This one is for the turian councilor's mistress, whom I dearly hope survived the Reapers.

Mass Effect belongs to bioware.

A week after waking up she gets her first visitor. James Vega makes a stop at the hospital and lays flowers on her lap. He gives her a wide smile and shakes her hand.

"Good to see you're awake, Lola. Galaxy hasn't been the same without you." He's wearing civilian clothing— jeans, dark t-shirt, leather jacket. The distinctive emblem on the jacket is one she recognizes instantly.

"James, it's good to see you," she remembered the talk they had back on the Normandy—how could she not? It didn't feel at all like much time had passed since. "You N7 now?"

"Yeah," he looked pleased at the fact, "best thing I've ever done, well, other than getting to work with you," another smile. From what she could see he hadn't changed much since, probably had more ink done. He was a welcome sight, a familiar face.

"Good to hear," she mimicked his smile, but there were bits and pieces missing. She looked weary, and she'd lost weight, the muscular build that denoted her profession had all but vanished. There was too much ahead of her—therapy, getting used to coming back from another long absence.

"Anyone else come by?" He asked, brows knitting together when she shook her head.

"You'd be the first," she said.

"Well, I'm sure they're on their way, Lola," he reassured, "everyone's been busy, you know how it is."

She nodded, "Yeah."

His eyes lowered, "So are you…okay? I mean, I saw you when they picked you out of the rubble." He frowned, the memory of her broken body still difficult to stomach.

She stared down at her hands, wondering that very same thing herself. This wasn't another Lazarus project, but it had the makings of a dauntingly similar experience. At least she didn't have to wake up to a fight.

"I'm okay, James. Been through worse."

James considered her reply. "Well, just in case, I left my information at the front desk, you need anything, I'm there."

She gave him a small smile, appeasing his concern. "You don't have to, James. I promise I'll be fine. Besides, I imagine you've got enough to worry about."

"Still, if you wanna talk or anything…" he trailed off and Shepard had to admit, he was awfully cute worrying over her. She hoped she didn't look too bad—she knew she had scars, the ones on her arms were easier to see than the ones on her face—but looking frail had never suited her. She didn't want pity and James who always wore his emotions so well showed no sign of it, his concern was genuine. She was thankful for it, maybe more than she could say.

Shepard agreed to keep in touch with him, even if she was aware that being N7 severely crippled his downtime. "Mind if I ask you something?"

James shrugged, "Sure."

It was something she wanted to know since waking. "I don't suppose you know about Garrus."

"Oh, Scars," he glanced sideways, and she had the strangest feeling, like she shouldn't have asked.

"He went back to Palaven, last I heard. Guess I'm not much help," he tugged at the collar of his leather jacket, a nervous inclination. Then, as an afterthought: "Liara is who you'd want to ask about him."

"Of course. Thank you, James."

He left shortly after.

Days later she begins physical therapy. The prognosis is positive; she'll have full use of her legs…eventually. In the meantime, she's stuck in a wheelchair. She begins to miss the Normandy, the crew. Garrus.

So she trains harder. In her white-walled room, while the doctors and nurses aren't looking, she begins the routine exercises, the ones she's picked up. The sooner she's out the better. When Liara finally visits, she is visibly affected by the sight of the Commander awake and in bed.

"Forgive me, Shepard," she wiped the tears from her eyes, "it has been far too long."

Shepard watches her take the open seat near the bed. "So I've heard."

"This must be very strange for you. I can't imagine what you must be going through," she looked her over, and then said, with something indistinguishable in her voice, "you must be wondering what everyone's been up to."

She grinned, "Good thing I've got the Shadow Broker here."

Liara gave a small chuckle, "Yes, I suppose. But Shepard, I'd like for it to wait, at least until you're walking."

"You're joking."

Liara seemed a little befuddled, "Joking? This is serious, Shepard."

"Come on," she groaned, "I'm out of the loop here."

"I understand," Liara coaxed, stroking her hand, "please, be patient. There are many things to talk about, Shepard, but they can wait until you get better."

"I'll hold you to that, T'soni."

They left it at that. Liara stayed in close contact, kept track of her progress, and visited her often. She was thankful for someone to talk to, even if she couldn't get much out of the Broker. But there was time to reminisce now, and a lot of that kept her sane.

Eventually, some of the crew came by to visit. Joker and EDI, Adams, Chakwas, and even Kaidan. Tali communicated from Rannoch via videofeed, and there was a promise of a visit from Shepard's part. The influx of old friends just made it that more apparent. Garrus wasn't there. How long had it been now? For her it hadn't been nearly a year since they'd last embraced. In her mind, time was warped. Maybe that was why it had been so hard to picture Kaidan in command of the Normandy. It all felt so sudden, so…out of place.

Time passed, days somehow fit together into weeks, and she was mostly walking now. Under her insistence, they were releasing her. Gone were her days in that hospital room.

"They want you in the citadel," Liara informed her as they arrived at the hotel room she'd been staying in. Everything around them was new, from the walls to the flooring.

"Yeah. Figures." Shepard said from the window, the view of the street below had caught her attention. It was astounding to see how easily everything had fallen back into order.

"I'm afraid I won't be with you much longer," Liara said, a little somber, "I still have my duties. But I imagine a lot of people are waiting to see you."

"Liara," Shepard said, turning away from the scenery, determination apparent in her features. There was no denying her request; they both knew it was only a matter of time before they reached the topic.

"Tell me about Garrus."