Running Silent:

Ways to Release Tension

…

An alternate ME3. Commander Shepard and her team are on the run from Cerberus and trying to make alliances before it's too late. In a galaxy with no reaper kill switch, how can they hope to defeat something so ancient and powerful? Their last hope is a desperate plan that may cost them everything. Shepard/Garrus, other side pairings.

…

Disclaimer: This author in no way profits from the writing of this story. All characters, dialogue, or other referenced material from the Mass Effect trilogy belong to Bioware.

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Everyone steered clear of the cargo bay after Shepard returned from her meeting with the Citadel council.

Her rage could be heard from the engineering deck as she pummeled the punching bag. Unbeknownst to her, Miranda had already arranged for a replacement in anticipation of its untimely demise—which was a good thing, as Shepard had no intention of stopping her assault until the voices of the council no longer echoed in her head.

This isn't the first time you've asked us to act without sufficient evidence, Shepard.

Shepard swung with a grunt. But I've been right every fucking time. She gritted her teeth and slammed another fist into the punching bag.

You've made these assertions before, Commander. Nothing has changed.

She wanted to scream. Everything's changed! We're out of goddamn time! How many reapers do I have to kill for you to believe me?

All of them, she was guessing.

I believe you, Shepard, but my hands are tied.

Weren't they always.

She pushed herself harder, trying to forget the disappointment in Councilor Anderson's eyes when she said she wouldn't be returning.

The Alliance could use you, Commander.

She gave the bag a roundhouse kick that connected with a satisfying smack. She knew they could use her and she wished she could go, but she was trying to do what was best for the galaxy. She wasn't where she wanted to be, but she was where she needed to be.

Yep… right here in the cargo bay, beating the shit out of a punching bag. Smack.

…

A crowd had been gathering at the windows that overlooked the cargo bay.

"She's been going at it for hours," Donnelly said, sounding awed. "I wouldn't want to get on her bad side." A couple of crewmen nodded in agreement.

Miranda paced behind them. "Someone's got to go talk her down. She's going to harm herself." Normally, Miranda would consider it her own responsibility to do so, but even she didn't dare approach Shepard in her current state.

"Well I'm not bloody going," said Zaeed, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. "She'll run out of steam eventually."

"I'm with the old man," said Jack, jerking a thumb at the mercenary. "She's going to beat the shit out of anyone who goes down there. May as well let her go."

Kasumi materialized by the elevator. "We could get Garrus," she suggested.

Tali shook her helmet vigorously. "He's on duty right now. She'll be pissed."

Zaeed chortled. "She's already pissed."

At that moment, the sound of lumbering footsteps came from the port cargo hold. Everyone turned to see a seven-foot-tall krogan coming towards them. "What's all the noise?" Grunt asked bluntly.

"The commander is just expressing her hatred of exercise equipment," Kasumi quipped, motioning toward the windows. Crewmen didn't hesitate to get out of the krogan's way as he stepped up to see for himself.

"Shepard's meeting with the council didn't go well," Tali supplied helpfully.

"Does it ever?" scoffed Jack. "Assholes."

Grunt watched for a few silent moments before turning to the elevator. "I'm going down there," he announced.

Miranda put a hand on her hip. "Planning on talking her down?" she asked dryly. At least she didn't have to worry about Shepard injuring him.

"No," the krogan answered and grinned. "Looking for a fight."

The elevator doors closed behind him, leaving a shocked group of crewmen in his wake. After a moment, Grunt's form appeared in the cargo bay below, doing what none of them had dared—approaching their angry commander.

After a few moments, Zaeed broke the silence. "Fifty credits on the krogan."

…

Grunt laughed out loud as he twisted and flung Commander Shepard off his back. Blood trickled into his eye, but he hardly noticed. Nothing like a little blood rage to get things going.

As soon as he'd explained what he'd come for, Shepard had fallen into a fighting stance, her water-colored eyes burning like fire. She was too wound up to bother with pointless questions.

He baited her. It was fun. She would fly at him, arms and legs and fists, and he would laugh and throw her off. Then she'd come at him again, without any of her usual skill and finesse. Shepard was practiced at honing her anger into a weapon, but today it overflowed its bounds and left her fighting wild and loose. Most krogan wouldn't notice or appreciate those kind of things, but Grunt wasn't most krogan.

He hadn't chosen to follow her simply because she'd helped him with his Rite of Passage. He followed her because she was the best at what she did. On any other day, she would have come in under his radar and hit him before he realized she had lifted a finger. She would have dodged his blows and slipped gracefully from his grasp, flowing around him like a river wearing down a stone. It was something he'd learned about her early on—you had to land a blow on Shepard before you could beat her, and it was really damn hard to land a blow on Shepard.

She fought with none of that finesse today. She took every blow as if she didn't feel it, flinging herself against him like waves breaking on a shoreline. Her anger was no longer a weapon, but a weakness. It was Grunt's responsibility as krantt to help her overcome it. What better outlet for her rage than a krogan who could regenerate as quickly as she could attack?

When she finally tired out, it came on suddenly. Instead of jumping up from the floor like she had a hundred times before, she just stared up at him from where she lay, her blue eyes watching him gratefully as she realized exactly what he'd been doing.

Grunt didn't know much about humans except what had been imprinted in the tank. Mostly how to kill them. But he had this human memorized. She was sweating and bruised, and her reddish hair was stringy and wet around her face—but he hadn't seriously damaged her. He never would.

"Battlemaster," he said, reaching out a hand.

She took it and pulled herself to stand. With a piercing look, she reached up and squeezed his arm affectionately. Her silent thanks came through loud and clear.

He watched her as she walked to the elevator and rumbled a pleased sound to himself. Now if he could only get that turian to spar with him, things just might get fun around here. Heh.

…

"So what do you have planned now?"

Garrus glanced up to her eyes only briefly before he returned to tracing the line of her naked body with a careful talon. Propped up on an arm, she watched the silvery finger traverse the exaggerated curve from waist to hip. She was tempted to seduce him—again—just to avoid the question. "You're not going to like it," she warned.

Garrus shrugged. "Anything is better than sitting here waiting for the reapers to show up," he said. Still impatient, even after all this time. An indulgent smile ghosted across her features.

"You may not say that when you hear what I have in mind." Her smile dropped, supplanted by a hesitant look. "When we're done on the Citadel, I… I'm going to split up the team."

"What?" The turian's eyes shot up, her tantalizing curves all but forgotten. "Why?" He stared her down, his eyes begging, demanding, that she not say what he feared.

Shepard met his gaze as levelly as she could, trying not to rise to his emotional bait. "If the council won't help, we need to go over their heads to the governments directly, or anywhere else that allies can be found. It would be inefficient and take far too long to do it one by one, Garrus," she said preemptively, putting her hand over his on the bedspread. She didn't want to send him away either, damn it, but he was just making this harder.

Garrus averted his gaze. "I'm not going, Shepard." No justifications, no arguments, just refusal.

She huffed in frustration. "I will tie you up and roll you out the airlock over Palaven if I have to, Vakarian."

His eyes darted back to hers, a small strangled sound escaping him. "But, Shepard—"

"But nothing, Garrus," she cut him off firmly. "We have to do this."

He gave her a turian frown. "I don't have any pull in the Hierarchy, Shepard. Certainly not after leaving C-Sec and disappearing for two years. There's no point in me going. My place is here, with you," he said fiercely.

Her heart ached at those words. She knew how he felt about leaving her, what he feared would happen if he did. But they couldn't let their feelings get in the way of what they had to do. They didn't have that luxury. They never did.

She held in a sigh and soldiered on. "I seem to recall you mentioning that your father had some contacts high up," she reminded him. "And even if nothing comes of it, you ought to go to see your mom."

When Garrus's mandibles flared at her comment, she winced and waited for the reprisal. But there was none, not in the form she'd expected. Garrus didn't ask where she heard about his mother. He didn't raise his voice or even speak at all. He just stared at Shepard and waited for the guilt to get to her.

It worked, damn him.

Her eyes fell to her hand where it rested over his, feeling his gaze burn into her but not daring to look. "Liara has very little understanding of boundaries," she explained wryly. "And she thought she was being helpful, sharing what she found with me." She glanced up at him then. "I had a talk with her about it afterwards, but what's done is done." She bit her lip anxiously.

This time it was his eyes that slid away from hers. "How much do you know?" he asked, sounding distant.

Shepard shifted uncomfortably. "I know she's sick, and that you pulled some strings to get her into an experimental treatment program." She didn't detail to him the chat logs and messages, all the things she had intruded upon. This was bad enough.

He nodded slightly. "She leaves in a few weeks."

She watched him with soft eyes. "Don't you want to be there to see her off?" she asked gently, squeezing his hand.

He was silent for a long moment, gazing off into the distance. His eyes fell to their hands clasped together before he raised them to meet her own. "Yeah," he finally agreed. "I guess I do."

…

Miranda and Tali were ganging up on her.

Miranda and Tali. Together.

Had she finally lost it? Was she dreaming? Because this was one thing she never saw coming.

The two of them blocked the exit from the XO's office with their arms crossed in identical stances of resolve. "Twenty-four hours, Commander," Miranda said dryly, gazing at Shepard with detached amusement. "It's not a death sentence."

Shepard scowled at her XO and crossed her arms right back. "It's not fair to the crew," she argued. "I can't go on shore leave while everyone else is working." She ran her fingers habitually over the part of her sleeve that had formerly carried the Cerberus logo. She could still feel the raised outline where the patch had been sewn on. She wished she couldn't. Shepard let out a frustrated sigh.

Tali's attitude was as immovable as her stance. "Chakwas is still unsatisfied, Shepard, and the crew doesn't grudge you some extra shore leave," she insisted. When had the young quarian become so bold? "Everyone knows how hard you've been working." Tali stepped forward to place a hand on Shepard's arm, but Shepard stepped back with a glower. This sympathetic crap was so not going to work.

"And Garrus?" Shepard pressed. "It's okay for him to just skip out on the last day of repairs?" Another failed angle. She wasn't just going to take her boyfriend out on a field trip while others were working.

"I already told you, Shepard," Tali huffed. "We don't need him right now. He always does extra hours on that damn gun anyway." She placed her hands on her hips, obviously frustrated.

Beside her, Miranda's lips quirked into a small smile. "He's not getting off easy, Shepard," she told her. "No one envies him the assignment of keeping you away from the ship for twenty-four hours."

Shepard shot her XO a dirty glare for that one, no matter how true the words were. No matter that she was absolutely proving Miranda right at this exact moment. No matter that it would be all but impossible for Garrus to keep her off the Normandy.

Unbidden images started to rise up in her mind. Extreme measures might be necessary…

A pair of old C-Sec cuffs held her fast to the bedposts as he stalked around the hotel room, angry at her for running off to the ship again. He'd stripped down to the plates, all silver spikes and angles. His fluid movements seemed even more so without the armor weighing him down and hiding the predator's body that lay beneath. He gazed at her with a dark look in his eye, climbed onto the bed above her, and whispered in her ear something about punishment for bad behavior.

If Garrus had been in the room, his visor would be alerting him to the fact that her heart rate had just spiked and breathing had become slightly labored. Luckily, Miranda and Tali were blissfully unaware of her brief drift into fantasy.

"Just go, Shepard," Tali insisted, taking her extended silence as a stalwart no. She dragged her towards the door to Miranda's office, pushed her out, and thrust an overnight bag into the commander's hands. "I'll radio you if we need anything at all."

"You two are the worst officers ever," Shepard protested, trying to hide her sudden change of heart.

From the other side of the door, Miranda smirked. "When your shore leave is over, feel free to strip us of our positions." And the door slid shut, effectively ending the conversation there.

Mutiny, she decided on her way to the airlock. That's what this was. She really shouldn't take mutiny laying down, but…

She struggled against the cuffs, her arousal heightened by the sound of his warning growl. He ran a tongue along her collarbone, and she shuddered.

Hell, she might take this whole shore leave lying down.

…