Stars and Skies

A brief reflection on moments between Moria and Garrus in ME2. Garrus grapples with his feelings about her being back from the dead and her new reckless behavior. This passage does not contain essential information for the arc of From The Ashes. It deepens the understanding of Garrus and Moria and what they have been through together, but does not contain essential information for the plot of the story.

This chapter has content that may be triggering so please read with caution. It was written with the hopes of providing comfort, catharsis and letting others know they are not alone in their struggle. This chapter contains mentions of PAST SELF HARM, SELF HARM, BLOOD IN A SHOWER, and MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES.

The section of the chapter containing this is in BOLD. The non-bolded section should contain no triggering content.

This was written with love, I appreciate all who read, but your self care is more important than a chapter being read.

If you are ever struggling with mental health or feeling triggered please remember that there are free resources out there. Below are the links for a few hotlines/helplines in some major countries.

United States

hotlines-us

Australia

. /mental-health-helplines

Canada

.

United Kingdom

.uk/mental-health-and-stigma/help-and-support

New Zealand

.nz/conditions/condition/self-harm#resources-links

If your country is not listed you can try this resource as well:

/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwxdSHBhCdARIsAG6zhlUqrwSpl3FaW0Hp_gCcW3CSSsHUAZSvwlRPNng6X7_Y7PQ77g_rQWwaAmjOEALw_wcB

Garrus had heard Shepard use the phrase "raining cats and dogs" on at least seven occasions in the time that they had known each other. As he ducked behind the metal crate to pop out the spent heatsink and replace it for what felt like the thousandth time, he wondered if "raining Collector assholes" would be appropriate for their current predicament. He was fairly certain he was getting a hold of human idioms at this point.

He leaned out, opening fire once again and reflexively checking on the position and cover of the red-haired female shooting from behind another crate.

She was still there. Thank the Spirits.

Those two thoughts had been on constant repeat since the minute he'd woken up in the Normandy's med bay and caught her scent still lingering in the air.

Still there.

She was there. In the lilac, citrus and gun oil-smelling, tangled red-haired, wicked, blazing green eyes flesh. It wasn't another one of the fever-like dreams he'd had over the past two years since... Since he'd seen the footage of the wrecked Normandy, of all her crew disembarking from the shuttle that had brought them back to the Citadel, save her Commander.

Save her Commander: language was funny that way, that the same three words could be both his desperate prayer to the Spirits and anything else of power in this blasted universe... and could also be the three words he'd heard that had made the world go quiet.

"... Alliance Admiral David Anderson, confirming that all crew are accounted for, save her Commander-"

Garrus shook away the tide of nausea that swept through him at the memory and inhaled deeply, grounding himself with the scent of his current surroundings: blood, leaking fuel, human and alien sweat, and the maddening contradictory smell of Moria. Citrus, sharp and wild, lilac, soft and heady and gun oil. Gun oil, like his armor, like his sniper rifle and his workbench in the battery... like home.

"You know, Garrus. Your cool head under pressure is something I appreciate about you as a squadmate," Shepard shouted over her shoulder, those green eyes dancing, "but do you think that you could maybe consult your diary and find another time to stop and smell the roses and instead actually shoot these fuckers?" Her tone was light, casual, as if she was raising her voice over music and laughter in a bar to be heard, rather than in the middle of gunfire and possible death.

Garrus tucked his rifle close to his mandibles, dropping three Collectors inside of ten seconds, hoping the bulk of his rifle would hide the flush of deep blue he was pretty sure would be creeping across his face. Her cackle of laughter made him suspect it hadn't worked.

But that didn't matter. He'd welcome every tease and jibe from that wicked mouth to the end of time and never begrudge her for delighting when she knew she'd hit her mark. She was still there, thank the Spirits.

Not that she was making it easy for those words to remain true. In fact... well, he was starting to wonder if she was... actively challenging them.

At this point Garrus had completely disregarded the whispers that were running through the crew quarters and the concerned message Kaidan had sent him privately. Is it really her? They'd all wondered at one point or another; theories ranged from a well programmed clone to a reanimated corpse with a control chip. These were all whispered as potential explanations for the reappearance of Commander Moria Shepard after two years of being dead. Her return seemed so impossible that he had wondered himself, but found all his questions answered in her eyes. It was her. He could see it. There was no mistaking those eyes, no faking the wild spirit in them.

She was different, covered in those strange glowing red scars, one that even ran across the whites and into the brilliant green of the iris of her right eye, but it was her. Obvious in every movement, in the way she watched her crew with that mixture of relief and sorrow, painfully obvious in the way that she'd take a cup of coffee up to the cockpit while Joker was on duty, the sharp teasing in their conversations when she was up there, and the gentle touch on his shoulder when she'd leave. The delicate care of the pilot who'd gotten her killed.

Garrus had wanted to kill the pilot the minute he laid eyes on him at Shepard's memorial. Had wanted to break every too-fragile bone in the male's body for his stupidity, for his recklessness, for still being here when she wasn't. But Shepard would want to kill anyone who laid a hand on Joker. And Shepard wasn't here to do that. Wasn't even in the stupid coffin the Alliance had dragged out for some reason, laid a flag and wreath across, where people had slowly paraded by, tears and words of thanks and sorrow dropping from them.

It had made Garrus want to kill them too. Well... maybe not kill, but he did want to scream at them. Roar at the whole useless galaxy. What do you think you're doing? She's not there! Are you just going to put all these flowers and cards in her empty coffin and wait for her to come get it? She's gone. She's so completely gone that there isn't anything left of her for us to put in this useless box.

... except he kept seeing her. Could see her giving him a death glare as he thought about snapping Joker's neck, could see her cringing at the atrocious bouquet of pink and yellow blossoms placed on her coffin by Udina and eyeing the shotgun Wrex placed on top of them with excitement and interest. The gun had completely crushed the flowers and pissed Udina off, which made her grin even more. But she wasn't really there. And her scent had slowly faded from the duffle bag of rumpled uniforms, workout gear, antique books, data pads and that strange leather jacket with red rhinestone writing on the back that Anderson had delivered to him. Him. She'd left it to him. Not next of kin or someone in the Alliance like Kaidan, or even Liara... she'd made changes to her will just before they went after Saren on the Citadel. Left all the physical traces of her life to him. Not that there was much.

Garrus didn't understand how someone so powerful, who had filled so much of his life and world, as well as that of others, could have left such a pathetically small footprint. She didn't even have a home, and all the credits she had earned over the years had been donated to mental health services back on Earth and the Citadel. He didn't understand how there could be so little left of her.

He'd taken the jacket of the dress uniform to Liara. She'd opened the door, eyes red, the skin below them an even deeper blue than usual; exhausted. The same thing had happened to the skin below Shepard's eyes. Liara hadn't said anything, just stared at him and the bag in his hands. It had confused him, until he realized she couldn't smell Shepard on the garment like he could. He'd pulled it out, carefully, feeling like he was holding a human youngling - something delicate and precious, not Shepard's least favorite article of clothing.

"They... brought her things to me," he'd muttered when the assari's eyes went wide at the sight of the jacket, "but… I... I thought you should have this."

Liara had reached for it with shaking hands, taking it carefully, periwinkle fingers running along the gold piping, sliding across the smooth metal of a clasp, the motion bringing a different pair of hands to his mind.

Scarred fingers fastened the last clasp of the dress jacket. Shepard grimaced, straightened the collar, and gave herself an appraising look in the mirror.

"Don't you hate wearing that?" Garrus asked from the bed of the cabin where he sat cross-legged, the covers around him littered with tools and pieces of the sixth gun Shepard had bullied him into modifying.

"Yes," Shepard said with a sigh, then flashed him a wicked grin, "but Liara has a thing for uniforms... it... kind of drives her crazy."

"Gross," Garrus said, making a face, "I get that we're friends and I've been your wingman on occasion, but I don't think I actually want to know the details of your love life while they involve other members of the team."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "For your information, by 'drives her crazy' I actually meant that she thinks the embroidery looks like early Prothean circuitry on what they think were agricultural drones and that gets her excited." Garrus snorted, Shepard picked up a section of a gun barrel and tossed it at him, he caught it easily. "But now I know that you're a perv. Any mental images are the result of your filthy mind, not me." She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter under the wide window. "You sure you don't want to come out with us?"

Garrus chuckled and began screwing the barrel into the rest of the rifle he was working on. "Love to, but seeing as my C.O. decided she wanted me to add this new mod to the weapons of the whole team, and also agreed to go after a bunch of mercs first thing in the morning, I think my dance card is going to be a little full this evening."

Shepard nodded. "Yeah, your C.O. sounds like a bitch." She cocked her head to the side. "You could leave her stuff out of the mod job and come out for a bit."

Garrus shrugged and then jerked his chin at the door. "Go, have fun, get laid. I'll make sure you don't get shot tomorrow."

Her eyes danced and she grinned at him. "This is why you're my favorite."

"Uh-huh," he grunted as she started for the door and then called after her, "just use her cabin or some place on the Citadel. Your bed's not going to be available any time soon."

Light glinted off the gold of her sleeve and the red of her hair as she waved before disappearing down the hall.

Garrus cleared his throat trying to focus on the somber blue eyes before him and not think of the green ones he'd never see again. "I... I think she'd want you to have this," he managed at last. Liara stared for a long moment at the jacket in her hands, then slowly brought it to her face, closing her eyes, pressing it to her nose and lips, taking a shaky breath, perhaps finally able to catch the scent of the Commander. Her eyes were lined with silver when she opened them, and she collapsed, sobbing into his arms.

Garrus shook his head again. No. He was here, Saren was gone, Shepard was back, Collectors were the deadly foe du jour, she's still here, and nothing was going to change that, no matter how reckless she was. He gritted his teeth as she raced across the floor of the warehouse. He scanned the terrain, looking for the next piece of cover she would be heading to... but couldn't see any. Then, she suddenly tacked back and began sprinting directly for a group of Collectors and one of their strange pods. There was a flash as a blast from the Collectors weapons hit her shield, and a blue shimmer in the air as it died.

Shit.

Garrus began firing on the Collectors targeting Shepard.

Put up your shield, he thought at her, breathlessly waiting for the sphere of blue biotics to appear in the air around her, but nothing happened. She merely activated her omniblade and began hacking at the Collectors she'd gotten into close quarters with.

Put up your shield.

Her omniblade flashed through a Collector's thorax and it fell; its fellow, perhaps a hundred paces away guarding the pod, turned to her and began firing.

"Shepard! Shield yourself!" Garrus roared.

But she didn't. She physically grabbed the next Collector closest to her, pulling it in front of her just before another blast from their weapons hit her, her Collector-shield going limp in her grip. She shoved it away and kept rushing for the pod.

"Shepard!" he yelled again.

The pod was maybe sixty meters from their ship and he heard Shepard roar something as one of her shots hit an escort Collector in the head. It fell. Two of the remaining three escorts charged her, the other moving more quickly with the pod towards the maw of the ship. He could hear their shots ricocheting off her armor as they continued to race towards her.

A Collector emerged from the open hatch of the ship, lifting something large to its shoulder, directing it towards her. "Shepard, shield!" he roared again, snapping the sights of his rifle to the Collector targeting her, centering his crosshairs on its head.

She still didn't shield - she just kept hurtling towards the oncoming Collectors and the pod beyond them.

"Grunt!" Garrus barked. "Help Shepard! Get that pod! Don't let them get it on the ship!"

He heard the wordless roar of a krogan... or maybe it was Grunt actually roaring "Krogan!" Once there was gunfire, it was a little hard to tell, to be honest.

And then Garrrus' heart plummeted as something hit Shepard's side and she fell.

"BATTLEMASTER!"

"Shepard!" Garrus vaulted the crate and began dashing for her, but she was easily twenty meters from him. He tried to target the Collectors as they reached Shepard, one lowering its weapon and reaching with a clawed hand for the N7.

Biotics erupted around her in a blaze of blue, sending both Collectors hurtling back before Garrus could pull the trigger. The assailant in the hatch of the ship fired whatever was on its shoulder, something blindingly bright hurtling towards the Commander, but it vanished in an eruption of light as it hit a shield that she finally raised.

"Grunt!" Shepard yelled, then pointed towards the Collector who was reloading the massive cannon thing, sending the krogan hurtling in its direction, away from her. She leapt to her feet, a hand pressed to her side screaming in rage as she activated her omniblade again and with a running leap slammed it into the Collector by the pod. She shoved it off her and placed both hands on the pod as a shield shimmered into life around both her and the pod-encased colonist. She turned the pod back towards Garrus, legs shaking as she waded back through the carnage and ongoing gunfire.

There was still roaring in his ears. There had been, since they'd boarded the Kodiak; since Shepard had limped onto the shuttle scowling at the thunderous look he was giving her. Grunt had taken one sniff of the air, his slitted pupils widened and he'd immediately made his way up to the cockpit, leaned against the wall and said to the nervous Cerberus-uniformed man, "What are your favorite small things?"

Garrus couldn't sort out if his heart was pounding because of the smell of her blood or because of the lingering anger and panic consuming him after she made that stupid move. She turned away from him as she removed a pack of medigel from a locker and applied it to her side. There was icy silence between the two of them for the duration of the ride back to the Normandy while Grunt explained to the pilot that he didn't actually like small things; they were either difficult to handle or unsatisfactory to kill.

Shepard was opening the shuttle doors and jumping down into the Normandy's hangar before the Kodiak had even settled to the deck. Garrus' jaw clenched as he saw her flinch when her feet hit the floor, her hand snapping to her side and coming away red.

He'd stalked back to his cabin, crew parting around him, expressions of alarm flashing across the various humans' faces when they saw his expression, but he barely noticed. He couldn't get the smell of her blood out of his nose. Couldn't get the roaring in his ears to dissipate. He'd tossed his rifle onto his bunk and stripped out of his armor, searching for the flecks of red-brown human blood that must be making her scent linger like that. But he couldn't find any. He started cleaning the metal plates, trying to lose himself in the soothing motions and scents of the oil and solvents. But he could still smell her, see her weight shift as she took the hit, see her falling before the Collectors.

He didn't remember leaving his cabin. Didn't realize he was making his way down the hall, had no recollection of whether someone else had been in the elevator with him. It was like he blinked and found himself standing in front of her door, the smell of her mixing with the tang of her blood that he couldn't shake.

The door opened, and surprise and irritation flashed across her face before she schooled her features into that harsh mask she used for people like the Councilors.

"What?" she asked, her shoulders squaring slightly.

"What the hell is going on with you?" She was readying for a fight. A fight. With him.

"Excuse me?" She demanded, crossing her arms.

"What the hell was that out there today?" he said, trying to hold back some of the anger he could feel boiling in his chest. "Where the hell were your shields?"

"I used it when I needed it," she said, crossing her arms and scowling.

"Bullshit," Garrus said, "you knew your armor was compromised."

She shrugged. "Shields fail, it's something that happens-"

"And then smart people get the hell behind cover or biotics put one up," Garrus spat.

She scowled harder. "I knew what I was doing."

"You were completely-"

"-I didn't want those fuckers thinking I was a biotic. I wanted them to think they had me so that-"

"-To think they had you! Shepard, they didn't need to think anything, you were out of range of any of us and they had you-"

"This look like a Collector pod to you?" She demanded, stepping into the cabin and gesturing around her, "I made a call and it worked, so get the hell off my back." She turned away from him.

Garrus started to follow her, dumbfounded. "You took a completely unnecessary-"

She whirled on him before he could finish. "-Lives were at stake, so I did exactly what was necessary."

"No," Garrus snapped, "not when you have a team there ready to-"

"-Grunt took out the -"

"-And he was about two seconds from carrying your corpse back to the ship! Or whatever was left of it," he snarled. His heart was pounding, there was a tang in the air; Shepard was getting angry, except... no, that wasn't anger.

"My job is to stop this," she spat. "Actually, it's more than my job, it's the only reason I exist currently."

He was trying to name the smell - he'd smelled it before on Virmire when she'd made the call to go for Kaidan. "You don't owe Cerberus-"

"-I know I don't," she said, cutting him off again with a shake of her head, "but they are the tool that I have right now. And if I don't start saving people, then I'm a useless traitor to the Alliance." Her chest was heaving. "A fool and puppet who turned her back on everything she ever believed in!" Fear. He could smell her fear. That must have been what the tang around her was; that and...still something he couldn't quite place. "And no one listened when people died," she said, teeth clenched."No one listened even though I sent thousands of my people to their deaths."

He could see the storm brewing in her eyes.

"I can't get anyone to listen; I've failed to do that all over again, so I'm sure as hell not letting anyone else die!" She slapped her chest. "Not while, for some fucking reason, someone like me has a second shot at life when there are millions, like Ash, who deserve it a hell of a lot more than I do."

The pain and fury in her face, the minute tremor in her voice, and the smell of her fear had him rooted to the spot, as completely mute and imobile as if a seeker swarm had stung him. She was trembling, and gave him a sarcastic smile that couldn't hide the misery in her eyes. "This is my impossible task, my terrorist ship, my human supremacist goons to command, and I won't have a fucking turian questioning my choices."

And she turned away, stalking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. There were muffled noises, bits of armor hitting the floor, then the sound of running water. Garrus waited. He could feel the plates on the back of his neck were raised slightly, the turian physiological adrenaline response: a command from the primal part of his brain to make his neck harder for long-extinct predators to tear and bite through. He waited for his fear to pass, and for Shepard's to as well. Showers helped. He'd learned this; he'd seen the pattern. She'd get bad news or a dangerous mission assignment, then get preparations underway before disappearing for a bit and showing up later, hair slightly damp. His first C.O. out of boot camp had done the same thing, but with booze. Shepard's was a much better method.

But her scent wasn't changing.

He pushed the door open, squinting through clouds of steam that had filled the room. Her armor was scattered across the floor, the polycarbonate door to the shower wide open. He could just make out her silhouette in the haze of steam. Her back was to him, one arm resting against the tiles of the wall, her forehead pressed into her wrist, the other hand-

Spirits.

He crossed the room quickly, stepping into the shower, heedless of the water on his clothes. He pulled her hand away from where it was gripping the wound at her side, knuckles white with the force of her grip, and began to examine the wound that must have opened up again. But her skin was unbroken. Her waist and ribs were covered in a large swath of the purple-blue of a human bruise but that was it.

His eyes met hers, and they were full of pain. He repressed a turian trill of distress as he said, "If it hurts... you should go see Chakwas."

"It's fine," she said quietly.

He frowned. "You were holding your side, and you're scared. I can tell you're hurt, and frightened, and-"

Her gaze flinched slightly from his at that. "It doesn't hurt on it's own."

Garrus didn't understand. "Then why were you... " He took in the rest of her. She was completely exposed. He'd seen humans like that before, mainly in vids, and he tried to look away from the parts of her body her species considered intimate. But she didn't seem to care, she didn't shift how she held herself - didn't cover her breasts or the tangle hair at the base of her abdomen. The arm that had been pressed against the wall was now wrapped around her torso, the hand pressed to the skin below her left breast. As his gaze lingered on it, her hand tensed. He looked at her in concern. He didn't have to speak; they knew each other too well at this point, she could read the question in his eyes. She didn't say anything.

He slowly reached for that tensed hand, stopping for a moment but then continuing as he saw the tension in her hand ease and the streaks of tears joined the rivulets of water running down her face. Her hand trembled in his as it came away from her side.

The ribs at the side of her chest were covered in a cluster of scars, old by the look of them, older than most except perhaps the faded one on her knee he'd seen a thousand times, or the one that cut through her brow and onto her cheek. But these were... puzzling. They were small and almost regular in length, but they were straight, not the tangled mass of blotches and corkscrews that came from shrapnel. Some were connected forming a pattern, no... a word.

He took a shaky breath and looked up at her, squeezing her hand. "Who did this to you?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer at first. The muscle in her jaw tensed and more tears ran down her cheeks, and then she said in a voice that was barely audible over the sound of the shower, "I did."

His gut clenched. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Scars were a point of pride to turians. It took a lot to damage their hide and carapace; for something that actually managed to leave a mark that someone lived through, the scar was a testament to their will, their enduring spirit, their strength, and the things they had overcome. Some felt shame regarding scars that were received through acts of stupidity... he had one under his arm like that. But to give yourself a scar? Nearly all turians spent enough time in obligatory military service in their youth that the general population was well-versed in reading scars. It was pretty hard to fake the source of one, and the shame and public derision if you were found to have faked an injury...

And to carve something like that into yourself... he squeezed her hand gently and shook his head, water dripping off the end of his mandibles as he did. "I... I don't understand," he said quietly. "Why?"

She swallowed, the pale gold skin of her wet neck glimmering as she did. "There is a sickness... " she said, voice surprisingly steady. "Among humans... maybe some aliens have something similar... I don't know. Emotional and psychological trauma can make you hurt... or make you numb... Physically and emotionally. Or sometimes... we... think we are unworthy, or... or deserve punishment...And... " She released a ragged breath. "And it can lead to this. It... it can feel like it helps... "

His hand tightened around hers and again, he whispered, "Why?"

She didn't need to explain what he was asking this time. She pulled her hand from his and wiped at some of the moisture on her face. "I was just out of basic. I was young... and I...I fucked up...I failed my family," she shook her head. "I made a call, and cost them everything." Her arms wrapped around her chest again. "I was the enemy... "

He reached for both of her hands this time, taking them in his, and slowly pulled them loose from her tight grip. His chest felt like someone had lodged their omniblade in it. His mandibles tensed and relaxed as he looked at her. "Make enough calls and some of them are bound to be bad," he said quietly. "But it takes courage. It takes strength to be the person to make a call. To stand up and do something."

She had lowered her face as he spoke, the flow of the water shifting a lock of hair across her face. He reached up and gently brushed it back behind her ear, and those green eyes met his. "The best leaders I know have made a hell of a lot of bad calls. But that's because they are out there, working to better things for us every gods-damned day," he continued gently. "And half of them would turn talon and run at the hell I've seen you run into."

His voice softened. "I don't know your human family," he said, "but I know you see your squad as your family. And I've seen what you do to their enemies. If you... if you were your own enemy..." He shook his head again. "I can't imagine that fight. But you're about the scariest thing I know, and the last person in this universe I would want to cross." He nodded at the cluster of scars. "If those are from a war with yourself, a war you survived, then you shouldn't hide them. You have them because you went through something. But you are brave and strong, and you are still here and still fighting to help others." His eyes met hers again. "And that means you are anything but….worthless."

He gently lifted the hand he was still holding, stared at a scar on the back for a moment, then kissed it, the small scales of his thin lips brushing gently against her wet skin. He turned her arm over, where another scar twisted its way across her wrist. She'd claimed on occasion that this one looked like some Earth animal called a 'chicken'. He didn't know what one looked like but he'd heard that everything in the galaxy tasted like it. He kissed this one as well. Then he kissed the one at the crook of her elbow that she'd once said was from an injury so severe, they had to give her blood transfusions with a method unused for centuries. His lips moved across her body like this, moving from line to line - tracing the story of endurance the galaxy had etched into her skin. He kissed her oldest scar, the one across her knee, and then the blasphemous word she'd carved below her heart: W-O-R-T-H-L-E-S-S. He slowly lifted his head and then pressed his lips against her unscarred mouth.

And she kissed him back.

It wasn't romantic. None of this was. It wasn't about passion or desire. It was about seeing, and being seen; letting someone know they were not alone in a way that the mind could not refute. At some point they stopped and ended up sitting next to each other under the water, heedless of wet clothes or naked skin. Garrus had an arm around Shepard and her head was resting on his shoulder - position they'd found themselves in a thousand times before. Shepherd was absentmindedly running her thumb over the scar on her knee.

"Can I ask you something?" Garrus asked quietly, eyes trailing the movement of her finger. She nodded. "A lot of other humans... they have doctors remove scars, or stop them from forming. I know Chakwas had done that for people, like Kaidan. He got a bad cut on his cheek once. I commented on it making him more attractive to the krogan population, but he shrugged it off. Said Chakwas would take care of it, and she did," he chuckled, "Unfortunately... could have been entertaining if she didn't." He glanced down at her. "Why... why have you kept so many?"

She continued tracing the scar with her finger, "My dad was a doc... like Chakwas. Really good like her, too. He was always the one to fix me up when I was a kid. My cousins used to kind of tease me about it. They called me Slate - short for clean slate, cuz I was really clumsy but my Dad fixed everything so I never looked like I'd been in any of the trouble I caused. I cut my knee during basic training, and the medic took care of it. I showed Dad a vid of it, and he said it would scar, but when I got sent home for leave he could open it up again and fix it - it would just hurt a bit," she chuckled softly. "I told him he was crazy and I wasn't having him open my knee again over a little cut that might scar. But he was right. It scarred. He died about two months later. After that... " her thumb paused its tracing, "after that it didn't seem right. Anything that happened to me happened in a world where he wasn't there. He was the one who protected me... kept me whole, and... and I've never gotten over losing him. I've always been... broken. Seemed wrong to let someone make me look like I wasn't."

She ran a hand across the scar that sliced down her face, brushing away water mixed with tears. "Then other things happened... changed me. Hiding scars... feels like hiding who I am. I don't want to do that," -her hand shifted to the word below her heart- "most of the time."

"Who... who's seen that?" he asked.

"You… Chakwas... Anderson."

"Liara?" Garrus asked.

Shepard shook her head, "I have cosmetics for it... it's not much of a turn on."

Garrus shrugged, "I don't know... maybe you haven't tried it on the right crowd. Wanna go out? I can be wingman and help you find a... I was going to say 'sexy', but I think I have to settle for 'clean' - I can help you find a clean krogan."

She snorted and glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "I think it might still raise questions I don't really want to get into on a first date."

He squeezed her to him. "Nah, you'll be fine. You're worrying over nothing; it's not like krogan can read."

"Mmmmm... " Shepard mused, "we could do a science experiment and find out by leaving Wrex a note saying you drank the last of the ryncol when we were on Tuchanka."

"Ouch. That's brutal," Garrus said, "and how exactly are you going to stand not having my handsome company all the time?" he asked, lifting his chin and flaring his mandibles.

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Oh, I think I'll manage. I could always stuff what's left of you and mount it on the wall of my cabin."

He raised a brow. "Look, Shepard, if you want to mount me, there are much easier ways to make that happen."

Shepard crinkled her face and splashed some water from the bottom of the shower at him. He splashed her back, and her laughter rang like music against the soft timpani of water on tile, every precious scar gleaming silver under the spray.