Torin - Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

Tarin - Tarini plural. Female turian of the age of majority (15)

Dilan - fiancee

Verro - Husband, male bond-mate.

Puer - Pueri plural. Child. Pueriti - Baby / infant under the age of 1

Matrula - Mother (Familiar form Mari equivalent to mom)

83 Days ASR

A soft chime of gratitude and peace breezed through Shepard's thoughts as she stepped over the elevator's threshold. Despite the four different colours of blood staining her clothing, the captain smiled. Eyes closing, she turned—blind—and pressed the control to take her up to the crew deck. "Thank you," she said, her reply lilting, almost singing. "I've been worried about them. And thank you for the help. I would have lost more than three people if it hadn't been for your soldiers and workers."

… lost … her people … Dasik and Javik … one of Ashley's team … still, her people to mourn, their names hers to hold close and do better for ….

A song composed of five perfect notes answered her: a harmony of hope and sorrow. And then Amalair left Shepard alone in her mind once more. Well, as alone as she got inside her standing-room-only skull. Letting out a long sigh of relief, she celebrated the illusory privacy. Most people didn't appreciate the simple peace of having one's thoughts to one's self.

When the elevator door opened, Shepard strode into her cabin. She needed to shower, change and head back down. As much as she feared the consequences, she knew the time had come to tell Miranda what happened to her control chip. Surely the operative suspected after having tried the omnitool a couple of times.

Nihlus sat at her computer, the vid screen/model case showing most of the Archangel inner circle. She stepped behind him, hiding a slow caress down the back of his neck as she nodded to the others.

"Captain Shepard," Nyreen Kandros said, drawing Shepard's attention, "do you have an update on General Vakarian's condition?"

Shepard smiled and nodded. "He came out of his surgery very well," she told them, the news mostly for Nihlus. "When the praetorian—"

"Praetorian?" Nyreen asked, cutting Shepard off. The tarin's mandibles dropped, confusion in her gold stare.

"Sorry, the big, flying constructs with all the husk heads inside their mouths." Shepard's cheeks heated as she dismissed the moment with a single-shoulder shrug. "I call them praetorians in my head, because they seem to be the collectors' elite guard. Anyway, when it threw him back, it tore an artery weakened by the surgeries conducted during his abduction. Dr. Chakwas has done a complete scan of his circulatory system and bulked up any remaining weak spots. He'll be back kicking ass in a couple of days."

She patted Nihlus's shoulder. "I'm going to wash off my hours of nursing duty then head down to talk to Miranda. Did you get a chance to talk to Giran?"

Nihlus let out a soft breath, turning the chair a little to look up into her eyes. "Yes, she's feeling Dasik's loss, but she's determined to push on and help the rest of the protheans."

"Excellent. I'll talk to her when she gets out of medbay." Glancing up at the vid screen, she nodded to the others and patted his shoulder again. She turned away, the motion taking a massive effort as her dilan's gravity insisted that she kiss him before leaving his orbit. Just outside the bathroom door, his pull finally released her, and she ducked inside.

Shepard really didn't know how to feel about Javik's death. He'd passed from the massive burns inflicted by the praetorian's particle beams even before they reached the Ypres. Despite working on him the entire way, Kaidan and Mordin never managed to get him stabilized. Being brutally honest, his death made things a lot less complicated. Of course, her relief just made her feel like the absolute shittiest person in the universe.

She turned on the shower. "I'll do the best I can for your people. I hope you find the peace in death you couldn't find in life." Setting that aside, she shed her bloody clothes. The battle went on.

Twenty minutes later, smelling of shampoo and feeling less like a abattoir floor, Shepard stepped up to Miranda's door. Hesitating with her hand halfway to the control, she focused on her breathing. As much as she loved poking the operative, Miranda's apparent lack of ethical boundaries scared the crap out of her, and who knew what Cerberus might do to try to regain control over her without the chip.

A bracing breath still burning in her nose, she reached up and hit the door chime. "It's Shepard," she said, simply. As much as she could demand entry, she needed to establish a working relationship with the woman. Keeping the enemy close had never been more imperative.

The door opened, Miranda standing a half-metre away. The operative stared at her, body rigid, chin lifted. "What do you need?"

"To talk to you." Shepard let out a breath close to sigh volume, but didn't relax, refusing to soften.

After a solid minute, Miranda nodded—a single jerk of her head—and spun on her heel, marching back to her desk like a drill sergeant who'd taken a pole up the ass before being pushed into wet cement.

"You've stopped by medbay to get checked out?" Shepard asked, stepping over the threshold very much as she'd walk into the den of a feral varren. She followed Miranda over to the desk, but remained standing when the operative circled behind it and sat down.

Organizing herself into professional disinterest, Miranda nodded. "I'm in perfect health, Captain. My team took a minimum of fire, and came through without injury." She swallowed hard, her jaw flexing. "Your squad and General Vakarian's effectively cleared the way for us." The woman's jaw tightened until Shepard began to worry Miranda might just shatter her teeth. "Rachni, Shepard?"

Shepard's turn to clench her teeth. She spun, crossing the cabin to the portal and stared out at the darkness. "The rachni are not what we've been led to believe by history. I know and trust the queen." Another deep, noisy breath that she sharpened into a not-sigh. "But I didn't come to justify my cooperation with the rachni."

A precise, military turn and Shepard pinned the Cerberus operative with a stare sharper than the not-sigh. "I came to let you in on my plan for the immediate future. To lead the missions up to and during the war, I need a ship able to carry the army and support structure I need."

Miranda stood, all angles chiseled from a block of ice. "You're going to leave the Ypres completely?"

"Yes." Shepard cut the air with a bladed hand. "If you decide to remain associated with Archangel through me, you'll take over as her captain, and you'll make Ashley Williams your XO." She strode to the desk, hoping she presented at least a facade of resolution. "All the alien team members and Jack will come with me." Shrugging, she leaned forward, bracing her fingertips against the top of the desk. "They wouldn't trust you or Cerberus, anyway."

"And the collectors?" the operative demanded, a glimpse of fury escaping before she corralled it all back behind that bulge in her jaw. "The vessel we just captured?"

Finally seeing a flash of the real woman, Shepard sighed and sat in the chair across the desk. Nodding toward the operative's seat, she held out a hand. "Please, sit. This is progress. I doubted you had anything real written on those perfect synapses behind the perfect mask. Anger … " A crooked smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "... anger I can work with."

Another flash and Miranda nodded, just a single tip of her head, as she perched on the edge of her chair. The air between them crackled, ozone hanging heavy enough to make Shepard wonder if the biotic intended to put her down. Oh well, it wasn't like Miranda could hope to take out the captain with so many of Shepard's people aboard.

She pushed on. "The collector vessel is being taken to Ploba where Legion and the chia will examine it on every level, searching for weaknesses." Leaning back, she draped her lower leg over her opposite knee, the pose awkward … why the hell did people sit like that? Anyway …. "Of particular interest is the collector IFF. If we're going to pass through the Omega IV relay to take the fight to them, we're going to need to arrive there without setting off any immediate alarms or defenses."

"You're giving dangerous technology to uncertain and untrustworthy aliens?" Miranda jumped up, her turn to lean into the desk, her fingertips holding her up. "Cerberus could—"

"Take the collector tech and sure, maybe do something useful with it to get us to their base, but also turn it against the rest of the races once your organization doesn't need them as cannon fodder." Shepard raised an eyebrow as Miranda straightened and opened her omnitool. "Your control chip won't help you, just like it hasn't the last several times you've tried to use it."

Miranda froze, the truth revealed in the moment before she swallowed. Damn, she needed to work on hiding her tells. "What do you mean?" Kudos for the recovery; the operative asked the question with all her usual ice-cliffs in place.

"We found and burned out your control chip weeks ago," Shepard said, chipping each word out of those frozen walls. "Chakwas and Mordin discovered it after the Archangel staff meeting. You used it so often you triggered several minor hemorrhages in my brain." Tipping her head forward and to the side, she tapped two fingers against the small scar. "They fried it."

Sinking back into her chair, Miranda appeared to melt, but only for a moment. "You could have died."

Eyebrows raised, Shepard nodded. "Better dead than being a slave to Cerberus. Anyway, it won't work. I've been a free agent since Palaven." Relaxing into the chair, she crossed her arms, but loose, not defensive. "And here I am, fighting the fight against the collectors and reapers, and it's not a fight I intend to give up before the reapers are dead. I just can't fight according to Cerberus's rules of engagement."

"So, you're giving me the Ypres?" Doubt leaped across the desk.

"Yes, and asking you to work with Archangel, but cooperation is up to you." Shepard stood. "Look at Cerberus with open eyes, Miranda. I know you have reason to be as loyal to the Illusive Man as you are, and if you want to just return to him, fine." Calling the meeting closed with a sharp nod, Shepard turned toward the door.

"Captain!" Shepard heard Miranda's chair roll hard enough that the backs of her legs must have given it quite a shove. "I … " Again the clicking swallow. "I need to speak to you."

Something in the operative's tone—a plaintiff undertow—caught Shepard in its current, tugging her back around. Real pain showed through where the ice in Miranda's stare thinned. Nodding, Shepard returned to the chair and sat, elbows on her knees, hands clasped in front of her.

"I … " Miranda sat. "I find myself in the uncomfortable and undesirable position of having to ask for your help." Miranda's lips pressed together hard enough to let Shepard know she hadn't hidden her shock very well.

"Of course, what can I do?" That time, when Shepard relaxed back into the chair, she sat naturally, ankle over her knee, arms loosely crossed. "If it's within my power, I'll do what I can."

"I've never told you my history as I patently dislike discussing personal matters. I believe they don't belong in the workplace," Miranda said, leaning forward, her arms resting across her desk blotter: Shepard hadn't even suspected people still used them. A slight, staccato cough pulled the captain's attention back where it belonged. "However, this is important."

She cleared her throat, one quiet cough before continuing, "I'm genetically enhanced. My father created me in order to provide his business empire with the perfect scion." Her fingers flipped at her face, the perfect ebony hair draped across her forehead. "My biotics, my intelligence, physical prowess … even my looks were all designed to give me an edge."

Shepard shifted a little, not wanting to interrupt, but feeling Miranda's need for a moment of space. Maybe she could help … guide the topic forward. "That's a hell of a burden to live with, especially as a kid."

Miranda nodded. "I wasn't a daughter, I was an asset … and a means of foiling mortality." She shook her head, replacing ice with iron. "As soon as I was old enough and brave enough, I ran away and joined Cerberus."

Scowling, Shepard pushed out of her chair, suddenly needing space herself. What the hell? They'd done nothing but grapple—at loggerheads with one another—from the moment Shepard awoke, and now Miranda just leaped off the high horse to sit down in Shepard's confessional? It didn't make any sense. Maybe the change formed a backup plan in case the control chip failed? A 'we can't just zap our agenda into her brain so we need to soften her up with emotional connections'?

"I can't blame you for being suspicious," Miranda said, right on cue. "We haven't exactly seen eye to eye since you woke up."

Shepard turned to meet the understatement of the month, if not the entire year. She studied the operative's body language, seeing at least a layer or two of deception. "You still haven't gotten to what you need me to do."

Miranda stepped around her desk and leaned back against the edge. "I wasn't the first 'daughter' my father created; I was merely the first one he kept."

Rage sparked, eating away at the edges of her suspicion. "The first one he kept? What happened to the others?" The second after she asked the question, she shrugged it off. She didn't need to know. "No, forget that … just tell me what you want me to do."

Miranda paced to the bed in the back of the cabin a couple of times. "When I ran away, I took my twin sister with me." She looked down for a half second, a moment of thaw before her stare returned to Shepard's, as chill as ever. "I couldn't leave her. Cerberus helped me place her with a family where my father couldn't find her."

Looking down, Shepard nodded. She walked the couple of metres to the chair, the puzzle running circles in her head. Miranda spoke the truth, but truth to fit an agenda. "And now you believe your father knows where she is?" Looking up, Shepard shrugged. "Why not just have Cerberus relocate her?"

Miranda returned to her chair, primly aligning herself into her usual pose: legs crossed at the knee, hands folded in her lap. "The Illusive Man has arranged a reason for the family to relocate, but I want to supervise their transfer personally. My father knows she's on Illium, and he'll stop at nothing to get her back."

Shepard sat, letting out a sigh at long last. "Do you have reason to suspect that your father has someone inside Cerberus? After all, it's protected you. Why not her?" Leaning forward, she clasped her hands and looked up at the operative from under heavily-lidded eyes. "Tell me this isn't just a ploy to appeal to my warm, squishy heart."

Miranda solidified, a fortress to repel any of Shepard's attempts to breach the walls of trust. "I'm not asking for you to trust me or accompany me. I merely need a few days to travel to Illium and oversee—"

"How do you know Cerberus and your father aren't in bed together?" Shepard repeated, slicing at Miranda's stubborn solo attitude with an edge on every word. "It sounds like something that is right down his alley."

Miranda's expression turned 'just chomped down on a lime, peel and all'. "My father was once a staunch supporter. He donated billions before I ran away."

"Yeah, that's how you knew about it, right?" Shepard took a noisy breath in through her nose, letting it out in a resigned puff. "So, basically, you don't know if someone in Cerberus broke your confidence." Three skin cells around Miranda's eyes softened. Right.

"So, since your father knows her family is being moved, how and in what numbers will he go after her?"

Miranda's lips tightened around the truth. "I have a contact on Illium who's been keeping an eye on Oriana for me. She will meet me on Illium the day before the move."

Shepard leaned back, unclenching the teeth that she hadn't realized she ground together until her jaw began to ache. "Okay, we'll drop the ship off on Ploba, sort our people around, then head for Illium." Shaking her head to tell Miranda not to bother arguing, Shepard crossed her arms. "So, start spilling. I want to know everything, starting at the top."

84 Days ASR

Shepard walked into Mordin's lab, stretching a little as she rolled her shoulder, still feeling the day before's battle all the way to the marrow of her bones. "I'm too old for all this," she grumbled and then yawned, hard and wide enough that her jaw clicked.

"Still only at one-fifth of average human lifespan," Mordin replied without looking up from his computer.

Shepard snort-chuffed in the back of her throat. "It's not the years, Doc." She took a deep breath and walked over to stand opposite him. "So, what was so urgent I had to get up here before we reach Ploba?" She sniffed the air then glanced around. Something felt different in the space. Usually the air in the lab felt thin and cool and light. Right then, it weighed down on her like a steam bath or an ugly secret.

Oh … She dropped her head, letting it hang from her shoulders for a second … for fuck's sake. What now?

"Shepard." The salarian wrung his hands a little as he paced behind his lab table. "Called you here for a reason."

"Right, as I said." She nodded and leaned a hip against the biobed behind her, fairly certain that he was speaking from a script in his head. That did not bode well. "So, what can I do for you?" She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head a little when he just kept pacing.

"Must make ... confession. No … explanation." He cleared his throat, thin fingers curled in front of his mouth. "Scientific curiosity, sometimes … " A musical sort of humming sound drifted from his throat. "... overwhelming." Shrugging, he looked at her with a hopeful sort of expression on his face.

Shepard nodded. They were never going to get to a point. So much waffling meant one hell of a confession … no, explanation. She felt like calling engineering to make sure that Mordin hadn't accidentally set the drive to explode and kill them all. Swallowing the dread, she said, "Right. Overwhelming, I understand. The universe is rife with mysteries begging to be solved."

"Yes!" He lunged toward her. "Exactly!" When she jumped back and cracked her spine on the metal frame of the bed, he composed himself. "Apologies."

"Okay, so what particular scientific mystery begging to be solved brings us here today? And why do I need to know about it?" Hopefully pointed questions could get them moving along.

Mordin settled into a steady, three-sided pacing route from his desk to the research terminal then to the hall door and back to his desk. "During tests to prove your identity, Dr. Chakwas harvested egg to test the age of the cell."

Shepard nodded. "Okay, I recall that. Getting a little concerned now, but go ahead."

"Took cell when Chakwas finished testing. Conducted own tests. Digging deeper. Curiosity overcame me. Test plasticity of human genome. Expand possibilities. Perhaps discover genetic modifications useful in war against Reapers." He stared into her eyes for a few moments, his expression both keen and hopeful, then began to pace once more. "Used genetic material from other patient in hospital at time. Spliced turian genetic traits to human male sperm cell. Fertilized egg."

If it hadn't been for the biobed at her back, Shepard would have fallen straight to the floor. As it was, she smashed the bone in her wrist scrambling for a grip. "Wait … you're telling me that you took my egg and fertilized it with some sort of genetic experiment?" She licked her lips, trying to assuage the sudden desert-like conditions in her mouth. "There are so many ways this is messed up … God, I can't even think of them all. So … first thing … who or what are the other donors?" Sweet baby Jesus, there were just some questions she could never be prepared to ask.

"Human male unknown … simply test sample donated to genetics bank. Turian genetic material taken from General Vakarian." He looked at her with an expression of such blythe … hope that, for a moment, she almost told him not to worry about it. Then reality reasserted itself.

Fertilized egg. Dear lord. Just … dear lord.

She focused on Mordin, wishing he'd just bloody well stand still. "And Garrus knows nothing about this, either?"

"Salarian parentage follows matriarchal lines. Thought it best to inform you of fetus's existence first." He shrugged as if it all made sense and the entire galaxy hadn't just turned inside out and upside down.

"Fetus?" Shepard yelped, then winced as the screech bounced back at her …. Yeah, they heard that back on Earth. Fetus opened a whole different kettle of pickled fish. Fetus meant baby rather than a couple of cells. "Sweet baby Jesus, fetus," she whispered, leaning toward him, the ground disappearing under her feet. Had Javik pushed her out an airlock? No, Javik died. What happened to all the air? She tugged at her collar and gasped. Thirty seconds dragged by before she managed to say, "This experiment of yours created a viable life? Blessed Enkindlers … are you saying I'm a mother?"

Mordin thought for a moment, then nodded. "Exactly, although designation as mother your decision. Experiment complete, fetal development stable through twelfth week, wanted to consult with you prior to termination."

"Termination? Twelfth week? Holy fucking Enkindler shit, Mordin … that's a baby." Shepard stumbled a couple of steps toward the door, then realized she couldn't actually run away from that particular madness and stopped. "Hold up. Someone else needs to be here for this conversation."

When Mordin tried to talk, Shepard shushed him, her pointed finger rife with horrific possibilities if he spoke again. "Ah!" she snapped when he opened his mouth. "Not another sound."

Shepard reached up to her radio. "Garrus … um … Mordin and I need to see you in the genetics lab. Can you come up … no, down here for a few minutes?" She winced. No way the conversation would last only a few minutes, not once Garrus began to panic, adding more panic to her panic.

You bloody well should be panicking. You can't be a parent right now, Janey. You're just a six-year-old with a gun hiding inside the body of an adult, how are you supposed to take care of a baby?

Dear God, a baby.

"Shepard? Are you all right?" Garrus called, his tone heavy with concern. "You sound like you've seen a spirit."

"Sort of the complete opposite, and actually, you'd better clear a few hours of your schedule and haul ass down here." She hesitated again. It didn't just affect them. Theirs was a family of three, and there existed a pretty decent chance that Nihlus might not panic. They could use someone capable of keeping his cool. "And bring Nihlus. Lucy's got some 'splainin' to do."

"Lucy?" She heard him moving things around on her desk. "I don't understand. Who's Lucy?"

She shook that off, her hand flapping at the air ... trying to clear the confusion away, maybe. "Human thing … don't worry about it, just grab Nihlus and get down here."

"I'm already on my way." She heard heavy, limping footsteps both in her comms and on the deck overhead. "I'll be down there in five."

"Good. Shepard, out." Shepard closed the channel then returned to the biobed. She needed to sit. She lowered the thing as far as she could, then hopped up. Once settled, she turned her overwhelmed, numb confusion—and the very real feeling of violation—on the salarian.

"How could you take something so intimately mine and just … do something like this without talking to me first?" she asked. "Don't you see how fucked up this is?"

He shrugged. "No. Cell frozen, due to be disposed of in stasis cleanout. Did not expect anything to come of experiment, perhaps better radiation protection for humans. Turians have excellent resistance to ambient radiation, poor tolerance for environmental changes due to lack of subcutaneous fat layers. Possibilities for genetic therapies promising."

Shepard blinked at him, sort of maybe, almost, kinda understanding why he'd considered her frozen—due to be disposed of—egg, fair game. Still, he just … how could she face the horrendous truth about the coming war … hell, the collectors … and decide whether to raise a child? A hundred other questions muscled their way up her throat, but she knew Garrus would want to know most of those answers as well, so she trapped them behind her teeth. Bracing against the edge of the bed, she stared at Mordin, shock spinning her around from terror to joy to horror to fury and back to terror.

As soon as she heard her torini's boots on the deck plating, she jumped up and turned toward the door to the CIC. When it opened, she strode over to them, taking their hands, a drowning woman snatching at life preservers in grey, stormy seas. The strength and warmth in their grip washed over her, a wave of such absolute relief that her heart dropped from just below her uvula back down where it belonged.

"What is it?" Garrus asked, his hand reaching up to cup her face. "You look terrified." Turning on Mordin, fury and accusation made him seem twice as large as usual. "What have you done?" He pushed past Shepard, taking a lunging stride at Mordin, only halting when his mate tugged back on his hand.

"Come sit with me and stay calm, please?" Shepard drew them both toward the biobed, but only forced Garrus to sit down next to her. "Mordin has some explaining to do." While the salarian scientist brought them up to speed, Shepard's stare stayed riveted to Garrus's profile, her husband becoming more turian by the second: back stiffening, neck arching, mandibles high and tight to his mouth. Holding her breath, she waited for Mordin's words to register and the other shoe to drop. Nihlus … she pretty much knew how Nihlus would react, but Garrus … she didn't have a single clue how he'd react to the news.

Mordin finished with twelve weeks along, going to terminate the experiment, eliciting a soft rumble from Nihlus, and from Garrus …

… silence.

Huh, the one reaction she hadn't really expected. After nearly five minutes, Garrus tugged his hand free and stood, pacing to the door and back. "Forget that you used our genetic material without asking," he said at last. "We can beat that discussion to death after I stop wanting to snap the other horn off your head." Looking back at Shepard, Garrus bobbed his head in a small, helpless shrug.

She understood. Mordin's news still had her reeling. She needed something to hold tight to, but instead, Garrus broke loose of the shore and started dragging her out to sea.

"Can we see a scan?" Nihlus asked, his question providing an anchor at last. Right. A scan … they needed all the information they could muster. Information led to an informed plan.

Her heart slowed. Right. Yes! Just another problem … another insanely complicated battlefield to navigate. Battlefields were her wheelhouse. Break down the enemy positions, size up the terrain, and then set up a coherent, by-the-numbers plan of attack. Just another battlefield, and the more intel she could get, the better a plan she'd build. Nihlus's voice whispered in her head about plans all going to hell in under a minute once battle began. She stomped it into thought-muck. A plan would get her through. Yes. She took a long, deep breath. Just another battlefield.

Sure, a battlefield that could completely destroy the life of an innocent child when its mother proved to be better at killing things than nurturing them. Not to mention the lack of safety. Where would your child live? Omega? Stay with babysitters or grandparents ninety percent of the time? What happens if you do something stupid and get your child killed? It would rip the rest of your family apart. Sure, Janey. Just another battlefield. Way to lie to yourself.

"How advanced is a twelve week old human?" Nihlus asked, cutting off Shepard's freak out before it ramped up to eleventy billion. "Turian offspring are halfway to gestation at twelve weeks … far too late to terminate, except in emergency cases."

"Human fetal viability eighty percent at twenty weeks, fifty percent at eighteen weeks," Mordin supplied, earning a ferocious growl of subvocals from Garrus. "Putting scan on monitor."

Shepard gasped as the child—and it was a child, not the random blob of cells she'd been imagining—appeared on the monitor above Mordin's desk. Her hands leaped up to her mouth as she whispered, "Holy blessed sweet baby Enkindler Jesus."

Nihlus strode over and sat at Shepard's side, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her in. She melted into his warmth, grateful for the shelter and calm. "So we know what the medical community would say, haksaya kubenar. What do you say?"

"I just …." The words tumbled out, but then she saw the flutter on the screen and bit them off. "Is that her heartbeat?" She slid off the side of the biobed, enraptured by the image of the tiny person Mordin had created out of her and Garrus.

"Yes. Strong heartbeat, development excellent." Mordin nodded, making his usual little self-congratulatory clucking sound. "Fetus adapting extremely well to alien genetic material."

"Izzy," Shepard whispered, something deep inside her tethering itself to that tiny life. "Look at her nose. Sweet Enkindlers, she has your nose, Garrus." She grinned, her heart racing … sure, she remained terrified, but something about that little, curled up person seemed to tell her that everything would work out okay in the end. She lifted her hand, her fingertips brushing through the image, as if she could take hold of the hand that stretched out. "And look at those fingers and toes. She's …."

"Perfect." Strong arms encircled her, lifting her off the ground even as they pulled her from Nihlus's side. Wrapping her arms around Garrus's neck, she pressed her brow to her verro's, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. It felt right, the four of them.

"She's not going anywhere, is she, Callor?" she whispered, pressing her cheek to his.

He shook his head, a soft subvocal the only answer to her question for nearly two minutes before Garrus cleared his throat. "Is it okay that I still want to pop his horn off even though he created that beautiful little miracle?"

A happy sob tangled around her chuckle as it broke free. "Completely. I'll help." Tightening her grip with one arm, she reached out with the other, grabbing Nihlus's cowl and pulling him over into the embrace. "You okay with this, cikabeknai?" she asked, grinning because she could see the answer alight on his face, his joy so brilliant that he appeared to glow.

Nihlus kissed her and nodded. "I couldn't be more okay with it. She's absolutely perfect."

"Should I go ahead with the termination?" Mordin asked.

When all three spun to face him, even Shepard managed to find some growl to go behind the words they hollered in concert. "Don't you dare, Mordin!"

When Shepard saw the salarian's grin, she countered with a mock scowl. "You're a …." She shook her head. "Nope, can't use that language in front of my daughter.

Nihlus tugged her back into the group hug. "Wait until our maris see this. They're going to lose their minds. Five seconds after we tell them and show them the scan, the yarn-knotting utensils will come out. We're going to have pueriti blankets and clothes piling up everywhere."

Garrus chuckled and nuzzled her ear. "We're never going to get Izzy off Omega, are we?"

Shepard held both her torini, pressing their cheeks against hers. "Probably not, but just look at her. We'll find a way to make it work for her."