Whenever Jane was home, and not traversing the Wastes, she kept her radio tuned to Nose for News, Omega's unofficial news network. Usually to listen in on Garrus's antics. And laugh at all the idiots whining about his interference. Then Wusagi broke her omni-tool. Twice. The last time was so bad that Pogg, their resident fixer-of-doodads, couldn't fully repair it. Now every time she turned it on, the thing crackled and popped – all audio had to be discerned through a thick wall of static. Truth be said, it was almost a relief. At least she no longer felt obligated to try and figure out things that were beyond her. She felt less stupid too. And all she needed it for was sending messages, looking up random crap, and music. Although sometimes her frustration over not being capable of hearing the latter made her want a new one. Sometimes.

At least the mic hadn't been damaged. And she could still send messages to Garrus and the team through text-to-speech. Wusagi's path of destruction had been constrained to the speakers and portions of the onboard keys. But it was damn hard to make out unfamiliar voices.

So when a plot against Archangel was announced, her ears didn't quite pick up on the gravity of the situation. It sounded like the usual 'grr Archangel bad' crybaby bullshit, something she found endlessly entertaining. Plus, this was her first day back home, having returned from wrangling two live banthas. It was simpler just to kill them in her opinion, but Wrex was dead-set on civilizing the place, which meant learning things like agriculture and rearing livestock. So they were tasked with dragging a breeding pair back to camp.

Suffice to say the beasts did not come easily. Thankfully, Wrex assigned several of his men to the endeavor – the ones who weren't afraid she was on the verge of devouring their souls anyway. So it's not like she was alone. But it still took several weeks of tracking, trapping, then trying to maneuver two, several-ton wild animals across a desert.

Jane was redirecting the wayward toddler from her Klixxen egg, which the 140 lb four year old was far too focused on for her comfort, when the message repeated. Hearing it for the second – perhaps third – time allowed the words to come together. For a sickening moment, she froze. Not quite believing her ears. "Archangel problems? Bzzt Bzzt. The Blue Suns, Blood Pack, bzzt Eclipse are on it. Bzzt need you! Bzzt hundreds of fighters to bolster bzzt numbers. See -"

She bolted out of her den, Wusagi trailing behind, and all but slammed into Kiash. "Wha got you-a tail girl?"

"I need … I need to … I need Wrex. Now."

She was halfway to the cave's entrance by the time that sentence was completed. Urz emerged from the cavern at some point, sensing his mistress's distress. They bolted for the trucks, Urz licking at her hand as she hollered for someone, anyone, capable of driving – then all but launched herself into the hold. Only noticing Urz when the 280 lb beast tried sitting on her. He was promptly and biotically shifted to the floor.

The vehicle lurched over the dunes. Her teeth clacking with the motion. By all accounts the base had been discovered and was now under siege.

Garrus and Ripper were beasts on the battlefield but the rest? No way they could withstand a fight like that. And Nalah. She froze. For just a moment, she wasn't a hardened warrior but almost a child in her fear. It didn't merely course through her. It shattered her. Nalah, sweet, soft Nalah. The woman who nursed her back to health. The woman who, through gentle persistence and care, lead her to realize that she was finally somewhere safe. With people she could trust.

Nalah could never survive that.

She bit down hard on her tongue, copper seeping through her mouth. It was all she could do to calm herself. To stop the shaking.

When the Tomkah came to a halt, Jane burst forward and practically charged towards the throne. It took two hours just to travel from the female camp to the male's. She didn't have that kind of time. Her ass needed to be on Omega. Yesterday. When she stormed into view, Wrex shot her a knowing look then sent off whatever asshole was pestering him. Gatatok Uvenk by the looks of it. That scaleless hump had better stay the fuck out of her way today. The only reason she hadn't killed him was Wrex. But today was not a day to test her.

"Been expecting you," A low rumble from a ramshackle throne.

"I need to get to Omega."

"Gonna be a problem Junior. The only Urdnot with a ship is Ratch. And he's at least four days out from Tuchanka. I sent for 'em. But he won't get here in time."

"I don't fucking care!" Her voice pitched. A sharp, echoing sound that set the men's teeth on edge. Wrex watched them from the corners of both eyes. They crept backwards, mumbling about the wraith and the wrath of Shiagur. Good. Their fear remained. "Build a gods-be-damned ship then. I'll get whatever you need! I'll scour the wastes for materials! There's all sorts of shit left from the war!"

"We need aerospace engineers, techs, and a lot more. Even if we had that, building a ship would take years."

She stared at him and he watched hope die in those large, Shepard eyes.

For a few minutes all she did was glare. Angry. Hard. A snarl coursed through her in the form of a tremble, upper lip curling in rage. Then she turned on her heel and stormed off. One of his guards inched too close, curiosity probably, a flash of blue and he landed in the varren pit. Ensuring that the rest gave her a wide berth.

She was a rare sight in the male camp for good reason. The men never really accepted her. But they damn well learned fear.

Shepard

This plague was bad. In an effort to stop, or even slow its progress, people were welded into their homes. Bodies were piled in the street and burned. They were controlling this old-school. And it wasn't working. Shepard found a batarian not far from a stack charred corpses, he perished next to a gallon of gasoline and a matchbook, choking on his own vomit. And if that weren't enough, those who remained (humans and vorcha) had descended into anarchy. It would be awhile before the area returned to normal – whatever normal was for this dilapidated station anyway.

Now he and his team were loitering around Mordin's clinic while he packed. Mainly he was trying to absorb the salarian's take on the plague. He was convinced that the Collectors were behind it – a fact that peaked his interest. Although, Mordin's explanation for why humans were a poor candidate for testing flew so far over his head it wasn't funny. Mutagenic peaks far too variable for blah blah blah. He'd go over the report later, with the extranet and a medical dictionary on hand.

Reaper tech wasn't enough. Now they had to worry about reaper-manufactured plagues.

Zaeed was playing with one of the instruments. Some silvery-thing that looked like it belonged in an operating theater. It seemed to have a will of its own and after fiddling with several dials, clamped down on the bounty hunter's nose sending him flailing. "Goddamn motherfucking son of a cunt!" He screeched. "Get it off me!"

Mordin disabled the contraption, snatched it, then tossed it into his suit-case – a patchwork thing that was barely holding together – all while delivering a lecture at a pace so fast he could barely discern words. Something about the dangers of automated surgical instruments in the hands of a cloaca.

Shepard was leaning on the far wall, enjoying the show, when a sniffling, bedraggeled woman caught his eye. Her stiff gait made it look as though she were walking on deadened legs. Her eyes were blood-shot and swollen. Grey hairs sprouted from a messy, unkempt bun. She caught his gaze and he could see the raw, desperation in her eyes. "Are you alright ma'am?"

"You… you look like you can fight."

He snorted. "You could say that."

"P-please. I don't know where else to turn." She flicked on her omni-tool and tuned it to the local news. Omega's three major gangs were advertising contracting positions for a thorn in their side – some vigilante calling himself Archangel. "He's been in there for three days. I don't know how much longer he can hold out. P-please. I know my husband's dead. He couldn't survive this. But Archangel doesn't deserve to die. P-please help him! I'll give you everything I have, it's not much, god knows it's not, but I own a -"

"I'm real sorry ma'am but I'm not for hire."

"Neither is he! Please all he tried to do was help and… and…"

"He's one of your dossiers," Miranda interrupted.

Shepard started a little. "Didn't have a chance to review them all. You're saying he's a recruit?"

"If he'll help. As far as we can tell, he has a rigid set of morals. I'm not entirely sure he'll join a Cerberus mission."

The other woman stiffened at that. More gray strands escaped the unkempt bun.

Per usual, Miranda barreled onwards oblivious (or uncaring) of anyone's discomfort. "He seems to take a hard line on batarian slavery though. And was instrumental in freeing numerous slaves then shipping them off to Citadel Space. So we thought he might be amenable to you, if not Cerberus."

"I'm liking this guy more and more."

"Mmm yes. Archangel." Mordin arrived, fully packed and quickly walked up to the disheveled woman, arm outstretched. "Please Nalah, lie down. Not slept in days."

"I'll sleep when he's okay! When … when anyone left is." She choked and swayed. Steadied by two salarian hands, suitcase now forgotten at his feet.

"Hush hush," he guided her to a nearby cot. "Will do what I can. Will convince commander."

She didn't say anything though. The only sound from her came in short, little gasps. Body wracked with dry sobs.

Once she was settled, Shepard turned to Mordin. "So you know this guy?"

He nodded. "Good man. Bit of a cloaca though. Shoots first, asks questions later, always thinks he's right." Mordin paused, glancing around as if to ensure they were out of anyone's earshot. He spoke in pitched, salarian whispers. "Have suspicions about identity."

"Oh?"

"Archangel turian. Extensive experience with Alliance hand signals and protocol. Interest in liberation and care of batarian slaves. Started digging. Stopped when body language over..." If he had more experience with salarians, or at the very least this salarian, Shepard would have noticed the hesitation. However, from his perspective, it looked like a quick pause for breath. "Over … disagreement about particular ex-slave suggested secret dangerous. Salarian body language -"

"Get to the point doc."

"Think his identity Garrus Vakarian. A friend yes?"

"Woah, woah woah. Garrus? Grey plates. Blue colony paint. Always wears a visor?"

"Matching description."

Shepard spun, hollering over his shoulder. "Double time people. I just learned Archangel may be my good friend Garrus. We're gonna punch a hole in the merc's line and get him out."

The way that woman nearly fell off the cot all but confirmed it. She was on the com with what sounded like her daughter and stuttered through her response. "You'll never make it time sweetheart. And you know who's after you… They're here. And I can't handle losing you too. Please just stay where you are. It wouldn't matter anyhow. By the time you get here, it'll all be over."

"I said now!" He bellowed, pushing his way through the crowd and into the Gozu District. Mordin gave him directions to the base, but when he entered the coordinates into his Omni-Tool, EDI immediately butt in.

"The route you mapped out is impossible Commander."

"What do you mean impossible?"

"The Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Blood Pack have the area cordoned off. All trespassers are killed on sight. The entire district is under military guard. All civilian traffic -"

"Okay, okay, I get it. How about you tell me what IS an option?"

"I am updating your nav point. Here you will find a recruitment officer for the operation."

Shepard snatched Mordin's suitcase, threw it over his shoulder, and radioed their tech expert, Kasumi, to meet up with them. He also ordered a few staff members to pickup the salarian's belongings. They didn't need to be weighed down while facing what sounded like an army of mercs.

If Garrus's life weren't in jeopardy, the whole situation would have been hilarious. These mercs were throwing everything they had at one guy and coming up empty handed. It was a testament to both their brute-force incompetence and Garrus's skills.

Speaking of, the turian was mowing down everything and anything that moved – switching from a mounted machine gun to a sniper rifle. The second anyone set foot on the bridge, he'd unleash. Getting in was going to be tricky. Mordin called Nalah, who provided them with directions to some underground passageways. But the damn mercs knew about it. They were probably lying in wait.

"Zaeed. You mentioned knowing some of these guys?"

"Tarak."

"The leader?"

"That goddamn terrorist is no leader of mine."

"Personal issues aside, can you infiltrate one of his teams? The bridge is too risky for the whole squad."

"You're banking a lot on him recognizing you." Miranda interrupted. "By all reports, he's been trapped for 74 hours and is likely delirious."

Shepard sighed. "Maybe. But Garrus is one of mine. I have to try. Mordin, you two know each other?"

"Yes. Should recognize me."

"I don't like the idea of risking you, but the situation is desperate. I want you on the bridge with me, helmet off. Kasumi?"

"Here Shep."

"I want triple shielding on both me and the doc here. You know what? Make his quadruple."

"That'll take away from your own kinetic shielding..."

"Double is enough to get me to cover if he starts shooting. I'm not risking the genius critical to countering Collector technology anymore than I have to."

"On it."

"We'll also need you to keep coms up. The mercs are running jamming. And I expect you to do all this while running your stealth net. Can you handle it?"

"Please Shep, I've got it."

Shepard waited until Zaeed had successfully talked his way onto the infiltration team. The Suns leader even agreed to permit Jacob and Miranda on the squad – citing 'good business' with Cerberus. Then motioned to Mordin and Kasumi who followed him onto the bridge.

Garrus's eyes stung with exhaustion. The world wobbled and swayed every time he blinked, attempting to bring the battlefield into focus. This was the end for him. He knew that. But he'd make these bastards pay. Every, last, one. They say you only see a turian's back when he's dead on the ground. And he damn well planned to measure up, to make them suffer for everyone they butchered. He'd fight until his dying breath.

What he didn't expect was that crazy salarian to come storming onto the bridge. He studied him through the scope for a moment, wondering how he escaped the plague zone and what on Palaven could possess him to commit suicide, when a merc in N7 garb, spectre black, emerged next to him. A walking insult. He loaded his rifle and took aim, futilely trying to blink away the gritty, sandy feeling in his eyes. But then the merc pulled off his helmet and glared directly at him – all while mouthing 'stand down.'

Red, blazing beacons for eyes. His entire face was cracked with an odd pattern he couldn't make out at this distance. But there was no mistaking the person who stared back.

His rifle faltered.

Clearly, he lost his mind. He did his best to sound sure – confident – when he spoke through the com and told his father help was coming. But the truth was, he didn't want his family to hear his delusion. His final moments. Didn't want to haunt them more than he already would.

The base was a mess. Filled with so much smoke and dust that Shepard could scarcely see two feet in front him. He nearly slipped on a collection of what looked like color-pencils and sketchbooks. Half of which were charred, embers floating through the air, as if someone bombed a teenage girl's room. Maybe they had. Haunting violin music drifted across the space. The lights flickered.

It felt like something straight out of a horror movie.

"Someone shut that music down. We're blinded. We don't need to add deaf to the list."

Miranda found the culprit, some recording equipment, but it wouldn't respond to commands.

"Then shoot it." Shepard ordered, making his way up the stairs.

They found Garrus in a sniper's perch, surrounded by dozens of quillin vials, the dextro version of amphetamines. He'd been running on stims for days, and Shepard could see the tell-tale tremble course through his arm as he lined up a shot. Not that he missed. Even though it took longer than one would expect from the marksman, his aim remained impeccable. His Mantis cracked through the din, while they fired into a squad of mercs.

Not once did Vakarian acknowledge him. They simply fought, side by side, sniping mercs as if no time had passed and it was an ordinary mission. Of course, given that the mercs were mid-push, they were preoccupied. But after the wave had been put down, his non-nonchalance continued until it grew borderline unnerving.

Garrus allowed Mordin to take his vitals, stealing a few glances here and there. The first hint at acknowledgment yet. Shepard caught his eye and they stared at one another for a moment before John broke the silence. "Hey man, you… okay?"

Garrus growled, clenching his rifle.

"Well, I appreciate you not shooting me."

"An old friend come to guide me to the other side? Didn't seem a… hospitable choice. Like my base Shepard?" He laughed, it sounded closer to a wail. "Made 'em pay for it though."

Mordin leaned in to whisper that Garrus's heart-rate was erratic and he was in the cusp of a dangerous arrhythmia. Barring immediate evacuation, they needed to stabilize him with fluids and rest. Also, under no circumstances was he to have more stims. He passed the safety threshold a long time ago.

"So how will this work?" Garrus interrupted, rubbing at the base of his fringe, leaving smears of … something behind.

"You're gonna lie low while we blow these mercs to kingdom come." Shepard answered.

His voice was warmer now, a low rumble in the chest. "Sounds good to me Shepard. One last fight. A proper send off. Just tell me something before their next push."

"Go for it."

"Is a merc stomping on my cerebellum right now or are you really a spirit of the afterlife?"

"Garrus I'm real. And I'm gonna get you out of here."

He chuffed. "I doubt that. But it sure is good to see a friendly face."

Mordin was thankfully carrying medical supplies in a compact, easily transportable pack. He quickly set up an I.V., which required the use of some sort of spreader to peel back the shoulder plate. Garrus quietly complied. But he could feel those eyes following him, studying him.

"Can you give me the lay of the land here? How do we get you out?"

The turian shrugged. At least he was amenable to playing along. "They'll slaughter us if we try crossing the bridge. And the tunnels beneath the base were collapsed … well when this thing started. They tried digging through but I managed to lay more ordinance beforehand. They regretted that decision."

"The other half of my squad's down there, taking out the infiltration team. Are they in danger?"

"Nah. I ran out of bombs awhile ago."

Shepard paused, drinking in his surroundings. There were some serious creds poured into this place – military grade hardware, reinforced steel shielding, hell even the sniper's perch held an embrasure with a series of openings for both the machine gun and riflemen. The whole thing was designed to permit bullets heading out while minimizing their chance of entering. There was an escape hatch, for quick bridge access, but that was it. The place was a fortress. It was a wonder the mercs breached it at all. And hard to see how Garrus wouldn't have had a chance to escape at some point. "How'd you let yourself get into this situation?"

"My emotions got in the way of my better judgment. It's a long story."

"How about we get you out of here and you can tell it to me?"

The fighting was brutal. It seemed that the crime bosses were intent on emptying Omega of every Tom, Dick and Harry. How many misguided fools would he put down before the day ended? A consideration that floated through his mind when they had a moment to breathe.

He assigned Zaeed and Jacob to the ground floor where they were responsible for killing anything that slipped passed them on the bridge. And Shepard ran back and forth to reinforce whichever line was in need. Plus, the mercs kept jamming their coms, forcing them to communicate the old fashioned way more often than not. Kasumi would counter it, but it took her more and more time as they tossed up increasingly sophisticated firewalls.

They managed to draw out two of the merc bosses. And Garrus howled in celebration when Garm kicked the bucket. Shepard should have known that that was when things would go to hell. It always happened right when you thought the mission was under control.

Using the combined firepower of a few dozen mechs, drones, and a gunship the Blue Suns managed to toss a few picric bombs on the embrasure. Once the metal weakened, several ascension cables latched on and pulled the thing off, leaving the barracks completely exposed. Kasumi and Miranda hit the deck then shimmied through the door – ensuring they were safe from the blast. But Garrus was sluggish. Exhausted. He got caught behind some sort of half-blown planter when Tarak unleashed, shelling the entire room.

When the smoke cleared, Shepard could make out Garrus crawling towards the door, a blue smear in his wake. But he couldn't reach him, not with that damn gunship looming above. That's when the it discharged again, hitting the turian with a rocket straight to the face. No way that didn't rip through his shields. Not that he could focus on that at the moment. If he wanted to stop Garrus from bleeding out, they had to take out that ship. Fast.

After a few minutes of heavy, albeit brief, fighting they brought down the gunship and Tarak with it. The thing exploded, with the batarian asshole still inside. "Zaeed," Shepard called over his shoulder as he raced towards Garrus. "Make sure that bastard's dead."

Garrus was a mound of eerily still turian. He wasn't moving, or breathing for that matter. John rolled him to his back, noting the extensive damage to the face and neck. The right mandible was attached to a strand of sinew and nothing more. He was about to check for a pulse when Garrus started gasping, clutching at everything around him. "Hold on Garrus. Just hold on." Then he started trying to fight, oblivious of his surroundings. Shepard held him in place while Mordin went to work. With a single motion, the salarian snipped off the mandible and placed it in a frozen medpack. Then he grabbed his kit and packed the wounds. But they couldn't use a compression wrap without restricting Garrus's already labored breathing - which was a problem. Blue blood pooled around his knees.

"Radio the Normandy, make sure they're ready for us." His hands worked fast to unbuckle Garrus's armor, allowing Mordin access to his chest – where, true to his suspicions, Shepard found a mess of blue. Bullet wounds. As if one life threatening injury weren't enough. Miranda hurried over and helped Mordin pack and wrap the wounds in compression dressings.

The rest was a game of time and chance.

Garrus

He woke slowly. Overwhelmingly bright lights being the first thing to greet him. The second was an all too familiar voice – but it couldn't be. "Easy does it now. You're fresh out of surgery. Can you tell me where you are?"

A curtain was pulled around the bed, easing the harsh lighting a bit. But it was still awful. Painful even. His hand rose above his one, working eye to try and ward it off better. Half his face was buried under bandages.

"Oh." A chuckle. "I suppose that was a silly question all things considered. How about my name. Lets start with that."

"Doctor… Chakwas?"

She smiled. "Good. Your memory's intact. You gave us quite the scare Garrus."

He blinked. Well, winked all things considered.

"What do you remember about the events leading up to this?"

Only a dead spectre and a mad scientist teaming up to save his hide. Oh, and the two Cerberus operatives. Couldn't forget that insanity. "It was crazy. It was all crazy." The words were muddled and incomprehensible though. The bandages were restrictive, tight, and his mandible wouldn't... was it gone?

"Hey, now. You're safe. Just lie back down."

A warm feeling flooded his veins. His head was heavy. His chest was heavy. It all became overwhelming and he fell into a deep slumber that lasted for two days. The next time he woke, Dr. Chakwas and Mordin were there. Talking among themselves. The salarian raced up to him, shined an unbearably bright light in his eye, had him make a fist among other things, then announced that he'd make a full recovery and rushed out the door.

Garrus turned to Dr. Chakwas. "This… this looks like the Normandy medbay but that's… impossible."

She sat on the adjacent bed and told him the story of Shepard's recovery, Tali's involvement, and even informed him that Joker was aboard.

Then she gave the bewildered turian a standard-issue omni-tool, which he requested not only to check his mail but get certain affairs in order – like informing his men's next of kin. Sure enough, there was a message from Tali – along with several from Jane.

From: Talizorah_Vas_Neema
To: Garrus_VK2180

Garrus,

Shepard's alive. I've been helping with his… medical state. I don't really know how else to put it, but that's where I've been. He doesn't know all the details about his condition – but it was bad. Very, very bad. Cerberus put him back together then manipulated him into working with them.

Bottom line is, he needs our help. I'll be back with the fleet soon and by all accounts, prepping for my own mission. I'm not sure how long I'll have.

Please, reach out.

It's really him. I promise.

Tali

P.S. He doesn't know about you-know-who yet. Cerberus gave him a second Normandy to command but installed an AI aboard. That thing is everywhere, listening to everything, and it's not like I had time to secure a safe zone from it. Besides, you earned that one. And it'd be good for him to meet that batarian friend of yours, don't you think?

Shepard needs to know soon though – especially considering Cerberus's interest in our friend.

From: JaneDoe82
To: Garrus_VK2180

Garrus it's all over the news. Tell me you're alive. I'm logging onto messenger as soon as I can. They're saying the team was wiped out. I've never wanted anything to be wrong more. But if anyone can make it out of there, it's you. (Sent with text to speech.)

JD [19:41] Garrus? (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: [19:44] Seriously. If you're out there respond. (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: [21:03] I have to go on a hunt tomorrow or the clan doesn't eat. (Sent with text to speech.)

Following day:

JD: [06:11] TELL ME YOU'RE ALIVE. (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: Gods fuckign dammit. Stop writing caps I'M NOT THAT LOUD! (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: STUPID SHIT MACHINE! I SAID NO CAPS! (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: WAIT ARE YOU SENDING THIS?! Fucking omnitool bullshit. I should've let Wusagi smash your ass. (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: STOP SENDING. (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: DELETE. (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: I can't wait any longer. The tomka is idling, but I can get sketchy satellite connections from time to time. (Sent with text to speech.)

JD: Ratch says he'll have his ship up and running in a week. You better message by then or I'm going to Omega and sifting through rubble. Right after I kill every merc on that rock. (Sent with text to speech.)

GV: I'm alive.

Of course, as soon as he pressed send, Shepard walked in. A few moments later, the omni-tool chimed, letting him know Jane replied. Then it chimed again and again and again.

"Friend of yours?" Shepard queried.

It was unreal. "Yeah. She just wants to know I'm alive." He sent a quick reply that he'd call her in a bit before turning back to Shepard.

His eye peered over the screen, and took a long, hard look at the man standing before him. Jagged, red scarring extended from scalp to chin, burning through flesh. An artificial blaze of red in the irises too, but there was no mistaking those eyes – green flecked with amber, reflecting the light – Jane's eyes.

Shepard certainly looked as though he went through hell. And somehow, someway, they fell into their old routine. Even if the jokes were nothing but a thinly veiled denial of the anguish welling inside – far more brutal than any physical wound.

Garrus nodded in Chakwas direction, "she won't give me a mirror. How bad is it?"

"Hell Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and no one will notice."

"Probably for the best." He chuffed. "The ladies were always ignoring you and hitting on me. Time you got a shot at it."

Shepard pulled up a chair, snorting in amusement. "In all seriousness though, we have a top of the line lab. You're scheduled for another surgery in two days for a cybernetic eye. You won't see color out of it, but it'll work until they finish growing you a new one."

"And by they, you mean Cerberus."

Shepard rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah. I need people who aren't with them to keep me honest. And… well… when you're better, I was hoping you'd join me."

"I'm in Shepard. This scratch won't hold me for long."

"You … don't even know what my mission is."

"Let me guess, it has something to do with the reapers – your one, true love."

Another snort. "Even so, I thought you'd be more worried about Cerberus."

"There are things you need to know. And as soon as we're off this ship, I'll tell you all about it. But I can't exactly question your judgment not after…" He trailed off, mumbling. "Not after getting my whole team killed." The last time he was in a bed was that fateful morning on Omega. Now he was cruising in the Normandy SR-2 with a dead friend. Hard to believe this wasn't some sort of quillin induced hallucination.

They spoke a bit longer, mostly about the Collectors, and what was found on Freedom's Progress. The rest was Garrus trying to portray his men and their mission on Omega. Their bravery. Their heroism. Turning ordinary guys into fighters who could stand up to the gangs. But he fell hopelessly short of the mark. And how could he explain one batarian's benevolence with that damn AI listening in?

After Shepard left, he rang Jane – voice only as he didn't want people worrying about the injuries. From the few glimpses he caught in the window's reflection, more than half his face was in bandages. His right eye was… gone. And the mandible on the same side was sewn to his jaw. Its functionality couldn't be restored for at least two months, if it could be restored at all.

She answered immediately. And his voice caught, having to say what happened made it all the more real. "Jane… I'm so sorry to tell you like this. I… I'm the only one who made it out. Nalah wasn't there though so she's okay. Physically at least."

"I know." Her voice was soft.

"You.. knew?"

"Those shits filmed the siege. It was broadcasted yesterday when they… well they claimed you were dead. Nalah and I were on the com the whole time. Before that, when they were advertising, they boasted about having killed the team. We figured they weren't lying given how long you'd been pinned."

"They were broadcasting?"

"Yeah. It was… sick. Twisted. Garrus I… look I spoke with Wrex. You and Nalah can stay with me. We'll have to set camp away from the main base. Turians aren't exactly… well you know the history. But you have a place here. Nalah too."

"Dammit I need to see her in-person. But we left the system while I was still unconscious. It'll take me days to get back."

"Just call her. Let her see you're still breathing. As for Frank… she knows. I'm sure it'll help to hear it from you. But she has no illusions about him surviving. Don't make her wait any longer."

When she pressed him that he needed to contact Nalah sooner rather than later, he ended the call and went to work on a few arrangements. Then it was time. He had to take several, calming breaths before his talons stopped shaking long enough to dial. She answered on the first ring. And immediately sent a request for vid. "I need to see you. I need to see with my own eyes that you're alive."

He hit accept.

"Oh Garrus."

"Looks worse than it is. Promise."

She ran a five-fingered hand down her face, closing her eyes in the process. It was almost a relief. The whites of her eyes had been completely replaced by what looked like bloodied veins. "Just say it."

This felt wrong. So very wrong. When someone dies in the service, rule number one was that you inform their next of kin in person. Doing this over a vid-call was blasphemy. But what choice did he have? "I'm sorry to inform you..." Too formal. He paused. Heavy breaths. "Frank… didn't make it. He was killed in the initial push, defending the base and everyone in it. He died a hero, Nalah. And he… he didn't suffer."

For awhile, there was no sound between them other than Nalah's broken sobs. It tore through him. Every sharp intake of breath. Every shudder. Her whole body seemed to collapse in on itself. It was all his fault. Her anguish. His death.

He waited patiently while she heaved. Waited as she exhausted herself in grief. Only speaking when it died down, absorbing every sound that came from her. Committing it to memory. "There's more we need to discuss. Where are you right now?"

"I'm… I'm at home." She sniffed. The word sounded stiff, unnatural. For over a year, home for the Butlers had been the base. They were getting ready to list their old place when the attack happened.

"You need to start packing. I hired some guards. These are friends from my military days, and well trusted. But if you'd prefer I come back-"

"What are you on about?"

"I can't leave you on Omega alone."

"Oh, I'll be fine."

"No you won't. And Frank would … he wouldn't want that. You have a condo waiting for you in the Tayseri Ward on the Citadel. It's right next to C-Sec, so there are regular patrols. It's a safe area, and a few blocks from a clinic a friend runs. If you like, I can put in a good word for you."

"That's… too generous. I can't accept that."

"It's already done. I bought the place before I called. And it'll be in your name the second you sign for it. I will not leave you there."

She was quiet for awhile. Staring at something off-screen. "I… understand. But I… need some time. I raised my family here. Everything is here."

His craw constricted at that mournful sound. It was anguish. Pure anguish. "Take your time. Whatever you need."

"I thought you said there were people coming."

"They'll be there in the morning and they'll look after themselves. I don't want you worrying about it. They're staying at the local motel and will run regular patrols around your home. But if you need more time to pack or say good bye or whatever it is … you have it, alright? Let me know when you're ready and I'll buy you a transport ticket. They'll come with and ensure you make it to the Citadel safely."

"Garrus… how can you afford this?"

"We raided a couple casinos."

"And then used that to build up the base."

"Let me worry about it. Alright? This is nothing more than Frank's hazard pay. He wanted you safe more than anything. And I damn well plan to honor that."

After he was finished speaking with Nalah, he called Jane back to explain that he had a place and couldn't come stay on Tuchanka. But promised to visit the first opportunity he got. Jane didn't really seem convinced. Of anything. Probably thought he lost his mind. Then again, maybe he had. Over and over, his mind would jump to the possibility of this being some sort of quillin induced hallucination. Although, that would call everything – including this conversation – into question.

Besides, he was too emotionally and physically spent to care. Real or not, the only thing he could control was his response to this shit show.

They hung up when she caught wind of his exhaustion. Apparently, Nalah had already messaged her about his injuries and her impending move to the Citadel. It was good to know that they still spoke – a reminder that Nalah hadn't lost everyone at least.

Next on the list was Weaver's girls. Issue was, he knew next to nothing about them - other than the fact one was in grad-school and the other worked as a dental hygienist. And to his great shame, he had to admit that there was nothing he could do without getting in touch with his old C-Sec contacts - most of whom perished during Saren's attack on the Citadel. Weaver phoned them every Sunday. It was a Monday. He'd already missed one scheduled call. How long before they began worrying, wondering what happened to their father?

The sleep that visited him was cursed. And not even close to the hell he deserved.

It seemed Shepard was intent on avoiding the talk Garrus was absolutely itching to have with him. Or perhaps the galaxy was intent on keeping him from having it. Either way, a week passed and he still hadn't managed to corner the commander out of Cerberus's earshot. They even acquired a new potential. Some krogan super soldier Shepard was keeping on ice for the time being. Shepard went to Korlus hoping to pick up some insane scientist, one who dealt in Collector tech no less, and wound up with an overgrown paper-weight.

Then there was the cybernetic eye – something he was still adjusting to. It was jarring, not to mention counter-intuitive. Strangely, his issue wasn't with color. Unless he covered up the surviving eye, he couldn't even tell that he was colorblind in the right. Chakwas said it was because the brain viewed the cybernetic eye as deficient, leading the left one to become dominant. And somehow the brain filled in the gaps. It was remarkable when he thought about it. But he did have issues. Not with vision but head aches and nausea. Sometimes dizziness. He was on his way to the main battery the other day when he smacked into a sleeper pod. Then had to cling to it for a few moments, waiting for the spinning to subside. Add in the intense head aches and he wasn't exactly fit for combat.

Understandably, Shepard hadn't taken him on any ground-side missions. But when a few geth incursions emerged on the fringes of Terminus Space, Garrus requested to tag along, repeatedly, on a vehicle-heavy mission in the hopes of cornering him alone and away from Cerberus. Shepard agreed when he promised to remain in the vehicle. And Garrus was almost giddy with anticipation. Several creative versions of how he would break the news flooded his mind. He could start with teasing, something along the lines of: wanna buy me a bar? Oh, yes, oh yes you do. Or watching him react to a blunt-force approach, Hey you're sister's alive and a total bad ass living on Tuchanka. And if I don't visit her soon, she's probably going to throttle me from one end of the planet to the next. So move your ass!

Then he realized that the AI had a node in the vehicle and began questioning his own sanity. What the hell was he thinking? Cerberus had been after Jane since she was a child in Datmar. He was not going to lose the one good thing that came from Omega due to further negligence on his part. It was all a moot point anyhow, as Miranda insisted on coming as well to 'check out the Hammerhead's performance.' But at least the mission gave him something to do other than dwell on the crushing responsibility of their deaths or the fact he widowed one of the kindest, gentlest souls he ever knew.

Every time he closed his eyes, the faces of his men haunted him. Their pained, last breaths scratching against his skull. Most nights he couldn't sleep at all. And when he did it was horrible. His unconscious mind filled with frenzied images – death, dismemberment, charred human skin – that only seemed to grow more deranged with time. He'd wake up, keening in the darkness. The hum of the Normandy vibrating through him. But to go from such a devastating loss to blowing up geth with Shepard was unreal. It gave him a sense of detachment. Allowed him to push on.

More than once, he pondered over the possibility that he was dead and this was some sort of after life. It wasn't so bad, though. Putting down synthetic bastards with an old friend seemed like heaven. And that's not what he deserved. Not after leading ten good spirits to their doom.

One thing that slammed him back to reality more than anything was dealing with Shepard's driving. If there was any lingering doubt that this was the one and only Commander Shepard, it evaporated the moment they barreled out the Normandy's cargo hold and into a geth armature, which the commander decided to ram then torpedo a few times for good measure. True to his nature, Shepard put down the platoon with utmost force. Then sped across a canyon searching for survivors of the onslaught, heedless of the Hammerhead's damage.

"Shepard we're on fire!" Garrus clamored from the passenger seat.

"Oh just slap some omni-gel on it."

"That doesn't really work anymore!"

"Are you kidding me? First thermal clips, now this garbage. Where the hell's the wrench?"

"Maybe if you stop throttling us over cliffs, I'll be able to find it!"

"It's not secured? That'll put a hole in a head!"

"I don't know where the blasted gear is stored and I can't exactly look while being slammed into-" As if on cue, Shepard brought the Hammerhead to a spinning stop. There was something to be said about a vehicle that maneuvered with thrusters – especially one driven by Commander Shepard. Garrus and Miranda stumbled out, dizzy and weak-kneed from the rapid deceleration. Of course Shepard was fine. He clomped onto the sandy earth without so much as a wobble. "I see your distaste for driving hasn't improved."

"Shepard, I'll follow you anywhere – the ends of the galaxy, to the reaper's nest. Whatever shit-filled hole you find. But I have one ask."

"What's that?"

"Hire a damn shuttle pilot."

"I'll take it under advisement." John snorted as he walked to the ridge overlooking a sprawling canyon. If not for the plethora of toxic waste, the planet would be almost pretty.

Miranda popped over and showed him where the gear was stored – under the seat – for easy access should he need to make repairs or re-calibrate the guns. With the way Shepard drove, shot, and generally handled the Hammerhead that would be desperately needed. Garrus carefully noted where every instrument was located then turned his attention to the commander.

His commander who was smoking of all things – something Garrus had never seen him do. Even so, if it wasn't for Tali's message insisting that Shepard needed their help, he would've left well enough alone. There was a dynamic between a commander and his subordinate that Garrus was more than happy to fall into. The last thing he wanted to do was play leader. Never again. Still, he sucked it up and sparked a conversation. "Any idea what the geth are up to out here?"

"Hell if I know. I woke up a couple weeks ago. Two weeks. And I find out it's been two damn years. Over three hundred thousand colonists have vanished in that time. All those lives abandoned for what?" He paused, wiping the sweat from his brow. And a look crossed his face, eyes crinkling with emotion, all held under a guise of calm… it was all so Jane… that the next thing Garrus knew, his talons were squeezing the man's shoulder, sub-harmonics thrumming, in his old comforting gesture.

Shepard's eyebrow slowly rose towards his hair line.

They stood there awkwardly staring at one another before Garrus jerked back, coughed into his hand, and verbally stumbled around for what felt like an eternity. "Uh, yeah. It's good to be shooting up geth again."

"Certainly better than killing something that bleeds." Shepard just shook it off, as if nothing happened.

But on the ride back, the commander turned to him. "Garrus, do you need anything?"

"Nah. I've got a solid supply of dextro rations."

"Not what I meant. Look, after Torfan I took some time. It did me a lot of good. We can drop you off somewhere let you rest-"

"I'm good commander. Honestly, working is the best medicine for me right now. Though I'd like to grab a beer sometime."

"We've got a bar on deck two. It's under lock and key for most of the crew, but you're not on active duty yet. We could grab a drink later."

"Like I keep saying, off ship."

"That again?" He sighed. "Anderson messaged me, insisting that I come to the citadel. Guess we have some time to burn while Mordin works on the countermeasure. Dark Star still around?"

"Yeah. We can talk there."

In retrospect, Garrus should have realized that nothing goes as planned when Shepard was involved.