Quarians are such a beautifully mysterious race. Even if you knew of them, their history, and the reasons behind why they wore enviro-suits, their masks still held an aura of staggering intrigue.

Perhaps it was their strength to face death every day beyond the fabric of their own clothes? Perhaps it was their endurance to survive for centuries in hostile space with no home to call their own?

Or perhaps it was simply the fact that you can't ever quite tell what they were thinking behind those glass visors; swathing their faces in dark violet shadows, effectively obscuring their facial expressions.

All but save for their eyes, of course, which radiated from within the shadow's depths with rich luminescence, and in some special cases, a certain type of intelligence. Studious gazes that only extremely talented engineers possessed; piercing their purple visors with the clarity of two brilliant stars upon open space. Just like one such quarian, who was now fleeing on a ship from a war that would ultimately determine the fates of trillions of lives in the galaxy.

Except only her eyes weren't studious. They were cast down, dimmed, and staring wide-eyed at the floor yet perceiving nothing. Despite the mystery behind quarian masks, it didn't take a psychologist to notice that she was an utter nervous wreck.

But it wasn't because of this sudden intense observation of the ground. Her suit was ripped and bloodied, and her entire being shook mercilessly. Her trembling had become so severe that she could have been easily mistaken for shivering. And like her, the ship also shook violently, and their combined efforts made standing near impossible.

Thunderous explosions echoed from just outside the ship's hull, where bullets flashed like lightning and burning ash and flesh coagulated the city streets of London below. Clearly, this young woman has been participating in nothing less but the nauseating hellfire of brutal warfare.

And if her shaking wasn't already enough of a telling sign about her psychological state. Her nervous habit of wringing her hands had also become worryingly apparent. It was hurting her even more, possibly even worsening her wounds. But her fear acted as a natural analgesic, blocking out the pain into a numb afterthought.

Strangely though, it wasn't the war that was scaring her most. For a young woman in her mid-twenties, she had lost allies, friends, and even family to horrors that could rival those of the most decorated veterans. She was practically guaranteed nightmares for years to come. And still, even now, it wasn't the threat of annihilation for all organic life in the galaxy that was causing her distress.

The thing that was really putting her into this fitful state was far more personal. Not the thought of everyone dying, but the thought of being the only one left alive. It was the feeling of loneliness. A distant, hollow feeling. It couldn't have been a few minutes since when she had watched him run straight into certain death.

Come back to me.

She had been repeating this phrase over and over inside her head. Almost as if it was the only string of words she knew. It became like a mantra that worsened her hand wringing into a hyperactive blur, and for a fleeting moment, before she fell back into her dread, she would ask herself why her hands were hurting and suddenly soaked. She didn't allow herself to linger on that thought.

Somewhere over the loud bangs of the rocking ship and thundering cannon fire, his voice had resurfaced in her mind, interrupting her with a soft, gentle, and loving tone. It was a voice that comforted her on anxious and lonely nights to adrenaline-pumped battlefields alike. But his voice repeated things that she least wanted to hear, much less remember.

Go back to Rannoch, he had pleaded. Build yourself a home.

Her eyes watered again, and this time, she finally allowed that one tear she was struggling to hold back to fall from her luminescent eyes and grace her cheek, hidden from the view of a darkening universe.

I have a home...

Come back to me.

She didn't receive a proper answer then. All she could do was outstretch her hand and hope against hope that he would reconsider his mission. That he would stop and join her on the ship to evacuate with her. But she knew that just wasn't him. He was stubborn, tenacious, and just as every bit equally noble.

For her bondmate was the one and only Savior of the Galaxy, Commander Shepard. That was what the galaxy called him, anyway. But she only knew him as her captain, a simple human soldier. An ordinary man that had extraordinary character. A man that never left a job unfinished and, as much as it pained her, would never make a promise that he couldn't keep.

He was compassionate, trustworthy, determined, and flawed; all qualities that made him attractive to her made him...alive; made him fit her best. How ironic now that it was keeping him from her.

Tali couldn't help but choke out a silent, fervent prayer to her ancestors.

Please! Bring him back safely! Bring him home! Ancestors, I—I—

A single sob wracked her body, bringing her a pause to articulate her thoughts.

Ancestors. I already lost him once, when I couldn't call him mine. And I almost lost him more times than I can count since then. Please, after everything we've been through—After everything we have been through together. Just don't...don't make me lose him now. Please, just...protect him.

There was a shift in gravity that brought her back to the present. Her eyes, now returning to a numbed focus, conceived the shiny texture of steel of the elevator floor. It was slowly becoming stained by drops of red and blue fluid. Blood.

The red blood belonged to her. The blue belonged to the tall turian on her right. As she became more aware, it dawned on her that she was leaning up against him. Not by some absent-minded choice, but because he was actively supporting her on her feet, which proved difficult with each sudden jerk of the Normandy.

The turian's name was Garrus Vakarian, and he was the next closest person to her asides from Shepard. If she could describe him, then he was nothing less than her older brother. The concept was new for her, given that she grew up an only child. Garrus on the other hand already had some experience in having a younger sister.

Their relationship was rather unexpected for both of them. It could have been called a strange twist of fate, as they were mostly at odds with each other back when they first met.

She remembered how much seething frustration she had for him when he was a cold and narrow-minded C-Sec officer. But then again, she was also a naive and innocent child on her pilgrimage. The two have come such a long way, and both have learned how to grow up together.

Now, it's been nearly four years, and they were both stuck in the heat of battle with an ancient machinic race that was hell-bent on ripping all advanced species from the galaxy as if they were weeds in a garden. Garrus had shifted from being a vigilante into a high-ranking turian war hero, and she went from an accused traitor to an admiral of her people! Even Shepard had gone from a simple human commander to the galaxy's ultimate peacemaker. Who would've guessed?

Not her, that much was certain.

But she was certainly proud of them; and equally as much, she was also scared for them. Terrified.

She looked towards her big turian brother. He was battered and bloodied as much, if not more, as she was. His armor glowed a bright orange from burn marks, and his helmet was peeled away to reveal his heavily scarred and cut face. Blood dripped steadily from the corner of his mouth and eye, accentuating his ragged breathing. Together they grunted in pain as they waited for the elevator to reach its destination.

Her mind flashed back to the battlefield, prodding her nervousness once more. The ground was covered in ash, soaked by the blood of the humans and the oily remains of Reaper troops. Shepard was just ahead of her. She recalled the feeling of her lungs burning as they ran to the objective, a beam of light that shot up into the black sky. Harbinger, leader of the Reapers itself, was guarding it, vaporizing anyone who dared to get close.

She remembered that even when the men that ran alongside Shepard simply ceased to exist with each one of Harbinger's blasts, her human bondmate still kept moving; and she, still, kept following. The end was so close. The nightmares were nearly over.

Then that tank got overturned.

She ducked, as did Garrus, but the resulting explosion from the tank had ripped her suit to shreds, and wounded her into the state she was in now. And before she knew it, Shepard was there next to her, checking over her to make sure that she was okay. He always was.

It was too soon afterward that she found herself walking up the ramp of the Normandy's cargo bay. All she could do was watch and plead silently as the love of her life ran off to finish the mission without anyone to watch his back. Without her to watch his back. It made her chest ache like hell.

Somewhere in between her stressed thoughts and tired breaths, she must have involuntarily whimpered, because Garrus began to rub her shoulder soothingly and tenderly, trying to comfort her to the best of his ability.

"Hey...hey," he whispered, consoling her as you would a young child. "Come on, let's get you to the medbay."

"But, John," her voice cracked. It was rare for her to refer to her lover's first name outside of their private times together. But now, she wanted nothing more than to imprint the taste of it onto her tongue.

"He's going to be okay," he reassured her, though he didn't sound too confident in his own words.

"But how?" she wavered. "How is he supposed to be okay?"

Almost as if it were an answer to her question, the elevator rudely stopped and slid its doors open to the Memorial Wall; the place where they put up the names of their fallen crew members, to remind the others of their noble sacrifices. Tali's breath instantly hitched and she physically recoiled into Garrus's arms. She tried not to look at the ghostly white names, in fear that she might find Shepard's staring back at her.

Garrus most definitely took note of this and hugged her closely, planting himself firmly in between her and the wall of names whilst urging her forwards. Tali was grateful, as her legs had started to fall numb.

Garrus took a deep breath once the Memorial Wall was out of eyeshot. She expected that he was going to make some optimistic explanation about how Shepard was going to survive this. Instead, he made a frustrated grunt.

"I...I don't know," he finally admitted, deflating with a defeated sigh. But he was quick to restore some level of that optimism, perhaps for her sake.

"I don't know how...but I do know that in some way he will finish this, one way or another. He always does."

Tali wished that she could share in his unwavering faith. Her other eye had finally released its trickle of salty water, flowing down her bruised face and mixing in with the iron taste of blood in between her lips. The Normandy's walls seemed exceptionally large now, and closer. It felt...hollow.

"We were always with him, you know. To see things through," she choked, struggling to keep the salt and iron mixture from seeping into her throat. "Now he-he's—"

Alone.

She sniffled and buried herself deeper into Garrus's arms, hugging him as tightly as she could. She hoped that it could somehow slow the tears, but the rest of it came when a single sob wracked her body.

"Keelah! I'm just so worried!" She whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah," Garrus responded. "So am I."

Tali noted the tone of dejection in his voice. She relinquished her hold on him but still kept close, sharing in the weight of their combined uncertainty. A sudden hiss of gliding metal caused them to look up. They had finally approached the medbay.

Doctor Chakwas, their valiant medic of exceptional talent, was quick to open the doors and rush to Tali's other side, assisting Garrus as they both brought her in.

"Oh, dear! Please, bring her over here," she instructed, leading them to the nearest bed.

The old doctor's voice was soothing, like a mother's, but still held a worried edge. Tali noticed the concerned look on her face as she inspected her wounds cursorily. With Tali's differences in physiology and overall complicated health, she could tell that she was one of the last few Chakwas wanted to find injured.

"Lay her down, carefully," the doctor ordered, releasing her hold on the quarian admiral before tightening the sheets of the bed.

Garrus obliged. He leaned forward and swooped an arm into the crook of Tali's knees. The sudden movement of being lifted unceremoniously made her feel dizzy, but she didn't criticize. Instead, her lips tightened into a guilty thin line as she heard him grunt in pain from the exertion, the effort straining on his own wounds. She thanked him as he gingerly sat her down on the bed.

The thin mattress sunk lightly under her weight, and already she had found it difficult to not immediately pass out. She noticed her blood began to flow onto the sheets, and she started to fear that if she closed her eyes now, then she would never open them again. Thankfully, Joker's voice came over the intercom, just loud enough to stop her from lulling into slumber.

"Disengagement and Evacuation in 3...2...1…"

Then it was no longer just Joker's voice that was keeping her awake. On the final count, the ship shot higher in altitude, making sudden and jerky movements to avoid combat as it left the atmosphere. Her stomach churned and sweat pooled at her furrowed brow, and she clutched her core tightly to avoid losing its contents.

She stole an open look during the ordeal and found Garrus still there, a hand clutched at the foot of her bed. A mix of concern and determination was emphasized in his eyes, composing an expression that she could not quite read. She tilted her head forward slightly to get a better look at him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, straining.

He didn't answer. The ship had finally stopped moving and his hand balled into a soft fist that rose near to his face, an elbow rested inside the angle of the other in a pondering posture.

"Garrus, please, lay down," Chakwas requested, who was already lifting an emergency medical kit over to her quarian patient.

"No," Garrus defied, his thoughts apparently coming to a conclusion. He looked steely into the doctor's eyes. "I have duties to fulfill."

Even despite his wounds, Garrus's endurance was something worth commending. The final fight was on its last stretch, and as Shepard's chosen second-in-command, it was clear that he was steadfast in seeing the crew through it to the end. Without another word, he gathered what strength he had and left the medbay.

Chakwas of course made to protest, but the turian marksman had already passed through the door. She made a frustrated gasp and quickly yelled after him.

"Be back ASAP!"

If Garrus responded, Tali didn't hear. The symptoms of sickness had begun and she had started to cough wretchedly. The walls swam and her balance shifted all over the bed. She could only focus on the old doctor's hands that searched over her suit carefully, finding and assessing all of its ruptures. The skin-tight rubber oozed red blood and soaked into her tattered purple cloth wrappings, turning them into a sickly maroon. Shrapnel was embedded in some of the ruptures, sending sharp doses of pain as they quivered each time Tali coughed. For a single moment of lucidity, the quarian admiral watched the human doctor work, and her face had finally started showing signs of fear.

Keelah.

Chakwas activated her Omni-tool and got to work scanning the damage. A thin orange line traced up and down across her patient's body, producing a small holographic replica of Tali in the air just above her arm. The replica displayed health reports in the form of highlighted hot zones. The areas on her body that suffered the worst damage were highlighted in red, with smaller specks of light crawling around like ants to signify infections. One of Tali's automated suit systems had already locked down seals to prevent the spread of infections on the surface. Others were also at work dispensing antibiotics and using up the last of their medi-gel reserves.

Chakwas nodded in satisfaction upon the discovery. The next thing she did was take a more in-depth analysis of Tali's helmet. Her Omni-tool took a moment to accumulate the information, and she became alarmed when the information presented her with three red numbers.

Tali, through natural assumption, initiated another one of her suit systems. This one lowered the temperature inside her helmet, sharply and uncomfortably. The cold iciness of it chilled the mix of blood, sweat, and tears on the soft skin of her scrunched-up expression. Her visor also fogged up somewhat, but she could still make out Chakwas relaxing once again as the three-digit number dropped down to two. Thankfully, it also helped her regain focus.

"I appreciate you doing my job for me, dear," Chakwas said lightly with a smile.

Tali chuckled mildly in response, which was then followed by a sudden and horrendous head-pounding sneeze, embarrassingly spritzing mucus inside her helmet.

"Ah, ex—"

"Oh, bless you!" The older woman jumped. "Are you alright?"

Tali nodded once, slightly confused, to which the doctor acknowledged with a small chuckle and turned away quickly to gather more supplies.

The human phrase was still lost on Tali. She never really quite understood why people would need blessings when they sneezed. For her people, it was an accidental interruption, so the person that sneezed would typically apologize and excuse themselves. She had asked Shepard about it before, ever since he first started saying it to her whenever she had gotten sick. But even he didn't understand enough to give a proper answer. She then meant to look it up on the extranet, but always forgot to by the time she felt better.

"Doctor Chakwas?" Tali coughed softly.

"Yes, Tali?"

"Why do humans give blessings to people that sneeze?"

Chakwas chuckled lightly again. "Oh! It's just an old phrase of ours," she explained. "Centuries ago, we were stricken by a deadly plague. One of our religious leaders believed that saying, 'bless you,' as a small prayer after someone sneezed would save them from that plague."

The older doctor studied her instruments, collecting what she needed and placing them in another medkit. "That's the more historical reason, anyway," she continued. "Other reasons were more superstitious, like the devil stealing your soul or your heart stopping. Saying, 'bless you,' would keep the devil away and welcome the person back to life."

She finished her medkit and turned back toward her patient.

"But now, we generally say it just to be nice."

Tali smiled weakly. Humans were such a beautifully fascinating race to her. They had such a deep history, filled with stories. Three hundred years ago, they were a simple species that relied on animals to travel on land. Since then, they had advanced to the point of becoming the leading force in saving the galaxy.

Three hundred years ago, her people were exiled by their own A.I. creations. Because of it, they had done nothing but float around space, just trying to survive. It's all that quarian culture had stagnated to become. It's all that she had ever been learning her entire life. Survival. It made her bitter.

But now...we finally have a home.

Tali's thumb reached into one of her pouches near her waist, brushing against a certain rock. It was a piece of Rannoch that Shepard had given her. The planet he helped liberate for her entire race.

"John's nice," she said sweetly to herself.

Chakwas overheard her.

"Well, of course! The commander is quite the gentleman," she said loudly, surprising the young quarian admiral. The doctor didn't even look up from the extra medkit she had placed on the table next to her. "He's the kind of man that some of us humans might refer to as, 'devilishly handsome.'"

Both women chuckled to themselves, but Tali was quick to note how strange it was to be having such a lighthearted conversation with the old doctor at a time like this. Almost as if it were any regular day and she only stopped by for a routine checkup.

Upon realizing that, she also realized that the Normandy had stopped shaking. The effects of nausea were still present, but for the most part, everything was eerily still. No cannon fire or audible vibrations. It felt...hauntingly peaceful.

The entire galaxy was literally at war on the little planet below them. Earth's surface was scorched over, and its skies could not get any blacker. Guns continued to blaze, and billions of souls continued to fall, never again to rise and emit another beautiful song of laughter. Tali could only imagine the horror that was permanently scarred on their cold, empty faces.

The old doctor continued, breaking up her thoughts.

"I've actually heard of you, Garrus, and the Commander sometimes being referred to as, 'the devils on the battlefield,' funnily enough," Chakwas chuckled again. "You three make quite the team."

Mentioning Shepard reminded her where her bondmate was now. She remembered each moment they spent together. Moments that could've broken them but didn't, instead they brought them closer together.

She remembered the promise he didn't make, and the words he said to try to prepare her to carry on without him. To carry on without a center, a home, to be thrust out into the numb void as an exile. Was she doomed to repeat history? Her mind began to burn with worry.

"John…"

By the ancestors did she love him. They fought together side by side, fighting for their homeworlds, and being there for each other when it mattered most. And she knew that he desperately loved her, too.

If anything happened to him...then...

She needed to help. She needed to keep fighting. She couldn't imagine living with herself if he fought to his last breath while she sat here and wasted space in this medbay. Her mind then started to burn with utter terror.

"John!"

Doctor Chakwas ran to her bedside in an instant to keep her from getting up.

"Hey, hey, hey!" she exclaimed, grabbing a hold of her patient's wrists.

"Ow!"

With her other hand, she both detached the bed from the wall and opened up the doors to the A.I. core, where a makeshift decontamination chamber was recently installed. Her patient didn't stop struggling, however, which forced her to stop and press the quarian down. She looked straight into her masked eyes with steel in her irises.

"Tali, honey, listen to me! He'll be okay! But right now, I need you to calm down and slow your breathing. If you keep stressing out then you're only going to make things worse for yourself."

"I can't!" Tali sobbed, still trying to break the doctor's hold. It led to her gasping sharply as a wave of hurt crashed through her body, but her thoughts didn't leave Shepard. "He's in danger! If I don't do something then I might not ever see him again!"

"Tali, that's enough! Doctor's order!" Chakwas barked, her voice echoing around the room.

The little light in her mask flickered as she gasped and froze at the doctor's sudden burst of anger. She ceased all her efforts and stayed still, feeling guilt and pain wash over her for making the kind woman raise her voice. The old doctor must've understood that because her expression and body deflated.

"Listen, I'm sorry, but you need to remain calm. You'll lose a lot of blood if you don't. In fact..." the doctor trailed off as she looked down over her patient and immediately pushed the bed again with newfound fervor.

You'll lose a lot of blood, moving will make things worse, and you'll get terribly sick.

Tali relaxed but let out a short cough and a frustrated groan. Her whole life has been nothing but an ongoing and repeated list of symptoms. She needed to help, but she understood that with her health, there wasn't much she could do, and she despised feeling useless. So much so that it brought back fresh tears to replenish her dried cheeks.

"But John!"

Her bed crossed the threshold into the A.I. core where the room had already started its decontamination protocols. Her wet, tired eyes gradually focused on the toes of her bloodstained boots, and her voice lowered to herself hoarsely.

"He said...to return to Rannoch, to build myself a home...he said it like he was going to die."

Tali's breath grew shorter and shorter while she heard the doctor curse under hers. "When that man comes back, I'm going to kill him myself."

If he comes back. Tali corrected sadly in thought. She then coughed again, and her focus changed to the flattening feeling in her lungs.

Doctor Chakwas rushed to prepare Tali for cleaning with one of her two medkits. She started by carefully removing the tattered and bloodied purple hood and cloth wrappings to get an overall look at her suit. The medi-gel seemed to do the most work in controlling the bleeding, to which Tali heard Chakwas sigh lightly in relief.

She was growing jealous of the doctor's ability to breathe easily. Breathing was a good way to retain focus, something that was...slowly diminishing for her. The room started to swim harder and a vignette grew thicker in her vision. Her eyes fluttered.

Perhaps I should nap?

"Chak...was?" she gasped.

"Oh, bloody—!" The doctor exclaimed. Her footsteps faded for a moment behind the opening and closing of doors, but they returned soon after they left, followed by a metallic clang. It was hard to understand what was going on, but Tali could feel some sort of tube fit into the underside of her helmet, and a rush of air cascaded into her throat.

Oh...air. In the—In the inducted emergency...outlet thingie. Thank you, doctor.

"—ali? Come on, you can't sleep right now, sweetie. Maybe later."

"But I'm...tired," she yawned in response as the room became clearer.

"I know, but you need to stay awake. Breathe deep."

Tali looked over to find Chakwas with a mask of her own over her face. Though confused, she followed her orders and made a heavy inhale, bringing bitter cold air into her chest, only to gasp sharply in pain as she felt something wrap tightly around her bad leg, just above her knee.

Bosh'tet! Ow! What—where did my boot go?!

"This is why you don't thrash around, Tali," Chakwas scolded as she tightened a knot in the bandage. She leaned down into one of her medkits and snapped on two blue latex gloves. In the same move, she mysteriously produced a small syringe filled to the brim with some strange fluid and a needle protruding from the other end.

Oh great.

As if against her will, Tali's arm rolled over to give the doctor access. She's received more injections than she could count, but given that she had recently left the battle with a sore body and heart, she was less than thrilled about more metal objects puncturing her skin.

Chakwas found the port in her suit and slid the needle into her arm, pushing all of the fluid into her system. As it went, a rushing sense of numbness engulfed her, shocking her. She couldn't feel anything, not even the needle as it left her body.

"That should lessen the pressure," the doctor said simply.

Tali looked over to the doctor and was surprised to find a tall pole with a bag of fluid hanging from it, with tubes reaching over and attached to her body. Where did these come from? Was she that delirious?

Chakwas followed her line of sight to the bag. "That should make sure that you are maintaining your blood," she explained. "Now keep relaxing, and it would probably be best if you don't look down."

Her curiosity was piqued but she had some idea of what the doctor was doing when she felt the mass that was her bad leg swivel. Her eyes snapped open and she gulped in fear. Taking the doctor's advice, she refused to look down.

"Is uh—How bad is my leg?" She asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Um...I…" Chakwas paused, causing the quarian's anxiousness to skyrocket. "As long as you don't move, your leg should be fine. As for how it looks…"

Tali nodded her understanding to stop Chakwas from finishing that thought. And she did her best to keep her leg rock solid. Her eyes began to trace the outlines of the A.I. core's ceiling as the doctor began to poke at her leg. Every once in a while she would feel a tug, followed immediately by a push that felt slippery.

Chakwas would go along with the procedure throughout other parts of her body. By the time she was done, she returned to the side of Tali's bad leg and produced another needle for her to inspect.

"Well, you might start feeling some intense pressure soon, but that can be negated by a sedative. I think it would be best if you took that nap you wanted, right? At least for just an hour."

Tali had complete trust in the older woman, but she knew when doctors needed to appeal to their patient's comfort for the sake of their health. Having the option to sleep to avoid pain was nice, though, considering she was too scared to sleep naturally. Part of that came from her state of health, but another part came from when she was inspecting the ceiling, and her thoughts had trailed back to the man she loves.

Knowing that he was still fighting, with no one there to help him, no one to protect his back with shotgun fire, knowing that she wasn't there to pick him up if he fell down.

Not wanting to be aware of her worries, Tali looked at her source of alleviation in the needle.

"Knock me out, Doc."

With that statement, the old doctor moved her helmet to the side to find the port in her suit near her neck and poked it. The vignette came back, and darkness washed over Tali's vision like the gentle lapping of waves upon the shores of Rannoch.

And somewhere on the Citadel, the man she wanted to share those shores with struggled to launch the Crucible to save all life from the destruction of Harbinger and his family of uninvited Reapers.