eyes flicked between his for a moment and then she said quietly. "Commander Shepard. Council Spectre."

Arrogance.

She tilted her head a little, "It might be foreign to you. But if I pull that trigger, it is because I made that call. And I carry and live with the consequences. I know that's not how the Hierarchy works-"

"It's not even how your Alliance works. You might be an N7 but that doesn't give you free reign to go around killing people," Garrus snapped.

She scowled, "Look, C-Sec, maybe here on the Citadel you have the resources and personnel to run every shot up the chain of command but out there," she nodded towards the window, towards the dark expanse of sky beyond the glow of the other Citadel arms, "out there, it's just you, and you do what you have to to keep people alive."

The next step of the dance was a spin and Garrus was grateful for the opportunity to turn away from her. He gritted his teeth for a moment, taking a long breath while they faced away from one another, trying to cool the embers of rage in his chest and ignore her scent; it seemed to have gotten stronger in the past few minutes. Her ever-changing blue and silver skirts whirled those starlike lights dancing upon them, so different to the severe black and rigid lines of gold along his uniform.

Contradiction.

The dance entered into supporta strata. Her hand slid into the small of his back, the fingers spreading, and her sculpted biceps tensed as she supported him easily as he leaned backwards, opposite feet and arms extended in an exaggerated dip. He finished the extension of his arm and she caught his hand, pulling him smoothly back to his feet, pirouetting twice before stopping with her back to him to execute the same motion.

But Garrus hesitated.

Her back.

As the other couples around them began the dip, her eyes flashed to his, "I'm fine." She whispered quickly, and began to lean back forcing Garrus to quickly put out his arm, splay his hand to support her. To have her back so she wouldn't fall. He could feel the slick scabs beneath his fingers and his stomach turned.

But Shepard didn't flinch. Her face remained serene, looking slightly amused. Her arm reached the apex of the graceful extension and she smoothly brought it back towards Garrus. He took it gingerly, pulling her back to her feet, as concerned about the pressure pulling her would put on those barely healed scabs as he had been about touching them. She gave him a small glare and hissed, "I said I'm fine."

They were face to face again, one hand at her waist and the other holding one of hers again, to his intense relief. "You're crazy." He snapped.

"Tomato, tomato." She said irritably.

"No," Garrus growed, "it is not a distinction without a difference. Those are two very different things."

She looked surprised, "you actually know what that means?"

Shit.

"Yeah," Garrus grunted. Shit. What the hell was he thinking? He wished he could step away and shake his head. Shake that maddening smell of her out of his nose. She was trouble. Conflicting-

She looked intrigued, "How?"

"A friend-" friend?

"Human friend taught it to you?" She asked.

Garrus' mandible twitched uncomfortably. "Sure." He needed to change the subject. Or shut it down. She was more infuriating in close proximity than in all the weeks he had been watching and following her. He was an excellent strategist. He'd broken every record on C-Sec's predictive behavior simulators. Why did she always catch him off guard?

She gave him a puzzled look. "OK, fine, be weird about it. Point is, you can relax. I know what I'm doing here tonight. You're not gonna kill me." She was so arrogant, and reckless, and yet managed to scrape through certain disasters again and again; the broken stair, Saren and the strange ship attack. The rubble from the destroyed ship and half a Citadel district had come crashing down on that wild haired head and yet he'd watched her emerge from smoke and fire-

"An infection-" She wasn't cursed. She was a curse. Something unkillable, haunting, lethal. He could feel the truth of it; she was like steel beneath his hands, firm muscles and precise movements with a deadly grace. A weapon honed and waiting.

"Would be caught and treated," she snapped, "and I'm not some immunocompromised quarian. Plenty of turians have been making the perilous mistake of trying to give me a slow painful death of late, I'm not fussed about you being added to the list."

"I'd make it quick if you let me."

Spirits.

Panic flashed through him and expected her to tense, to push away, to snap her head to him. But instead, it was like she turned to water. He felt every muscle in her body beneath his hand go loose, her shoulders spread effortlessly, the only tension in her body the slight narrowing of her eyes as they continued to gaze over his shoulder. She was completely fluid, he could tell trying to hold her there would be as pointless and futile as trying to catch the wind in his hands. She very slowly turned her blazing green gaze to him.

"What did you just say?" Her voice was low and calm.

Shit.

He forced himself to stay relaxed and said nothing, merely stared back at her in disdain. Her face roamed over his, taking in the shape of his crest, the lines of his mandibles, her eyes narrowed slightly more as she studied his eyes and then widened, "You," she breathed.

He moved his hand from her waist, briefly tapping the scales at the side of his head to activate his comm, then double tapped to create a private link to hers and and said, "Me."

She cocked her head slightly at the sound of his voice though the comm, clearly recognizing it now. Her eyes traced the lines of blue across his face.

"Nice tattoos, Archangel."

He forced himself into the cool calm of the moment before he pulled a trigger and shrugged lazily. "Blue's my color."

Her eyes shifted to the dancers around them, "So how long were you going to leave a girl in the dark?"

He also pretended to watch the other dancers. "Till I killed her at a later date," he said. His voice was so low it would have been barely audible over the music, but would be clear over her comm.

She smiled blandly at some onlooker, "Ah, very gentlemanly of you. Vakarian."

"So you actually had no idea who I was?" He asked, glancing at her.

She didn't bother to meet his gaze, "I didn't care who you were. Well, not until you started shooting at my squad as well as me." Then her eyes flashed back to him, examining the side of his head and his eyes. She made a small noise of interest. "Looks like you have a thick helmet as well as a thick skull."

"It was a lucky shot," Garrus sneared.

"Oh was it?" she demanded, "so we spend weeks shooting each other and then you injure my people, and when the next shot I take at you finds its mark it's lucky." She spat the last word at him, anger burning in her eyes.

Garrus growled and then added, "You said you were lucky."

She snorted and looked away from him angrily and muttered, "I swore I was going to crack your carapace open if I ever saw you alive again."

His jaw tensed. With her biotics it wasn't an outlandish threat. "I don't think that would go over very well with the rest of the guests."

She gave him a deadly smile. "I don't know, the krogan in the room might find you to be a suitable addition to the shrimp platters."

Garrus snorted. "Are you sure you're human?"

She cocked his head, "What else would I be, exactly?"

His eyes roamed up and down her dress, the sharpness in her gaze almost enough to distract from the rest of her, to stop him from thinking about what was under the dress….almost.

"Bizarrely unarmored, flat toothed….tiny krogan?" He said with a squint.

"I am not tiny," she snapped.

"For a human, no," he agreed, "for a krogan...tiny."

"Because I bite?" She asked. There was a challenge in her eyes, and he could tell she was not referring to the first time she'd bitten him like a half mad varren but the time that…

Garrus sucked in a breath and focused his attention on a krogan musician. "No. Because you are bloodthirsty and impulsive...and frustratingly hard to kill."

"Grumpy, turian?" she asked.

"Determined," he corrected. She took a deep breath and seemed to refuse to look at him, never missing a step of the dance. The silence gnawed at him for some reason. They swept around other couples in intricate circles, broke contact briefly to match hands with another turian and asari before coming back together. "What?" he asked at last as she placed her hand in his again, a cold edge in her eyes. But she didn't answer and something twisted in his gut. "I am doing my job."

"My friend could have died," she hissed. He frowned. He'd needed something big to knock the krogan out, but it was a krogan, there was no way it wouldn't have been fine, and the quarian-

"I contacted medics as soon as I'd made the shot," he said, not sure why his voice was quieter than he had intended.

She glared at him.

"She risked minor infection-"

"One in three quarian die from minor infections," Shepard snarled.

"And sometimes innocent lives are the cost of taking out the guilty," he barked.

Her lips were tight as she stared at him for a long moment and then she said darkly, "Now who's deciding who lives and dies?" She dropped his hand sharply, eyes bright and said, "as pleasant as this dance of ours has been, Archangel, you'll have to excuse me. You were correct about your poor company, and I have bigger things to worry about than you tonight." She bowed to him and swept through the couples who continued to gawk at her and off the dance floor.

Garrus watched her go, her shoulders spread wide, head up and confident. He wasn't sure when he had started breathing hard. He made his way to the bar, leaning on the edge as the asari bartender took his order.

"Strongest shit you have," Garrus growled, glancing around the room.

"Woah, turian," she said, eyes widening, "someone give a shove to that stick up your ass?"

"What?" Garrus asked with a snarl.

The asari shook her head, passing him a drink, "It's a party, dude. Plate-faces like you aren't exactly easy to read but it's clear that your grump-"

"I am not-" Garrus snapped. But the bartender merely raised an imposing eyebrow at him and held out her hand for his credit chit. He swore and paid for the drink before turning his back on her.

Their strongest was ryncol. Of course it is. He went to take a drink but the sharp odor hit his nose-

Jacket sticky with spilled alcohol, arms hanging limp, a head lolling into the crook of his shoulder...no burning green eyes...her jaw relaxed, it looked almost delicate instead of sharp, her expression peaceful...red hair tickling his cheek…

He put the glass down, seething internally for a hundred different reasons, the least of which the ridiculously inflated price of the drink he was definitely not touching now.

"Well you're not dead," said a voice next to him, "so I guess that didn't go over as badly as I expected." Garrus didn't look at Appolis. The other turian rolled his eyes and nudged Garrus with an elbow. Garrus heard Appolis sniff the air and immediately rounded on his fellow officer glaring furiously at him.

Appolis held up his hands, "Ok, ok, sorry," he said.

"This goddamn night needs to end," Garrus said, pulling at the tight collar of his uniform. He was strangely hot, felt like his head might explode, and was far too aware of Appolis' eyes on him.

"What are you going to do?" Appolis asked cautiously.

"Get some air," Garrus said, pushing the untouched ryncol towards the other turian and nodding to it.

"No," Appolis said, "I mean tomorrow…:

Garrus gave him a long look, mandibles tight against his jaw, "I'm going to be a turian and follow orders."

He stepped away from the bar and began to edge along the sea of swirling couples.

"Garrus," Appolis called, and with a frustrated sigh Garrus stopped and looked over his shoulder.

Appolis was shifting nervously back and forth from foot to foot, "I think...I think she might be telling the truth." Garrus felt his face heat, "I'm sorry, I-"

"You don't need to be sorry," Garrus said in a low voice, "she's fooled wiser people than you." and then turned his back on Appolis.

He needed to get out. Get away from the watchful eyes that had been following him since he danced with Shepard, get out of the heat and noise of the hall. He began making his way along the edge of the dancers. Couples were laughing, the scent of various alcohols and the perspiration of other species filling the room. The plates along his hide strained against his tight uniform to vent his body's excess heat, making his skin feel like it was crawling. Laugher and excited voices echoed in the large space. Garrus felt lost in the cacophony of joyous life around him. He and Shepard might be able to see what the gala really was, could see the strategic moves being made, the games for power played with lives, but everyone else here… For them, the Citadel had been saved and that was it. Even Shepard's crew seemed to be under the evening's spell; the quarian was dancing tipsily with the dark haired biotic and the krogan was roaring with laughter at something the pilot had said, the asari in the purple dress wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. Garrus felt very alone, and actually felt more uncomfortable than he had when he was dancing with the Commander. That had been...strange...but he'd felt grounded, awake, sharp, his every sense focused on her, able to block out everything else. Now...now he was drowning, untethered in the tide of the blind and the foolish.

He started up a small set of steps that lead to a balcony, spirits kissed cool air flowing in from its open doors, but something at the edge of a step caught the light and his attention. There was a small silver cylinder lying on the marble of the stair, a hair's breadth from the lip and in danger of tumbling down towards the dancers. It was maybe the width and length of his first finger.

Instincts from thousands of hours scouring crime scenes took over; Garrus glanced around, making sure no one was about to try to use the stairs, then gracefully sank to a squat on the stair below the cylinders perch, craning his long neck to study it further. He could see a depressing mechanism at one end, and a small aperture at the other. It looked medical, likely designed for storing and delivering a substance. But it was unmarked, which was an immediate red flag. Drugs mistakenly dropped by some narcotic-hazed guest at the party? But he was familiar with most of the drug distribution methodologies on the Citadel, and the most popular ones from Omega that inevitably trickled their way here. And he'd never seen one like this before. An abandoned medical cylinder would be marked, engravings or labels with the prescribing doctor or authority, lines of information about dosage and eventual disposal. But there was nothing on the eighty percent of the exterior he could see.

Garrus extended the sharpest points of his talons and carefully took the cylinder between their ends. He lifted it, rotating it so he could see the other side. It was entirely unmarked. His eyes narrowed and he sniffed.

Citrus, lilac, gunpowder.

Garrus snapped to his feet, glancing around the room.

Unmarked cylinder. That smelled like her. On a night when she was the guest of honor, being thanked for her service, something she'd immediately used as an opportunity to shame the Council, an opportunity to-

Where was she?

There were a few other humans in hues of blue, but none in that strange ever shifting twinkling fabric. She was gone. If this contained some kind of delayed-action substance...had bowed out of the party early...after impressing so many by attending at all with the state of her back...and doing supporta strata under the watchful eyes of everyone in the room… Who could reproach the poor thing for leaving early when she had honored them by coming at all. And leaving quietly? Her strong pride was public knowledge, so it was unsurprising that she departed without fanfare.

His eyes flashed from one exit to another. The doors to this patio were low, obscured from watchful eyes by the evershifting vortex of guests.

He took deep breaths as he leapt the rest of the way up the short stairs - if he could follow her, find her, led by the trail of her fading scent before she-

But he froze as he reached the door and spotted a figure on the balcony.

"Shit."

He could hear her voice over the rustling of fabric, "oh come on Moria, shit, shit, shit!"

Garrus didn't fully step out of the doorway, just shifted his weight so that his body was silently positioned to see out onto the sweeping balcony. Shepard was by the railing, the stars and lights of the other arms of the citadel in the distance behind her. The reflected light off the arms painted her in hues of silver, making the ornamentation of her hair and dress gleam. She was searching her skirts for something.

"Come on…" she growled, "pockets, you were so excited there were pockets, so you slipped it into…"

"Looking for this?"

Her head snapped up when she heard his voice, eyes narrowing, body tensing - and then her face contorted in pain, hands wrapping around the balcony railing, knuckles white with the force of her grip on the metal bar.

"Fucking turian ass-" she groaned thought gritted teeth, then turned her head slowly to look over her shoulder at him as he stepped out of the deep shadows of the door.

Her back was almost worse out here. The silver of starlight brought the scar tissue of old wounds to life and darkened the scabs running down her back making them almost like they were fresh. He felt his own free hand clench and his crest dip at the sight. Her eyes focused on the cylinder in his omni-tool'd grip, and intense relief flashed across her face.

"Thank the fucking gods," she said, a slight pant to her voice, "either give that to me, or kill me. Just make up your mid quick, cuz I can't take much of this."

Garrus blinked. "You...want this?"

She scowled at him, not shifting from her position at the railing, "Yes, I want it," she said frustratedly.

He shifted his weight. She'd been fine. She'd been fine barely half an hour ago and insisted she was fine.

"What is this?" he asked coldly.

"None of your damn business," Shepard snapped.

He snorted, "An unmarked cylinder was found unattended at a public event where the entire Council and countless other dignitaries are present. It is absolutely my business."

Shepard cursed, then closed her eyes for a moment. There was sweat at the edge of her brow. "Its...its nothing like that you ridiculously overprotective, puffed up-"

"Then what is it?"

She gave him a long look, lips and jaw tense, weighing her options. Then her face contorted with pain again. "Slipstream," she managed through gritted teeth, "it's fucking slipstream, so just give it to me and write me up later."

Garrus' brows raised in surprise.

Her eyes opened, bright and angry. "Please," she said quietly, groaning as she extended a hand.

He didn't move. Those eyes close, pain in every line of her face. Then the tense silence of the night air was broken by her shaky breath as he placed the cylinder in her hand.

She panted as she yanked at the skirts of her dress with one hand, pulling them up nearly to her hip to reveal long golden legs, crisscrossed with scars like the rest of her. She held the cylinder to one thigh and quickly pressed the button on the top with a thumb, body trembling slightly as the tension across her face slowly eased and her breath slowed.

Garrus watched her, mandibles tight against his jaw, "You know that stuff will slowly kill anything but krogan, right?"

But she just laughed, "yeah well…" she breathed a long sigh of relief and then her bright green eyes met his, "Do I strike you as someone who's gonna be around long enough for a slow death?"

He knew she didn't need him to answer.

"You dependant?" he asked, leaning against the railing.

"Not yet," she said with a cold smile. "I'm...careful."

"There is no being careful with slipstream," Garrus said firmly.

She shrugged "It's a lesser evil."

He tilted his head. "And the greater evil?"

She was leaning on the railing again, that golden leg once again concealed by the swirling skirts. "Other people dying." She studied him out of the corner of her eye. "You didn't have to give that to me," she said quietly. She looked down at the long drop to the gardens some thirty meters below this balcony, "could have hip checked me off here. I wouldn't be able to stop you and...with what's in my blood it would have been written off as an unfortunate withdrawal accident."

Garrus shrugged, "I want credit for killing you when we're on equal footing."

She eyed him for a moment, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "yeah...I'd want that too." She looked at the ground, "is that why...I woke up after the night at the bar…"

Red hair sprawled across the bar top...an alcohol soaked leather jacket…. Vid screens showing the carnage on Earth, thousands missing, most presumed dead…body soft and limp in his arms….

"No," he said quietly.

Her eyes lingered on his, "what's your name?"

Her trembling had stopped, breathing slowed, but she looked tired as if weighed down by far more than a ravaged back.

"Garrus."

"Garrus," she repeated slowly. Something stirred within him. She gave him a small smile. "I can move again without feeling like I'm gonna die," she said, "and we're alone."

"Yes…."

"Are you going to try to kill me?"

Silver lights danced across the waist and bust of her dress with each slow breath she took, and the night breeze was making the numerous locks of hair that had escaped the pins and clips wave softly across her silver and gold shoulders. And her eyes...there was peace and calm, for once, in her eyes.

"No." He said. She took a deep breath and pushed off the railing. Her scent wound into the very core of his being, and he turned and started towards the door.

"And tomorrow?" she asked.

He stopped at the edge of the shadows of the balcony. They cut a stark line against the tiles of the floor, a stark contrast to the dancing bright gold light cast by the political circus of the gala inside. He looked back at her one last time, at the wild creature of the night now leaning on the rail, watching him, arms crossed, head tilted to the side, those skirts of liquid night sky flowing in the gathering wind.

"Yes."

Her emerald eyes were bright, red lips lifting in a satisfied smile, silver scars on her face and the silver of the dress winking like stars.

"Good...I missed you watching my back."

He turned away, fighting his starstruck spinning mind, and crossed the line.