Running Silent:

The Old and the New

…

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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Tali'Zorah vas Normandy entered the airlock of the Neema with no small amount of apprehension. The last time she'd been onboard the Migrant Fleet had been her trial. She'd been acquitted of the treason charges, but that wouldn't be enough to exonerate her for everyone. There would always be the occasional sideways glances and mistrust. Accused was as good as guilty in the eyes of some.

She walked through the old familiar hallways, remembering when she'd chosen this ship for her new home. The return of a successful pilgrim was cause for celebration, but she hadn't had the heart for it then. She'd been delaying going back for months, not wanting to leave Shepard and the Normandy just yet. There was always one more thing to work on—geth attacks in the Traverse, a tweak to the drive core. And then there was nothing.

Just a broken ship and a lost crew, driven apart by their own grief.

She'd boarded the Neema while still in mourning, but had found a sense of peace in Flotilla life. She found purpose in work, ships that needed her skills more than the Normandy ever could. She found comfort in friends she'd known since childhood. She found pride in being chosen for missions of importance, being entrusted with the command of others. She found her place, her rhythm, until the day Shepard came crashing back into her life, turning everything upside down once more.

Her thoughts ended abruptly as she reached her assigned bunk and locker in the singles quarters. The few things she owned were quickly stowed, leaving her to wonder what to do with the rest of her first day back. Only moments after she sat down on her new bed, her omni-tool pinged.

Heard you were back and I called up the girls! A sleepover, for old times sake? Don't make me resort to bribery. I've got snacks and Fleet and Flotilla.

Ana'Tiva

An unbidden smile rose up behind her helmet at the image of the four of them all stuffed into the tiny living room of Ana's family quarters.

It better be the sing-along version, she wrote back.

Her friend's prompt answer—Of course!—made her grin.

…

Jack, Jacqueline Nought, as her official papers now stated, tugged at the standard-issue uniform with a scowl. She should have fucking turned this down when she had the chance.

What the fuck was she thinking, agreeing to teach kids? She didn't know shit about kids. Her own childhood was a fucking mess. She was going to screw them up for life, she just knew it. This was going to be a total disaster.

When she told the director of Grissom Academy as much, the blond woman just smiled. "You'll have to cut back on the swearing," she told her. "Otherwise, I think we're going to be just fine." And the woman walked away without another word, expecting Jack to follow.

She was going to kill Shepard for talking her into this. Fucking destroy her. And that spiky boyfriend of hers too.

…

Mordin Solus showed up on STG's doorstep and was immediately offered a job.

Odd, he thought. Have to investigate.

When he asked for an audience with the dalatrasses, they said yes with no hesitation and no questions—except to insist he take on the STG project.

Mordin wasn't put off by the lack of illuminating details or forthright information. That was STG's way. No, he was only intrigued.

"Have to be done in two Earth months," he'd told them. "Commander Shepard is waiting."

His relentless curiosity made him agree even though their answer had only been, "Maybe."

…

Zaeed smiled to himself, lounging at the hotel pool in full armor.

People gave him odd looks. Hah. Like he was there to swim.

No, Zaeed Massani was just enjoying the show. He tossed his credit chit at a blue beauty in a waitress uniform. "Another one of those purple fizzy things, love," he told her, admiring the sway of her ass as she walked away.

Goddamn incredible way to spend his Cerberus pay if he didn't say so himself.

…

Miranda Lawson smiled, a smile that lit up her face and softened her usually cold expression into something nearly unrecognizable. "Oriana," she greeted warmly.

"Sis! You should have called sooner! How did your mission go? What are you doing now?" The younger woman's face lit up with a similar smile, not so out of place on her more open countenance.

Miranda shook her head impatiently. "The mission went fine, Ori. Don't worry about that. I don't want you involved in my work."

Oriana gave her an exasperated look. "Randa…"

"You know I hate it when you call me that," she reprimanded. Miranda attempted to shoot her a glare, but it was hard to be angry at her sister. The girl just grinned.

Miranda reflexively smiled in return. "How is school going? Last I saw, your marks were high. I guess you got over that boy in history. Danner, right?"

"You know its creepy when you spy on me like this, right?"

Miranda's smile softened. "I just like to look out for you, Ori," she said. "Now, you were telling me about school?"

Oriana rolled her eyes. "Yes, fine," she gave in. "I'm definitely over Danner. But I met this guy at a club—"

"You go out to nightclubs?" Miranda interrupted, alarmed.

"I'm at university," she protested. "Of course I go to clubs. Now if all you're going to do is lecture me…" Oriana trailed off, giving her sister a look.

Miranda sighed, trying to remind herself, not for the first time, that she was not Oriana's mother. "So the boy from the club. What was his name?"

"Only if you promise not to look up his medical records and test scores, Miri."

"Alright, Ori," Miranda said, not quite a promise. As long as she didn't use that information it wouldn't matter, right?

She was just looking out for her baby sister, after all.

…

Grunt spent the entire shuttle ride down to Tuchanka talking about his mating requests and what he was going to do about them once they touched down.

Shepard tuned him out around the time he started recounting some of the more… explicit details of the messages. Her relief upon landing was palpable. Shepard had never in her life been so eager to step out into a nuclear wasteland.

The moment the shuttle doors opened, Grunt was off like a shot, more than eager to get a move on. Shepard couldn't say she minded much. There was only so much talk of krogan sex she could take before she had to bleach her brain. As Grunt was escorted away, Shepard made her way to see an old friend.

She smiled at the sight of him, looking just as he had the first time she'd visited Tuchanka. Wrex was an immovable object upon his throne, dismissing petitioners with a wave of his hand—or in extreme circumstances, a headbutt. Boredom and annoyance filled his countenance in equal measure until his raised his eyes and saw her waiting.

"Shepard!" he greeted exuberantly, barreling over to her and grasping her hand in greeting. He slapped her on the back, making her stumble. "Took you long enough to get here," he said, with the kind of grin that was as terrifying as it was exultant.

He took off with her immediately, waving off the line of supplicants. They would wait for another day. Instead, she and Wrex reminisced about old times as quickly as they could get the words out.

In Wrex's small, dusty dwelling, in the middle of a nuclear wasteland, Shepard realized she'd rarely felt more at home.

…

Jane closed her eyes in delight as she savored the sweet and smoky flavor of the roasted marshmallow. She let out a sigh of satisfaction, her lips curving into a smile. She felt something brush her thigh and opened her eyes again, meeting the gaze of her boyfriend John Riley, someone she'd known practically since birth, someone who'd suddenly grown tall and handsome over the summer, just in time for harvest. She couldn't help remembering the first time she'd looked into those eyes and realized that he wasn't just any boy.

She'd struggled under the weight of the load she carried in from the field, grumbling in frustration at her weakness. She dropped it to the ground, glaring down at it, and reached to pick it up once again. A strong, tanned hand beat her to it. It was his warm, brown eyes she met when she looked upward, blushing under his gaze. He smiled brilliantly down at her, strong and tan and glistening with sweat, as he wordlessly hefted her sack over his own shoulder.

On the first day back in class, she returned that smile with a shy one of her own as he slid into the seat next to hers. Smiles had turned into hellos and then into real conversations, homework and friends and what they'd do when they got off this colony someday. She'd held his hand for the first time on the Halloween hayride, and tonight, at the bonfire, she was going to kiss him.

She smiled as he wedged another homemade marshmallow onto her stick, admiring the way his eyes shone in the firelight. While he roasted it, she gathered her courage, suggesting that they move to a more secluded seat. The flicker of the firelight barely touched them now, but it was enough to guide his lips to hers.

Shepard smiled at the memory as she watched the krogan around the bonfire. Dinner, drinks, and war stories under the stars—a krogan celebration. She ate, she drank, and she shared stories with the best of them. Before she retreated to a quiet spot, she recounted the trip through the Omega 4 relay with some overenthusiastic help from Grunt. Shepard didn't want to ask what the skewered meat was that they'd roasted over the fire, but whatever it was, it had that smoky taste that reminded her of childhood and fall, a flavor that couldn't be replicated on a starship. She sat and listened to war stories like she had a dozen times with retired marines or drunken comrades at a bar. She marveled at how, even half a galaxy apart, people were fundamentally the same.

She heard movement beside her, glancing over only long enough to confirm that the figure was Wrex. "So you brought the kid back in one piece," the old krogan rumbled. "Good."

Shepard gave him a sideways glance, unable to hide a smirk. "What, you thought I would fail?"

"Hah!" Wrex barked out a laugh. "Never doubted you would crawl out of this one alive, Shepard," he said, voice like the grind of gravel under a mako's tires. "But I know a thing or two about the stupidity of young krogan who think they're invincible."

"I'm a good battlemaster," she said, and gave him a lopsided grin.

The two old friends laughed together before falling into silence, watching the scene spread out before them. Shepard found an eerie beauty in Tuchanka under the starlight. Twisted metal and stone jutted out of the landscape like old bones shining against the darkness of the sky. Smoke billowed and dissipated from the bonfire, a krogan in silhouette acting out his story of war. Something stirred within her at the scene, a warmth filling her body.

In spite of their history of violence, there was something Shepard liked about the krogan. There was something utterly honest about them—unafraid of who and what they were. Other species hid their violent nature behind other words. Militaristic. Heroes. War. Survival. The krogan didn't hide. Here, she didn't have to hide.

She closed her eyes again and breathed in the scent of food and fire. It smelled like home.

…

There was a herd of klixen stampeding through Shepard's head.

That, or she'd had one too many drinks of ryncol last night. On Tuchanka, they were equally plausible.

She and Wrex had sat up long into the night, drinking and talking. Telling stories and bullshitting each other, mostly, but there were some honest moments too. Through the haze she remembered the look in his eyes when he told her about his hopes and dreams for the krogan people. She told him about the future she hoped to have when this war was over, how she worried and wondered if she could be anything but a soldier.

But all the understanding and closeness from the night before seemed to disappear behind the veil of their current disagreement.

"Wrex," she said again, "I need him."

He was unmoved. Gone was the friend from the previous night, replaced with the clan chief. "Grunt needs to stay on Tuchanka and learn what it means to be krogan." His arms were crossed like a barrier between them.

"I'm going to be fighting the reapers," she reminded him, not ready to give up. "There won't be a Tuchanka left if I don't succeed."

Wrex was unmoved. "You'll beat them with or without Grunt," he told her simply, as if her victory was already a matter of fact. "But my people need him."

Shepard let out a frustrated sigh, pressing her palm against her throbbing head. Hard to argue with the hangover from hell. Didn't I tell myself I would never go drinking again?

She heard the krogan shift in his seat. "Maybe he can return to you eventually," he conceded, more than he'd give anyone else. "But not yet."

Shepard looked up, meeting his red eyes with her blue ones, and gave him a nod. "I understand," she said, resigned. "Let me say goodbye to him before I go."

Wrex motioned to one of his attendants. "Drag the little pyjack out of whatever female's bed he's in and bring him here," he barked.

It wasn't long before she and Grunt stood beside the Normandy's shuttle to say their goodbyes.

"Take care of yourself, Grunt," Shepard told him, feeling rather too much like a mother sending her son off to boot camp. She was really going to miss the young krogan with all his cheerful violence and childish curiosity. She'd miss his laugh, his stories that left her cringing, and the oddly wise comments that seemed to come from nowhere.

"May your enemies be worthy, Battlemaster," he said respectfully and gave her a headbutt that was probably intended to be gentle.

Shepard smiled at the krogan despite the intensifying ache in her head. "Do good, Grunt," she said, and slapped him on the shoulder. It was Grunt's chance to make something of himself on his own, and she had no doubt he would make her proud.

…

Garrus looked around the spaceport with hesitation. He hadn't seen his family in over two years. Chats and vid-calls had been few and far between, and he hadn't seen any of them in person since he'd gotten on the transport for Omega.

I was protecting them, a strong voice inside him said, battling with the other voice that told him that his avoidance was unforgivable.

"Garrus!" came an enthusiastic voice, ripping him out of his thoughts.

Before he could search the crowd for the source, he felt a turian dive upon him, arms tightening fiercely around his neck. He stiffened on instinct, prepared to wrestle down the attacker, before his mind caught up with his body and realized it was his sister. He hugged back.

After a long moment she pulled away and gasped. "Spirits! What happened to your face?" Her mandibles tightened around her mouth.

Garrus scratched uncomfortably at the newly-uncovered scars. "I, uh…" Crap. Why hadn't he thought about this on the way over? He had no idea how to answer that question without explaining the whole of where he'd been during the past few years—which he definitely didn't want to do.

Watching his obvious internal crisis, she gave him a patently Solana look of mixed amusement and disdain. "You'll have to figure something out before we get home to Dad," she told him, and just like that, he was off the hook—for the moment.

They were silent as she led him to the car, silent as she started to drive. Garrus didn't know what to say to her. The last messages they'd exchanged were definitely strained, and now she was acting like she wasn't angry with him at all. When had his family relationships become a damn minefield?

"Garrus…" His eyes darted over to her as she said his name. She met his gaze briefly before turning back to the road in front of her. Her voice was quiet, subharmonics buzzing with emotion. "I'm so glad you're okay."

His mandibles flared in surprise. "What do you mean?" he managed to ask. "It's not like I was in danger." The lie rolled off his tongue more easily than he was comfortable with.

To protect them, he reminded himself.

As convincing as he thought he was, Solana wasn't deterred in the slightest. "I'm not stupid, Garrus," was all she said. It was enough.

Garrus scrambled. "But you said—I was—pleasure cruise?"

She gave him a scathing look. "Look, Garrus," she leveled with him, "I can't say I'm not pissed about all of this, but it's called not breaking your cover. I wasn't going to say anything when you were bitching about it not being a secure channel."

His mind reeled with the implications. "Mom and Dad?" he finally asked.

"I didn't tell him anything, but Dad knows more than he lets on," she said promptly. "And Mom… she asks for you sometimes," she said quietly. "When she remembers." The bitter look on Solana's face quickly disappeared behind the mask of old Solana, the little sister Garrus remembered from before he left—the person he hadn't realized wasn't her anymore until a few moments ago.

When the heavy feeling in the car became suffocating, Garrus turned and stared out the window.

…

Garrus entered the room quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping figure that lay too small among the pillows and blinking machinery.

He sat in the chair by the bed and watched her, his critical eye seeing far more than he wished to. She'd wasted away. The pearly sheen of her plates had dulled to a dusty gray, her muscles atrophied from lack of use. The hands that had once seemed to be in constant motion lay still atop the bedspread but for a tremor that came and went. She was monitored by a full battery of medical equipment, their soft mechanical whirr drowning out the sound of her fragile breath.

He stiffened when she stirred. Did he want her to wake? The quiet, the just being with her, was precious, and he was afraid what would come next. What if she didn't recognize him? What if she did?

Perhaps she would wake and smile, her face lighting up at the sight of the son she hadn't seen in so long. Perhaps she would take his hand in hers and grip it with surprising strength. Perhaps she would gasp and chastise him about his scars, tease him that he would have trouble now finding a good turian wife. Perhaps he could even tell her that he'd found someone after all, and though she wasn't turian, she was definitely good.

Perhaps not.

Her eyes blinked open, revealing a gentle hazel that neither he nor Solana had inherited. They roamed the room and came to focus on him. His heart pounded. He wondered if she could hear it.

In a rush of emotion, he reached out for her hand, not waiting to see if she remembered. "I'm here," he told her in a low voice, not daring to try to say more. Not with the way his voice was shaking.

She looked confused for a moment, but then she smiled. "So handsome," she said, reaching up to touch his face with her free hand. He felt it tremble against his faceplates. He closed his eyes for just a moment, remembering the gentle touches of his childhood. The way she'd picked him up after he'd fallen from a tree. How she brushed her hand over his fringe to say goodnight. The way she'd cupped his face when he left for boot camp, her eyes roving over him as if to commit him to memory.

"But look at those scars," she added, almost in chastisement, giving the right side of his face a concerned frown. "What happened?"

"Missile from a gunship," he said frankly, knowing his mom never liked him to beat around the bush. At her shocked expression, he squeezed the hand he still held. "I made it out okay in the end."

"Brave," she said softly, and smiled at him again, more sadly this time. "You remind me of my son."

The words came like a physical punch, choking the air from him. He glanced down at their hands twined together, thinking she'd started shaking harder than before. But no, it was his hand that was trembling.

Her thumb slowly stroked across his. "What's wrong?" she asked gently. He raised his eyes to hers, the lump in his throat solidifying at the sight of her concerned gaze. Concern for a kind stranger. Not for her son. There were no words he could say.

He heard a creaking sound and blinked at the sudden wedge of light coming in from the hallway. A tall, proud figure stood silhouetted in the door. "Son," said his father, a clear dismissal.

Garrus squeezed his mother's frail hand one last time before releasing it and rising from his seat. His father strode past him to the chair Garrus had vacated, giving his son only a passing glance. Garrus took one look at his father's stony face and mother's gentle one before he closed the door.

The rest of the day found him in his childhood bedroom, writing down everything he could think of about the reapers.

…