Buratrum - The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association.

Dilan - fiancee

Dilekmarim - Beloved mother

Diume - My joy. A term of love specific to family.

Puer - Pueri plural. Child.

Quirte - Applies to both genders equally. The equivalent of Mister or Miss, Mrs.

SARL - Standard Alliance Readiness Level. 1 is highest, prepared for imminent attack. 10 is lowest.

Sorau dulca - Sweet sister. A term of affection between females of any social tier, but particularly mother/daughter, sisters, aunt/niece, grandmother/granddaughter.

42 Days ASR

"I'd be glad to call you Trea, thank you." Shepard perched on the edge of the chair and looked away from Garrus's mari to glance around the kitchen area. Earthen walls, like cob houses on Earth, the colour of coffee with a splash of cream circled the main floor, arching upward like wings as they approached the outside of the house. A mosaic of flowers and leaves rolled in loose waves amidst the warm brown, bits of glass, metal, and wood seeming to tumble in the wind. Small almost-birds—merillien, like Nihlus's childhood pet—gleamed, pearlescent jewels amidst the glorious, cacophonous beauty.

Shepard took a deep breath. A wonderful, light sort of loving happiness whispered from the walls; the dark, well oiled and loved furnishings; and the mementos of the family that hung or stood everywhere. It embraced her, murmuring assurances that despite looking the part of the odd person out, she belonged: a home. After drifting for so long, sitting on that chair felt like being the very proverbial square peg. She choked back the urge to run back upstairs and wait for Garrus.

You do belong here. Those two idiots in the yard mean that you belong. Breath.

"Your domin is so beautiful," she said, turning to face Garrus's mother. "I woke up feeling like … ." Letting the words drift off, she uttered a soft huff at her inability to put what she felt into words. "It's been so long since … ," she tried again, then cut herself off, one shoulder lifting in a small shrug. "I guess what I'm trying to say is thank you for inviting me into your home."

"It's our pleasure, sorau dulca." The tarin inclined her head toward the warriors battling away in the garden, a loving smile greeting their antics. "A domin is a reflection of the family it shelters, and you have greatly enriched this family. That makes you as much a part of it as the rest of us."

Unsure if such a generous welcome made her more or less comfortable, Shepard forced herself to settle back into the armchair. An army of unquiet ants marched up and down her spine as she followed Trea's stare out to the two fools out in the garden. Stripped to the waist, Garrus and Nihlus wrapped around one another, both trying to pull the other's legs out from under him. It looked as though they were trying to throw one another into the pond. When their battle endangered a flower bed, they disengaged to hop over it, then set into one another again.

"How did this begin?" Shepard asked, turning an incredulous smile to Trea.

A thoughtful frown drew the tarin's brow plates low over her eyes, but like her smile, a sharp but loving sort of teasing prowled beneath it. "I believe it started with Nihlus trying to shove Garrus into the pond." A quick nod confirmed the validity of her words. Her mandibles fluttered. "Then Garrus taunted Nihlus, calling him old and frail. Nihlus called Garrus young and empty-headed, and behold the results." A trembling hand broke through the blankets, sweeping out to present the filthy, scuffling, cussing evidence.

"They're ten," Shepard said, her grin widening as Trea hummed her agreement. "But look at them." She shook her head and let out a long breath, muscles relaxing a little. "They're happy and having fun. Can't ask for more than that."

"As a matrula, it becomes all you hope for. All the rest of your ambitions and dreams for your children eventually distill down to wishing them more moments of joy than sorrow." She peeled back the top layer of blankets, struggling a little against the heavy layers. A sharp chuff and grumble betrayed her frustration as the blankets fought back. "I swear Herros believes he can cook me back to health."

"May I?" Shepard asked, leaning forward. "Just let me know how many layers you want to keep."

"One is quite sufficient. It's a cool morning, but not one likely to cause a chill." Trea let out a sigh of relief when Shepard lifted away most of the blankets. "Thank you, that's much less crushing and incinerating." Her mandibles flicked hard, but her annoyance cooled before it reached her eyes. "My bond-mate is a wonderful torin, but he forgets that my illness does not erase that I am turian. The stronger and more vicious the enemy you put in front of us, the harder and more unrelenting we fight." A crooked smile accompanied her cocked brow plate. "I'm still the tarin who battled her way through a drug den with a round embedded in her lung."

Understanding Trea's issue completely, Shepard draped the ten kilos of blankets over the back of her chair. "So Garrus comes by his overprotectiveness naturally, then?"

"Most definitely." Trea's mandibles softened to match her eyes. "Born to test my patience to its limit." She ducked her head; a small shrug. "Still, I'm glad that my Betru grew into that sort of torin."

Glancing outside to make sure Garrus and Nihlus wouldn't overhear her, Shepard whispered, "I'd never admit it to him, even under torture, but I do sort of like it when he takes care of me. Sometimes." She looked down at the tarin's nearly empty mug. "Not to toss our relationship immediately in the direction we were just grousing about, but may I warm up your amarceru for you?"

Trea nodded, a single, abrupt incline of her head. "Thank you. There's a pot in the warmer. Top door on the caman."

Shepard picked up the mug, taking it to the basin to rinse it out before refilling it. "Garrus drinks this stuff like it's going to run out. Nihlus not so much." Moving through that kitchen, it struck her again how right and comfortable it felt, and how much she stuck out in relief. Sort of like the depth perception portion of the Alliance physical. She'd spent a half hour poking whichever object or fish appeared to be 3D.

One of these things is not like the others? Pft. Don't fool yourself, Janey. You're exactly like these others.

She ran her fingertips over the counter top. A scene of drellaks grazing in a mountain meadow had been carved into the blue-black wood, and then inlaid with different metals and woods to give it a rich, three dimensional beauty. It looked old, and not antique store old, but generations upon generations old. Old in the way that would have her mother turning inside out over someone making tea on it.

"Jane?"

Shepard tore herself from the work of art to meet Trea's curious gaze. "Sorry, I was admiring the countertop. It's beautiful." Her fingers returned to skate over the thick, lustrous lacquer once more before she forced herself back on task. "Do you take your amarceru straight, or do you add the sweet, flowery-smelling powder?"

"Straight. Only Garrus adds rylamia sugar. Bad habit, along with drinking so much amarceru. He picked it up in the military—my fault, really." She lifted herself in her chair, the passing grimace that accompanied her movement much lighter without the blankets. "Ah, being able to move is wonderful, thank you. I can breathe," Trea said, her keen, measuring gaze following Shepard across the room.

"You're welcome." Shepard set the steaming mug down on the table. Sinking back into the silky, rose-beige fabric of her chair, she looked outside. Garrus had Nihlus pinned and mercilessly teased him, jabbing him here and there, while Nihlus spouted ridiculous threats involving some truly imaginative body part rearrangement. Laughing bright and happy, Shepard allowed some of the tension to drain out of her body. "God, it's good to see them just play. I didn't even know they could after everything." She cleared her throat, ducking a shoulder as if she could just tip her death off her back and let it roll away. "I mean, with all the burdens they carry."

As Trea lifted her mug to drink, Shepard frowned, remembering what the tarin had said. "How is it your fault that Garrus caught his amarceru with sugar habit from the military?"

His mari took a couple of sips, then set the cup down, the ceramic rattling against the table top. As Trea looked out the door at her sons, her body softened a little under the chunky cream and gold weave of the blanket. "His former CO and I grew up as sisters. She's a talented and caring leader, very popular with her crew. I knew she'd look after him, so I pulled a few strings."

Shepard choked back her surprise that Garrus's mother had influenced his first posting, feeling a combination of affection and embarrassment, the latter for Garrus, and she wondered if he suspected.

Something of her surprise must have registered, because Trea's shoulders rose a little. "I know I shouldn't have interfered, but I worried for him. Not the fighting; he possessed impressive skills, and I knew he could take care of himself." A soft, musical sigh whistled through her nose. "As a youngster, he spent his time in virtual solitude, preferring to draw and read or take things apart and put them back together rather than associating with his peers. The military can prove merciless to loners: the rigor of it requires the support of a strong peer group."

She paused and smiled, the piercing stare that met Shepard's revealing a strength and intellect that all but nullified her frailty. "Anyway, Lanara can't be without a mug of amarceru within arm's reach," Trea continued, "and it needs to contain enough rylamia sugar that it tastes like hot, flowery syrup." A brief grimace melted into a fond smile. "Terrible stuff, but her entire crew ended up addicted to the effects. First time Garrus came home on leave, he was so strung out on the combination of stimulant and sugar, he practically vibrated."

Shepard watched the expressions and emotions drift across the tarin's face, greeting them with a soft smile before looking back out. Disengaged and resting, Garrus and Nihlus sat side by side on the ground, watching the rain pour down the blue-green leaves of a towering plant, the water channeled along gleaming silver veins. Whatever they were talking about, both looked relaxed, their smiles easy and broad.

"He's an amazing leader," Shepard said, awe shaping the words. "I haven't had much time to watch him work since I got back, but the way his people respond to him tells me everything." She looked over at Trea as the remembered darkness and horror of being trapped beneath that building on Feros darkened the rain-drenched air. "When I think back to our first days on the Normandy—the hothead who ran off after Saren, getting us buried under that building—I'm tempted to say that I had no idea, but it would be a lie. Down there, in the dark, I asked him to take up the fight if I fell, so I saw it."

Trea lifted her amarceru off the side table, but instead of drinking, she rolled the squarish mug between her hands, an old habit judging by the absent nature of the motion. "He brought Nihlus home a few weeks after your death, and I could barely believe that torin—the general—was my pahir." She smiled and shrugged. "I hadn't seen him in a couple of cycles outside of vidcalls, but suddenly, there he was, the torin I'd always seen inside my mind when my awkward little Betru grew up."

Shepard nodded and swallowed a sudden tightness in her throat. She'd never thought much about being a parent. Never thought about what it must be like to bear all that hope and fear, to pour all that love and discipline and encouragement into a child, imagining the end result. And suddenly, she wondered if she would ever experience the moment of looking into the eyes of her grown child to see someone remarkable there.

Pushing that ridiculousness aside, she nodded in response to what Trea said. "He has the strongest, most wonderful heart."

"Who does?" Garrus asked from the doorway. Hands braced against the frame, he leaned through, his eyes sparkling with happiness. He met Shepard's gaze, a teasing smile sending his mandibles fluttering high and wide. "You must be talking about me."

"Clearly," Nihlus said, nearly tossing Garrus on his backside as he shoved past, "she was talking about me. Your delusions are starting to concern me, General." He grinned at Shepard, then walked over to Trea, cradling the tarin's hand in both of his. "I see you convinced someone to let you out of your blanket cage." He bent to brush his brow against his mari's.

Shepard shook her head as she watched Nihlus and Trea. The oath of karifratrus clearly extended beyond Garrus and Nihlus. A fiery, joyful warmth flared in her chest. Thank goodness for blessings both great and small. He needed family, people who loved him the way his mother hadn't been able to.

Trea grinned, a cocky sort of victory arching her neck and straightening her back. "At last, the spirits have sent me an ally against the forces of overprotectiveness." She lifted her hand, patting his cheek with enough force to emphasize her point. "You two side with your pari far too often."

Nihlus touched brows again, then drew back. "If you weren't so determined to push yourself, we wouldn't need to." He turned away from his mari, stepping over to nuzzle the top of Shepard's head. "Good morning, haksaya kubenar."

Shepard gripped his hand. "You look rested."

The Spectre grinned as he shrugged and walked past to take a large cup off a shelf and pour himself some water. "Kicking Garrus around doesn't take any great amount of energy or effort."

Shepard watched Garrus as her boyfriend chuffed and bent to touch his brow to his mother's before lifting her talons to nuzzle them. "As for you, dilekmarim, since Sol sides with Pari as well, you might want to consider that we can't all be wrong." He grinned when his mari chuffed, then leaned down to rest his brow against hers. "You can't blame us for wanting to keep you."

"I can blame you for coddling me until it's more painful than my actual ailment," his mother retorted. "If Jane hadn't rescued me, I'd be flattened and cooked into a krellin wafer." Trea grinned at her son and tipped her head toward Shepard. "Quit fussing over me, and go say good morning to your dilan."

As Shepard watched the unspoken currents running between mother and son, the shape and colour of their history burst through the space, the sun coming out from behind heavy cloud. Why had Garrus stayed away for so long, waiting until illness threatened to take her before reconnecting?

Then Garrus crouched between Shepard's knees, distracting her from her thoughts as he looked into her eyes and gently raked his talons through her hair. "Good morning. I didn't think you'd be up yet. How are you holding up?"

A smile and nod answered his question. "I'm a little wobbly but considering the last couple of days," she said, leaning into his hand, "I've never been better." Despite her entire body insisting that she kiss him, she waited for Garrus to initiate contact. She really needed to study up on turian customs. Out on the Normandy or Omega, they made up their own rules quite well, but the last few minutes crystalised the fact that she was a part of a turian family. Alienating them amounted to the last thing she wanted to do.

But then he leaned in, nuzzling her lips in a soft, chaste kiss. "You look good. Happy."

Taking his face between her hands, she touched her brow to his. "I am happy." A soft sigh escaped as she closed her eyes. "You two looked like you were having fun out there."

"Someone has to keep the Spectre from getting too cocky." Garrus chuckled when Nihlus made a choking sort of retching noise. "We're going to go for a run, so I can humiliate him again. When we get back, we'll make some breakfast." He pulled back and frowned. "Are you okay entertaining Mari until then?"

Shepard nodded, but then cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're going for a run? The both of you?" Her second eyebrow joined the first. "Running? Really?" She glanced over her shoulder at Nihlus. "Quirte Lazy-Pants is going to run without anything chasing him?"

Nihlus polished off a second glass of water and shrugged. "Don't often get a chance to breathe non recycled air and feel ground beneath my feet. Don't worry, we won't be long." His mandibles spread as he straightened, standing a little taller. "Garrus won't make the bottom of the street."

Garrus caressed the side of Shepard's face, pulling her attention back to him. His stare fixed behind her, shooting darts at his fratrin for a moment before returning to her eyes. "We'll be a half hour at the most, and not because I'll be the one quitting." He kissed her, then stood and strode over to get a drink.

The sub-vocals beneath Nihlus's rough laughter brushed the back of her neck, warming it. He belonged there, was loved there. A chill splinter pierced the warmth, sliding a steel pin into her resolve. If she wasn't careful, she could blow apart everything Nihlus had just discovered.

Garrus gave the Spectre a push toward the door. "Come on, let's go. I'm getting hungry." He turned back before stepping out the front door. "See you two in a few minutes."

Shepard glanced over at Trea. "I feel like I've just been handed a case full of stolen eezo and the cops are about to burst through the door." She chuckled and levelled a narrow-eyed stare on the tarin. "So, tell me, are my instincts correct? Is this a set up?"

A bright chuckle answered her. "They couldn't have been much more graceless or obvious about it." Her mandibles flicked hard and quick. "Their lack of subtlety alarms me considering their professions." Shifting in her chair, she winced, her entire body stiffening, one arm clenching tight around her stomach for a moment. Then she relaxed and shrugged. "But, they mean well, and torins in love … well, they behave in peculiar ways."

Shepard nodded, staying loose and wary. "That's universal and gender inclusive." She canted her head a little, a wave of dizziness tilting the world on its ear. "But—"

Trea lifted a talon for the barest of seconds, the slight gesture asking for Shepard's indulgence. The captain smiled and nodded, more than willing to give it. The peace and wisdom in Trea Vakarian's eyes, the combination of an honourable warrior's gentle strength and stubborn grace reached deep into Shepard's gut, settling it. She sighed and chuckled softly under her breath.

Damn, you already love her.

"They want me to tell you about my family." She smiled and reached up to pull her blanket a little tighter, but shook her head before Shepard could ask whether she wanted another. "My mari and her best friend, Rhian, went into the military together. They swore karifratrus after their first real battle. My mari took a serious wound and came close to death. Neither of them had family—my mari's parents died the year she went to the academy, and Rhian's patrem had also passed—and so they swore the oath, making one another their family."

Shepard sat quietly as Trea paused to drink some of her amarceru, curious to hear what the tarin had to say. Even though she'd been a child, and likely sheltered from some of the stickier aspects of the relationship, Trea had lived eyeball deep in karifratrus.

"As best friends often do, Mari and Rhian met another set of best friends. My pari and Lanara's patrem had been on the same crew from their first day. When the four of them eventually became bond-mates, the two torins swore karifratrus as well." She sipped, almost absently, her eyes staring out into the rain.

Shepard followed the tarin's example, more than willing to wait for Trea to continue. Mist wafted from the ground, lending the world an ethereal quality, everything beyond the garden a world of muted shadows. She smiled. A gorgeous morning. If not recovering from brain surgery, she might have gone running with Garrus and Nihlus just to feel the wind and rain on her face. She inhaled, the cool moisture clinging around her nostrils. Quickly swiping at the tickle, she closed her eyes. As a child, how many mornings had she spent lying in bed, listening to the rain on the roof? That morning, the rain didn't make any sound on the roof, even over the single storey of the common area, but the drops drummed thick and fat on the canvas spread over the yard.

Trea rumbled a little, clearing her throat before she continued. "Our parents were the best of friends, fratrins and filitrins in truth. Lenara and I spent our first few cycles living next door to one another, but when her pari died, her family moved in with ours."

Shepard opened her eyes and looked over at the tarin, trying to iron out the confused frown furrowing her brow and drawing her eyebrows down tight over her eyes. "You all lived together?"

Trea nodded, her manner solid and stiff as she turned to meet Shepard's gaze. "I grew up with two maris and a pari. They loved and remained devoted to each other until my mari's death. Rhian and my pari still live in our home. When Mari died, myself and my brother, Lenara and her sisters—my brother and sisters—all inherited her legacy equally."

She paused, a soft-edged frown dropping her brow plates and mandibles as she leaned forward, her elbows on the arms of her chair. "Sorau dulca, when it comes to families joined by karifratrus, there is no mine or yours, there is ours." Slowly, the frown transformed into a smile, the tarin's blue eyes shining. "It is a selfless, beautiful promise that cannot be broken. The oath of bonding—marriage in human culture—can be and is dissolved all the time; families joined by blood fall out, that bond left behind; karifratrus cannot be dissolved or left behind. Ever. It is a family created by choice and honour rather than blood and accident, a decision and responsibility to place another ahead of yourself."

"Until and beyond death," Shepard whispered, melting a little further into her chair.

"Yes." Trea reached out her hand, a surprisingly strong grip closing around Shepard's fingers. "They will never tell you that you must be bonded with them both." She shook her head. "That's not the way it works for bond-mates, but you needn't worry about hurting one by loving both. The hurt only comes if there is a lack of equality." The grip on Shepard's fingers tightened for a moment. "And what I've seen doesn't worry me for either of my pahirs."

Despite nodding, a thin-lipped smile of thanks quickly dissolved into something far more pressed and pinched. She gripped Trea's stare as tightly as her hand as she tried to put her dread into words. "I don't know if I've got that much love … energy … hope?" Then it didn't matter, the words vanishing as she caught something in her peripherals.

Movement in the yard.

Shepard released Trea's hand and jumped up, peering out into the misty downpour. A shadow slunk amidst the plants. "Trea." The alarm at the base of Shepard's skull began to wail, and a thin trickle of tar-black whispered between her neurons. "Is there a back entrance to the garden?" Her hand slapped at her hip for a sidearm she wasn't wearing.

The shadow solidified into a turian. At least it looked like a turian until it came within three metres of the glass doors. Blue lights glowed in place of eyes and up its misshapen brow. Metal clad most of the thing's head and encased its torso in strips. Every turian aspect of the creature had been warped, made vicious, sharp, and tangled: a mockery of the torin it had once been.

"Dear God—" Fear flared, but then before her heart could send it pouring out into her muscles, an incendiary combination of training and rage sent it up in flames. How dare they come at her there?

That's the shape of the coming war, Janey. No honour, no taboos, just death from every quarter.

"T … t … th … th … eh … eh … eh … eh … ay … ay … ay ay ay," the thing stuttered, it's voice a combination of dual larynges and machine chatter.

Trea lunged from her chair, a pistol appearing in her hand. Steadying her gun hand with her other, the tarin strode toward the Reaper, unleashing a barrage of three shot volleys. The construct let out another garbled, mechanical burst of sound or language and crumpled.

Had the Reaper been trying to communicate? Stunned, Shepard stared at it until Trea turned and reached out.

"Jane—" The tarin's strength gave way, her knees buckling, the gun clattering to the tile.

A single leap and Shepard's arm snaked around Trea's waist, keeping her from crumpling to the floor. Before she could inhale to speak, or turn to help the tarin into her chair, the front door burst open.

"The gun!"

Obeying that shout, Shepard swept a foot toward the pistol, releasing Trea just long enough to snatch it up. She lowered the tarin to the floor, landing next to her on one knee, the pistol already lined up at the open portal. Waiting until the forms at the door solidified into either friend or foe, she braced the gun with her second hand.

Lights where eyes should be.

Shepard opened fire, grateful for the antiquated weapon's lack of heat sinks. "Am I clear behind?" she called as the second invader fell. Breath slow and steady, heart thumping, adrenaline distilling the world down into action and keen edges, Shepard waited, her senses stretched out into the fog and rain.

"Clear," Trea replied. "Front?"

The silence dripped down, expectant crystals shattering on the floor. Shepard took a breath. "Clear for the moment." Looking down, she offered the tarin an arm to pull herself up, helping her lean back against the chair. The upholstery shone bright rose, almost blinding her as if she'd stared at a light too long. Blinking and giving her head a shake, Shepard asked, "Is there another gun down here?"

Trea stabbed a thumb toward the far side of the front room. "Top drawer on the right hand side of the shelving unit." Talons plucked the one from Shepard's hand. "Are these Reapers?" she asked, twisting to lift herself up onto a knee. Impatient talons pulled her blanket off the chair and tossed it aside.

"Looks that way." Snapping her head around, Shepard checked both entrances before she ducked low, and raced around the back side of the caman into the sitting room. Yanking open the top, right-hand drawer, she scooped out the Carnifex and handful of heat sinks. Before she could ask if they were still clear, gunfire erupted from the kitchen.

Damn it! Way to go, Janey, leave the terminally ill tarin to fight on her own.

Mechanical, dual-layered muttering announced incoming at the front door, ending her internal diatribe. Trea could more than hold her own. Shepard shoved the spare heat sinks into her pocket and aimed the gun at the threshold, slapping a heat sink into the pistol even as she lifted it. Lowering herself into a half crouch, she slipped back toward the kitchen, gun raised, feet skimming the floor. The ex-turian appeared in the doorway, no apparent weapon in its hands.

It stepped over the dead one and turned faced her, but stopped. It didn't reach for a weapon or lunge toward her, it just stared. The gelid, blue lights slid over her like clammy fingers inside her clothes. She bit down on her tongue, bringing a quick end to that nonsense. It was scanning her, not staring. That thing no longer possessed anything as benign as eyes. Nothing alive inhabited that muck and crust of steel, not anymore.

It was a puppet, an empty thing, and killing it amounted to a mercy.

As she centered the Carnifex on the cluster of lights, a chattering, stuttering sound came out of the dark hole between the creature's mandibles. Shepard froze. What the hell?

"Th … they … they they they s … s ... strike f … f … from ben … n … neath the … the … the wings." It didn't move as the words stuttered from its mouth. Not a twitch.

One second stretched into a long, breathless second as her brain struggled to string together the sounds. As two seconds ticked over into three, Shepard shook off the shock and opened fire. Two headshots sent the husk sprawling, the back of it's head flying outside onto the step.

Shepard gave herself another, strong shake and kept the pistol aimed at the doorway. What the hell was going on? Talking husks? Why hadn't they come in firing? And what in the name of the sweet baby Jesus had that one said to her?

They strike from beneath the wings?

What it said made no more sense than it talking in the first place. The Reapers on Thessia had attacked, rather than chatting. Well … . She pulled back on the reins. If the Collectors on Thessia had truly wanted her dead—at least at the beginning—they could have sent two or three of the banshees and overwhelmed them easily enough. She and Nihlus had been cattle herded into a corral. Why? To study them? Get them in the machine? Or something else? Something bigger that required them making another attempt?

If so, that meant what? Indoctrination? That thought stabbed a rusty, metal fence post into her guts, giving it a hard twist. That made an evil sort of sense. Indoctrinate the leaders of the resistance, eliminate it completely. Worse, make the Reapers' work a whole lot easier. Saren had set a convincing example; they might just want more of him.

Trea's weapon fell silent, grabbing hold of the threads of Shepard's tangled thoughts and yanking them loose. Shepard opened her mouth to call out, get proof of life, but then clamped it shut. The last thing she needed to do was alert a whole pile of the monsters to her location.

Establishing a straight eye line on the front door, she saw a shadow run in from the street. Breath whistling between clenched teeth, heart calming, she let her gun drop a few degrees toward the floor. She'd recognize that silhouette anywhere.

"Trea, Garrus and Nihlus incoming. Front door," she said, throwing the words over her shoulder.

"Roger that." The tarin's 'squad voice' tugged at one corner of Shepard's mouth. No such thing as an ex-soldier.

Garrus paused for half a heartbeat at the threshold before holstering his sidearm and leaping over the dead Reapers and running the few steps to her. Grasping her upper arms, he pulled her into a frantic embrace, then shoved her away just as suddenly. Shaking talons traced the line of her jaw. "We heard the gunfire from down the street. Are you all right?"

A quick nod and smile answered his question before Shepard looked past him to the Spectre. "Nihlus, see to Trea." When his face froze, she shook her head. "She's fine, just took out a couple of Reapers, in fact." Focusing on her torin, Shepard nodded toward the door. "Four reaperized turians. I don't know if there are any more."

"Okay, I'll be right back." Garrus looked over her shoulder into the other room. "Mari, you okay?"

Shepard turned to look at Trea when the tarin chuckled. "Surely you're joking, Betru. Ambushed by monsters from the pits ... I haven't been better in a cycle." Taking Nihlus's arm, she allowed her pahir to help her off the floor and into the chair. "Thank you, diume." Gentle slaps warded off his hands as he tried to check her for injury. "Jane guarded me well. You two should check the neighbourhood, make sure there were only four."

A quick kiss brushed Shepard's lips, then Garrus pulled his sidearm. "I'll circle front and right, Nihlus," he called as he stepped outside.

"Roger that." Shepard heard the back door close and lock a fraction of a second before the front one locked. Despite knowing that a locked door didn't mean much against Reapers, that little bit of security helped ease the alarm in her head from SARL 1 to SARL 3.

Shepard trained her weapon on the door, forcing herself to stay vigilant. "I've got the front covered, Trea." She backed toward the kitchen, slipping behind the caman, using the large hearth as cover. "Now that the forces of overprotectiveness are out of earshot, how are you doing?"

Trea chuckled, the bright, bell-like laugh killing Shepard's concern and breaking up the chill enough for the caman's heat to penetrate, warming her right side. She couldn't help but grin when Trea let out a contented sigh and said, "I can't believe I let myself forget what it felt like to get that rush, to drop into that easy, automatic reflex place inside my head where everything is muscle memory and training." Shepard heard the chair whisper, fabric against fabric. "I've got a bruise or two, but I feel like I could take on an army of those things."

A warm, surprised laugh rolled from Shepard's gut, adrenaline sharpening its edge. "Blessed Enkindlers, let's hope that doesn't happen. I haven't had any breakfast." As Trea's laughter mingled with hers, the last of the threat rose to dissipate against the ceiling.

Garrus and Nihlus returned a few minutes later. Before they spoke, the two torins hung their sidearms on their hips and locked down the doors. Shepard watched them, a pale sadness replacing the tight twist in her guts. Vigilance and worry hung heavily from their cowls, the lightness and playfulness of moments before evaporated like the mist. Damn Reapers couldn't let them have a single day.

"I didn't see any more of them, and scans registered nothing." Garrus closed on Shepard, pulling her into his arms before she could even hang up the gun. "You're all right? No more damage than usual?" When she grinned and shook her head, he nuzzled the top of her head, rubbed her back, and released her, snapping back to all business. "Okay. Pari and Sol are on their way home. Adrien Victus is coming with Pari. I don't want to leave the domin unguarded."

Shepard resisted the urge to follow him, to cling to his strength, as he stepped away. The adrenaline leached from her blood, the vacuum filled with dizziness and trembling. Chakwas probably wouldn't have recommended combat for the morning after brain surgery. Oh well, such was the shape of her life. She turned to face Trea, to make sure the tarin had come through as unscathed as it appeared. Her knee gave, forcing her to slap a hand against the caman to avoid falling.

Garrus must have caught the motion in his peripherals, because he spun, reaching out a hand to steady her. Shepard smiled and shook it off.

"I'm fine, love, the adrenaline is just wearing off." Shepard nodded toward the dead invaders. "They didn't fire, at least none of the ones I saw did." Raised eyebrows queried Trea, the tarin shaking her head, solidifying Shepard's observation. Taking a deep breath, Shepard braced herself for their reactions to the crazy. "And here's the really weird part: two of them talked." She ducked her head and lifted a hand, waggling it in a little weighing gesture. "Well, one didn't really talk, it just stuttered a little, but the other got out an entire sentence before I put the front of its head through the back."

Nihlus looked down at the corpse closest to the door. "They've never done that before. What did it say?" He met her gaze, curiosity and alarm trading places in a rotating loop behind the brilliant green.

"They strike from beneath the wings." Shepard stepped around the chair and moved to sit, stopping when, in her peripherals, she saw all three of them stiffen. She looked up, still half bent over, one hand reaching for the chair's arm. "What? I take it that line makes perfect sense to all of you?" The look on their faces set her heart racing. What was it? A combination of bone-deep terror and realization, as if some part of them had been waiting to hear those words. She straightened.

Nihlus nodded toward the chair. "Sit down, kubenar, you're trembling." He took a step toward her.

Shepard shook off his assistance. "I'm fine, Nihlus. What is it about that line that has you all looking so spooked?"

Garrus's brow plates hunkered down over his eyes, so low she could barely make out blue glints. "It's a very old tale." Still not meeting her stare, he strode across the floor and picked up his mari's blanket,. He shook it out and folded it as he returned to drape it around her shoulders. "I told you about the famactylus the night we met Thane Krios." He glanced over at her, brow plates lifting until she nodded that she remembered. "That line is from the last of a series of stories about the creatures."

Outside, thunder rumbled, the sky growing darker, the clouds pressing down to steal all but a watery glimmer of daylight. A flash lit up the room: dry-bone white. As Garrus and Nihlus spun toward the lightning, Shepard gasped, sour and poisonous. For those few brief flares, death painted over the faces of the torins she loved, searing away life to leave hollow-eyed sockets and desolate ridges of bone.

Shepard shuddered as she lowered herself onto the edge of her chair, her gut twisting around the old fence post again. It all felt like a warning … all of it, provoking a baseless sort of floating panic that turned a legion of ants loose under her skin. Give her something real and simple to fill full of bullets, and forget the mysterious bullshit.

What the hell was she supposed to make of unarmed Reaper constructs spouting ancient turian folk tales instead of trying to kill her? She sank into the back of the chair and slumped forward, the heel of her hand pressing into her brow as her elbow impacted her thigh. The pointy joint hit one of her wounds sent a bracing, almost welcome jolt of pain sizzling along her nerves. She leaned into it, using the pain as a ground.

"How did it know to say that line?" she whispered. "What the hel … " She glanced over at Trea. "... eck is going on here? It's all just mind games and endless layers of weird crap piled on more weird crap."

Garrus sucked in a loud, noisy breath as if declaring the conversation decided, then blew it out. "We aren't going to find out here or from these Reapers. That's a question for live Reapers or hacked computers."

Shepard looked up, anchoring herself in the general's absolute decisiveness. The roles they'd fill during the coming war began to reveal themselves. Garrus definitely had the 'final decision, let's get the plans moving' hat firmly fixed upon his head.

"What do we do with these things?" Nihlus asked. He walked over to the closest one and nudged it with his toe. "We should take them back to Archangel." Crouching he opened his omnitool and swept it over the grotesque. "We didn't get a chance to even scan the asari husks. We could learn a lot from actual specimens."

Shepard let out a thin chuckle as she pulled her elbow out of her thigh and sank into her chair. "You saw Mordin's reaction to that little bug-drone thing. I thought he was having some sort of seizure. If we hand him a Reaper, he might just explode from excitement." Then, sobering, she nodded, but the corner of her mouth drew back in a grimace. "Yeah, we need to take these in for research, but the fact they didn't come in firing worries me. We need to check them over completely for any transmitters, bugs … anything that could prove a security risk."

Garrus crouched next to one of the bodies. "You're thinking they were supposed to be killed and taken back to base?" He looked up at Nihlus. "Go, take a shower and get dressed. I'll stay down here, lend our warriors what small support I can." As he said the last, he cocked a brow plate at his mari, and Shepard suspected that if he'd been human, he would have stuck out his tongue.

"Yeah, all right." Nihlus bent over Trea to touch brows then took her shoulders in a gentle, but solid, no-nonsense grip. "Next time, save me a couple."

Affectionate laughter accompanied a firm shove as Trea replied, "You know I won't. Get upstairs and shower." When he reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced toward him. "And turn on some lights before you go, diume."

Nihlus gave her a jaunty salute. "Aye, aye, Major."

Trea let out a long-suffering sigh, but winked as she met Shepard's gaze. Appearing as vital and strong as she had frail an hour before, the tarin settled firmly and comfortably into Shepard's heart, taking residence there along with her sons.

"They're just one long, brutal nightmare," Garrus muttered.

Shepard turned to watch her general roll one of the Reapers over onto its back. Her wince matched Garrus's at the horrendous intertwining of flesh and metal, the perversion of the monster's original form even more grisly in the light. Shepard choked down the foul expletive that tried to sneak from between her lips and swallowed hard. Every single thing she saw of the Reapers and their creations just compounded her resolve to kill every last one of them. Beings so dedicated to horror and anguish deserved no mercy beyond a barrage of bullets culminating in a swift death. After seeing things like the banshees and these turian-things, how was she supposed to care about their existential angst. Oh poor Reapers, they don't have a soul. Big fucking whoop-dee-shit.

"I don't want these things stinking up my breakfast," Garrus said. He grabbed the monstrosity's arm and hauled it out under the canopy. Once he'd lined up all four in the yard, he called Mordin to bring a squad and pick them up.

"They can check them for any security risks in the Passch's lab," he said when he turned back and saw her watching him. He opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, Nihlus thumped down the stairs.

"I'll start making breakfast," the Spectre said, announcing his plan as if it deserved applause. He ducked his head a little when his eyes met Shepard's. "Sorry, but we brought pre-prepared for you rather than risk killing you."

She laughed. "You never have to apologize for not killing me." She looked up as Garrus stepped in front of her, his hand held out. Gazing into his eyes, she saw his need to discuss things over with her, so nodded and wrapped her fingers around his talons before addressing Nihlus again. "So long as it isn't eggs benedict," she said. "Pus-like drool all over my eggs … ." Punctuating the sentence with violent gagging, she felt pretty good about having gotten her point across as she let Garrus pull her from her chair.

Glancing back, she saw the Spectre eyeballing the container with her breakfast. "Pus? Humans eat that?" He set the container down, an exquisitely satisfying expression of revulsion on his face. Shoving it away with from him with the point of a talon, he muttered, "That's disgusting."

Trea caught Shepard's free hand in hers, squeezing the captain's fingers. "We've fought and killed side by side." The tarin's face glowed with an almost effervescent smile. "Family cemented through life and death and blood." She tugged on Shepard's hand, pulling her down to touch brows. "You're most joyously welcomed, diume."

Shepard swallowed a lump of grateful tears. "Thank you." An embarrassed flush burned up her neck, but she couldn't think of any way to articulate the depth of what she felt, so stayed with silence.

"Could I get my dilan back?" Garrus asked, smartass crackling through his tone.

Trea laughed and released Shepard's hand. "You may." She squeezed Garrus's hand, then nodded toward the stairs. "Go get cleaned up."

Garrus led Shepard to the stairs, tugging her up behind him and then into his old bedroom rather than releasing her hand. She lagged back a bit, savouring the connection and the way he coaxed her along.

"We shouldn't have left you and Mari alone even for a few minutes," Garrus said the moment she shut his bedroom door behind them. He spun and pulled her into an almost frantic embrace. "I just never imagined that the damned Reapers would come here."

Shepard wrapped her arms around him and turned her face into his neck. "Hey, hero, don't know if you noticed, but your women-folk took the invaders out handily, and would've even if they hadn't been unarmed." Wincing, she drew back when she kissed his throat and a piece of the soft moss-like turf from the yard stuck to the end of her tongue. "Oh, that is so gross." She plucked it out from between her lips. "Go shower, you muck monster. I'll still be here, and we can talk everything through once you're clean."

He glanced toward the door as if expecting legions of the enemy to burst through, and Shepard chuckled, love beating away all the dread and weird, creepy crap floating around in her head.

A loving hand caressed the length of his good mandible. "Go. You need to get clean. Your mari and Nihlus have the downstairs covered, and I'll stand guard at the bathroom door, make sure no monsters try to pull a peeping Reaper." She grinned wide at the closed dialect curse that he grumbled at her. "Why, General Vakarian … I know what you just said, sir, and I'm shocked! Shocked and dismayed, sir."

"You are a pain in my … ." Soft laughter rolled under his words as he swept her up and kissed her. "All right, I'll be out in a few minutes." After setting her down, he nodded toward the shelves. "Try not to break my stuff."

They strike from beneath the wings, puer.

They strike from beneath the wings.

And when their feet tread upon good, sweet ground,

The land shall crack, and heave, and burn.

They strike from beneath the wings, puer.

When the gods of Buratrum return.