"You owe me for this one Vakarian." It was 06:00 and Shepard was sitting on the underbelly of his calves, his legs were completely folded up underneath him. The posture made Garrus shudder. How was it possible for knees to bend that way? "Are you even paying attention?"

"Yes sir. Sorry sir."

"Sir? Really Garrus? Focus. Your talons will only get you so far, as I so eloquently demonstrated to Saren's broken face. It isn't about brute strength but knowing when and where to strike your opponent."

"You're not even standing si… Shepard."

"Oh for fuck's sake are you two princesses gonna fight or what?" Wrex meandered into the mess, which had been converted into a sparring arena. "I wanna see Shepard wipe the floor with you turian."

"Wrex." Shepard chastised.

"What?"

"We're sparring. The point of this exercise is mutual learning, not fighting."

"Come on. You could put the turian on his ass in less than ten seconds. I got lots riding on this."

"Wrex."

"Shepard."

"Sit down and shut up."

"Now Vakarian, come at me." Shepard ordered.

Garrus charged towards Shepard's seemingly relaxed form. Before he even reached the commander however, the man rolled, flipped and launched himself, foot first, into his vulnerable abdomen. The motion knocked the air right out of him and the next thing he knew, he fell ass backwards onto the mats. Shepard was there in an instant, his boot hovering directly above the turian's throat.

"Out" Shepard smirked. "Still think you're the top hand to hand specialist on this ship Vakarian?"

"Kick him again for good measure! Show that turian whose captain!" Wrex bellowed.

"Wrex I swear to god. Get out or I mean it you'll be landing on Tuchanka in an escape pod I blow out The Normandy's hull."

"Going. Going."

"To be fair, that was more foot than hand action commander." Garrus snarked from the floor.

Shepard offered a hand and pulled him up. "Alright grab those gloves and a helmet. I promise this doesn't involve any bending."

After that display, Garrus was certain he made the right decision asking Shepard to sponsor him. He received the letter of acceptance into the spectres' training program a few days prior. And he wanted to learn from the best. He pulled on the mitts. They had an odd texture. Rubbery. Soft. And both the helmet and gloves had to be specially crafted to fit his turian angles. "So what did you call this form of human sparring again?"

"Boxing. It's useful in teaching one how to make a hit count. You're a solid hand-to-hand specialist. But not the best. You fight in the exact same manner as all turians, which is a weakness. Anyone familiar with turian military protocol knows exactly what you're about to do and will counter it."

"How hard are we hitting with these mitts on?"

"I want caution. No injuries before a ground-side mission. The punching bag is where we aim our heavy blows. Now, the first move I'm teaching you is 'hook.'" Shepard oriented himself in front of Garrus. "The driving force from this move comes from the hips. And it's a doozey. It's a blitz attack that can outmaneuver most blocks."

Garrus watched intently as Shepard gently demonstrated against the large, plush bag. "Remember us humans don't have the concentrated strength of a turian. When you punch, where does the driving force from your blows originate?"

"Shoulders, chest, and arms."

"If a turian caught me with my guard down, such a blow would do a decent amount of damage. But what if a turian who was actively blocking were to take one from a human putting their entire body into the hit?"

"Is this where you're gonna do the monkey thing and hit with your feet again? Because I can't replicate that."

"Very funny Vakarian. No. Only the dominate hand connects. The power from the hook comes from the rotation of my legs, hips, and core." This time Shepard let loose. Pivoting from his right foot, Garrus watched as the man's body became one with itself. Fast as lightening he sideswiped the bag.

"1421 PSI" The VI chimed when the blow connected.

Mimicking the movements, Garrus took a turn at the punching bag.

"1211 PSI"

Thinking he just landed a winning blow on his first try he quickly spun towards Shepard, with his arms above his head in a victorious cheer.

"Really Vakarian?" The commander had crossed his arms and was giving Garrus a stern glare.

"What?"

"You're a turian. You should be doubling my score easy. Remember, the force travels through you in the following order feet, legs, hips, and core. Now go again."

"1399 PSI"

"You're relying on brute strength. This is a dance."

"Fuck that VI. And I've seen you dance Shepard. This is a far cry from it. Although, your comparison certainly explains a few things." After six hours of re-positioning and practicing movements before turning his power on the punching bag, Garrus was becoming breathless.

"I'm calling it. We're right back here at 06:00 in three days."

"Shepard?"

"Yeah?"

"Tali will kill me if I don't ask. She's been on my ass like a vorcha on fresh meat."

"Spit it out Garrus."

"You okay?"

That seemed to catch Shepard unawares. "Sorry. It's none of my business." Garrus quickly tried to withdraw.

"No. It's….I'm not used to people giving a crap."

"Better get used to it. Look, we've all been through hell and back together. The Normandy is like our own little dysfunctional family. And you're the glue that keeps us all in line."

Shepard opened his mouth several times. But nothing came out. When Garrus was certain he was about to give up. The man found his voice. "Our ground-side mission isn't until the day after tomorrow. How about we do this over drinks?"

"You read my mind."

One great thing about sparring in the mess was easy access to alcohol. They quickly mixed electrolyte enhancing drinks then dumped several shots of liquor into their concoctions.

"Bottoms up." Shepard toasted before swallowing a few mouthfuls.

"Let me show you how real men drink Shepard." Garrus snorted and quickly downed half a liter of liquid.

"Really Garrus? A drinking competition? No way that could go sideways."

"Everything's a competition. But if you're forfeiting..."

"Hell no. You're on Vakarian."

They continued until each had emptied their sports canisters. Dropping all pretense, Shepard grabbed a pair of glasses and two bottles of liquor. They both inhaled several more shots.

"Ever fail Garrus? I mean really fail?"

"Have you met me? What do you think I was doing at C-Sec?"

"Writhing against rules and regulations."

"That's one way to put it. But in reality, I was smidgen away from being fired."

"Your talents were wasted there anyhow. I'm talking about truly failing."

"Right now, are you my commander?"

"We're sitting on the floor of the mess halfway in the bottle. No. We're equals in this moment."

"Then what the ever loving hell are you on about Shepard? I've never seen you fail at anything. It's honestly a little annoying."

"My father." There was a pregnant pause. Garrus remained silent. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. "He literally died to give me a chance to save Jane. And I blew it. Twice."

"Shepard, that's a load of shit and you know it. First off, you were facing overwhelming odds on Mindoir. And the Rotund? What could you have possibly done differently?"

"Gotten there sooner. How many side trips did we make during our hunt for Saren? A Dozen? More? Hell, I lost count. If I had Tali decrypt that data right after our mission on Terra Nova, we could have been there in time."

"Sure. Maybe if you played it that way, you would've found Jane. However, The council would have known the second we reached Terminus Space and you'd have been stripped of your command and grounded before we even learned Sovereign was a reaper. The galaxy would be in pieces and life as we knew it would have ended."

That seemed to satisfy Shepard. He relaxed and leaned back on his elbows, gazing absentmindedly at the ceiling. "It's funny. You can become exactly the man your father raised you to be and still feel like a complete disappointment."

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Oh?"

"I rebelled against everything my father taught me. I'm pretty sure I started disappointing him at age ten."

"I doubt that."

"Then you don't know my father."

"This is true. Well, here's to being a disappointment."

"And being damn proud of it."

They sat there for a few minutes, content with the silence. Garrus wasn't sure what to say but found himself unwilling to lose this new found kinship with Shepard. "Hey, next time we're on The Citadel, you up for getting a drink and shooting shit with Wrex or something? The krogan has been bellyaching about my not allowing him to use the shooting range back at C-Sec. I figure with a spectre by my side they're less likely to arrest us both."

Shepard knew what Garrus was up to. And maybe it was for the best. Punishing himself for failing Jane wasn't productive. The most baffling part about the whole affair was how she was within a hair's grasp and then was ripped away in the fraction of a second. Maybe he needed to take Liara's advice for once and practice some self-care. If she weren't so young and obviously in love with him, he'd be more than happy to take her up on the offer of a frolic between the sheets.

What occurred on the Rotund was frustrating, certainly, but he'd take that anger and forge it into ammunition against the slaver scum soon to be wiped off the map. And if the Alliance found out, they could kiss his hairy ass. If it weren't for Anderson, he probably would've been dishonorably discharged before he caught the council's eye. Even at the beginning of his career in the military, he always pushed the line. Anderson was the one superior who could see past his seemingly reckless ambition. There were threats in this galaxy that called for extreme measures.

"Drinking and shooting up C-SEC? I guess I can lend my spectre authority for a worthy excursion."

"Shepard, that last one is gonna have to be my final mission or at least close to it." Wrex and the rest of the team were dismantling their armor, now covered in a sickening slick goo from their planet-side mission to wipe out a geth outpost. "I gotta head back to Tuchanka now that I have my family's armor."

"We'll get it done Wrex. That said, Hackett needs us urgently in the Amada System. An entire squadron of alliance ships went missing there over the past month." Shepard was peeling off the last of his gear and tossing the bits and pieces onto the workstation for cleaning. "Can you hang on another week? I promise Tuchanka will be our next stop after we deal with the synthetic boogey-men."

"Yeah. Might as well get a few more shots in. Not like I'll get to slaughter geth and slavers like this again. Good sport. Say, we takin' shore leave after that? If so, I'll hang on until we leave the citadel."

"We've hit all the slavers we're capable of for the time being. So, yeah. Looks like we're due."

They attacked a mining base a few weeks earlier. Unfortunately, the surviving slaves were in incredibly poor condition. All had to be sedated and Chakwas had doubts they'd be capable of fully recovering given their extensive injuries. What was shocking was that the camp mainly consisted of captive turians. Normally, the batarians abducted levo-based slaves exclusively. Yet, they found a dozen chipped and severely beaten turians working the mines. They traced them to a fast and brutal slave grab on Triginta Petra. The Hierarchy wasn't even aware of what happened as the missing turians were assumed to have fallen prey to the planet's barbarous conditions. Many colonists died in the wastes where the combination of harsh winds and sands rapidly enveloped bodies.

Liara was painstakingly scrubbing grime from her favorite pistol. "Why do the geth pick the absolute worst worlds to bunker down on?"

"They choose harsh planets on purpose to lower their chances of encountering organics. It's not like they need to concern themselves with toxic environments or un-breathable air." Tali chimed in.

"That was a rhetorical question. Although, I suppose it makes sense."

"We have what, two days before we hit the Omega Nebula? I vote we blow off some steam with a few rounds of cards and some hearty drinks." Garrus was in need of a break. Between the geth and the slavers they were all working double-time.

"Now you're talkin' turian." Wrex eagerly whipped out his flask of Ryncol and tipped it into his mouth. "Coming Shepard? Even the damn commander needs a break now and then. I have some lager from Terra Nova I been savin' too."

"Sorry to rain on your parade, but I want everyone sharp for this. I don't like that we have three missing ships. The geth might be gearing up for something massive." Shepard snatched Wrex's flask, secured the top, and sharply strode towards the elevator. "No drinking in the meantime. If you need to relax, try sparring."

When the doors closed Wrex decided to offer his latest analysis of their leader. "Never thought I'd say it, but the commander has a larger stick up his ass than you right now turian."

"For the last time, it's Garrus you lug."

"He took my flask, turian."