Night cycle on the Normandy was too quiet.

She used to think that she hated not having privacy in crew quarters; used to hate having to bunk with at least one other person, hearing someone snore, having to wake up when they rolled out of the bunk above. She hated even more when she had to rotate bunk shifts; hated knowing that her bed was also someone else's when she wasn't in it. A selfish part of her knew that space was a premium on starships, weight limits to break atmo restricted their size, kept layouts and crew bunks minimal—knew—but didn't care. Crews sleeping in close proximity to each other was a sacrifice that had to be made in order to make space travel possible.

Until now, however, she had considered it a necessary evil.

Now, she lay curled into herself in what she convinced herself should have been Anderson's bunk—a space—a whole room that was just hers, it was part office, part bunk and also had several extra computer terminals. She didn't know what to do with it all. Her one half-empty duffle had been plunked on the desk in the center of the room, and she realized she was completely alone in there.

There was no one to talk to, no one to confess to, and not even anyone with whom she could distract herself from the void she felt. She was about to be sucked down, and she felt cagey, couldn't stop rubbing her bare feet against the too short metal footboard of the bunk.

It was maybe an hour and a half into the night cycle and the last time she had fallen asleep she was in a disheveled hotel room with Nihlus.

She had nothing. She knew nothing even about him and she still felt like she needed to be screaming about her loss. She realized her heart was racing and she was trying to make herself cry, breathing fast and strained. Panicky. She resisted. She wasn't sure if she deserved it.

She didn't know if he had a wife—a mate?—who was grieving him somewhere, maybe back on Palaven. She didn't know who his friends were: she really knew nothing about him. Didn't know who his parents were, didn't know what he liked to do, where he had come from, how he became a Spectre, why he was interested in her. She had nothing. Why the fuck had this happened? Because Saren was on some crusade? Nihlus was in the way? He left her with nothing of him.

Nothing.

She had nothing, and the room was too fucking empty, and it was too fucking quiet, and she felt like she was going to lose her mind.

She crawled out of bed, and stepped into the head. The tiny mirror showed her that something like thirty-nine hours without sleep had done nothing good to the post-sex glow Nihlus had left her with.

She ran a finger over the dark circles under her eyes, and tried to calm the shaky feeling in her chest. But she remembered the kiss he had placed on her neck while she was pinning up her hair, and the empty, cold room in the mirror behind her broke her down.

The tears she had been refusing to acknowledge suddenly broke over the edge of her eyes, and with a sob, she rested her head on the mirror.

She was just fucking alone, and for the first time in a long, long time she didn't want to be. She'd spent too long avoiding any meaningful contact, and Nihlus had given her an idea of something she didn't realize she could even be missing.

She wanted to call her mom, she realized.

That thought threw another sob through her body and she sunk to the floor. She hadn't spoken to her mother in… years. She called her mother up on her twenty-fifth birthday, and she didn't think about the strained relationship again until just now. Was she really just keeping a safe distance—a professional distance—between herself and everyone she cared about? Was it really only about avoiding a conflict of interest between herself and her Alliance captain mother? Or was it just easier when you alienated everyone who could possibly get close enough to see through the actions, see past the Commander?

She thought about what her mother would say.

"Sitting on the floor of the head in the captain's quarters, crying over guilt? Well, you are in the captain's quarters now, and that's all you're going to get. Bad things happen. You've got to deal with it, Virginia. Get up, wash your face and get over this. People are counting on you. Get over yourself, and don't let them down."

Shepard scrubbed her hands over her eyes. Pushed a sob down. She heaved herself up and turned on the cold water in the tiny sink.

"Yes, mom." She washed her face as dutifully as if her mother were actually standing at parade rest over her.

She wasn't sure how to just get over it. She wasn't sure it was going to work like that, but she could already tell waiting around alone wasn't going to help. So she made sure her face was dry, shoved her boots back on, toed the latches shut, and stepped outside into the main hold. It was empty, Alenko was gone, and no one was sitting at the mess table. Dr. Chakwas wasn't in the MedBay, apparently the doctor had already gone to bunk for the night. She didn't want to head up to the command deck; didn't want to possibly face Pressley or the other officers on duty at night.

She laughed, realized how pathetic she was being. Still, the elevator down to the cargo hold was calling to her. Weapons and equipment were stashed down there; if nothing else she could pull out her pistol and clean and remod it. In fact, that sounded like the best alternative to sleeping.

After the painfully slow elevator ride, she walked over to her cabinet and retrieved her Stiletto and took it over to Williams' work bench.

She occupied herself with field stripping the pistol and cleaning it until it was immaculate. The contacts for the trigger assembly was getting sticky, gummed up with some sort of residue, and the whole casing of the gun had to come apart to clean it. By the time she had it back together, she realized it was close to 0200 hours, and her head was vaguely spinning from fatigue.

However that big empty cabin upstairs was not where she wanted to be. The runabout that the Normandy came equipped with—the Mako—was sitting parked and strapped down to the floor on the opposite wall of the hold. It was calling to her. She set the pistol back into her locker and walked to the vehicle. The hatch door swung open with a quiet hiss of hydraulics, and she crawled into the wide bunk seat along the side of the inner compartment.

This felt better. She laid down across the bench seat, and curled her arms around herself.

God, she felt better with something to do, but now she just felt so alone. Why in the hell was this bothering her all of a sudden? She'd always slept alone, what was the problem?

She cursed to herself as the tears started again. This wasn't like her. This weakness was disgusting. She needed something else, she needed to feel something besides empty. She threw a punch into the cabin wall. The action felt good. The pain in her fist felt good. She threw another punch and let herself spew curses until she started feeling better.

After a few hits she started to worry that it might take a while.

And then the hatch opened. Her fist was at the ready but when she realized she recognized the figure that opened it she was suddenly awkward. She dropped her hands and sat back down on the bench.

"Sorry! Sorry, you scared me. I didn't mean to…" She trailed off when she realized her voice sounded like tears. Her stupid throat was tight. She quickly wiped her face. "Shit." She dropped her head between her knees.

"You didn't actually hit me." Garrus—the young turian stood awkwardly outside of the Mako. He was very carefully not looking at her. "So. I take it you're not… ah... looking for company… down here in the runabout… in the middle of the night cycle… are you?"

"No. Not exactly." She answered. She couldn't look up at him.

"Right. Well, I was going to come down and check out the equipment down here and make sure everything was… running smoothly. So, I'll be out here… If you need any…" He was rambling. "But I did want to check out the Mako, I've never seen this model runabout in person before." And now he was trying to start a conversation.

"Why aren't you asleep?" She asked quietly, thankful that her voice seemed to sound much more normal now.

"I... don't think turians need quite as much sleep as humans do, Commander."

"Oh."

"Are… you okay?" She snorted at his question. She couldn't answer that. She was supposed to be the captain. The CO. She's supposed to be in charge. So, she deflected.

"What made you want to leave C-Sec?" She asked instead. He seemed to take a moment to process what she had asked before he finally answered.

"Well," He took a step into the Mako and settled himself into the driver's seat. "There were a couple of reasons. The bureaucracy, the red tape, the technicalities every time you think you've got a criminal. I was just... just… frustrated, unable to do my job."

Good. He wanted to talk. She quickly wiped her face off. Glanced around.

"How so?" She crawled into the passenger seat next to him.

"C-Sec has rules. Rules all day long. And C-Sec's rules are not always conducive to C-Sec's stated mission. They have to always protect the civilians. And... protecting every single life right here and right now takes priority over saving more lives in the long run. You're not allowed to make decisions. It's all protocol. I joined because I wanted to do good. There are so many problems in the world, but the longer I was there, the more sure I was that it just wasn't for me." He glanced over at her. "Seems to me you're offering a pretty good alternative."

She rested her head back on the seat of the runabout. Finally there was someone talking. Someone was here to distract her. And he seemed so far willing to just talk as long as she asked him questions every now and then. So she did. And eventually she traded some stories back about missions she had been on in exchange for crimes he had solved, cases gone bad. But mostly, she just laid her head back and let his deep, rumbly voice distract her while she closed her eyes.

There was something she really liked about his voice. That multi-tonal thing the turians had going on was surprisingly nice. It reminded her of the way the cat she'd sometimes had as a kid had purred as he napped in the sunshine. It was very soothing.

She was glad that this man was so eager to come along with her. He seemed like someone who could be an excellent ally. The whole turian thing was a little complicated, what with the First Contact War issue and all of the resulting fallout. However, Shepard had always been one to look at results as opposed to expectations. If Garrus could help her take down Saren, he would be welcome on her ship any day. She took a deep breath and let it out. Hell, he distracted her from the self-pity she couldn't escape on her own, and she couldn't say how grateful she was that someone had sought her out. He had even asked if she was okay.

"…down here. And I didn't really think that the Mako was supposed to be making… well banging noises, especially since it looks like it's brand new—Commander?" he very tentatively placed a hand on her elbow.

"Yeah Garrus?" She must have drifted off finally, because she realized she had no idea what he was talking about.

"What happened?"

"What?" She asked, coming back to alertness. She picked her heavy head up from the seat.

"So... why are you hitting things and crying?" He asked.

Well that was fucking blunt. He was staring straight at her, which was not at all okay with her. There was something oddly comforting in those eyes, an intensity that… that pissed her off.

Oh, mother fucker. Of course. Shepard let herself get distracted again. She was about to hit rock bottom.

Way to forget that the former C-Sec officer—the fucking investigator—is trained in interrogation. Of course he knows ways to manipulate people into giving him information. So of course he'll get her nice and distracted, make her thing he's harmless, and then play kind and caring. But she didn't believe in kind and caring for no reason. Everyone wants something from someone else, so of course he wants to know why she's crying and punching things. That's just information for an arsenal, right?

She lets one pretty face get to her, shit goes down, and she's a mess. Not thinking straight. This was why she set her rules in place to begin with. Fraternization was frowned upon for a reason. It complicates things, and Shepard had gone and broken Shepard's rule one from day one; keep your distance. Don't let anyone get close to your soft spots, and then no one can reach them.

She needed to sleep. Maybe she would actually be able to sleep now that she was pissed.

"Fuck." She got up to leave the Mako and stomp back to the elevator.

"Oh… no. Wait! Wait, wait wait." He called, scrambling to follow her.

"Why? Why should I wait? So you can keep interrogating me?" She was very carefully not shouting, even though she wanted to. And maybe 'interrogating' was a strong word. It really was only one question, and he didn't seem to be pushing it anymore… but still. She had decided that it was too far out of line for someone who was a subordinate—albeit an unconventional one.

"That wasn't what I… No, Commander that's not what I was trying to do." He held his hands out palms down, trying to placate her. "I just… you were… I had to do something." He finished a little lamely, shrugged.

"I know that. I know I was upset, thank you." God, this was exhausting. "I… but it's not something I want to talk about." She turned to go, but rounded back on him. "And if you ever try something like that on me like that again, I will not hesitate to push your ass out of the nearest airlock."

"Absolutely." He was standing at attention as she railed at him.

"I don't know how things are run on turian ships, but this is my ship, this is my command, and I will be in charge. We can talk and laugh and crack jokes whenever we're off duty and that is fine. But my personal life will be my own, and that is not your place. That is no one's place. Is that understood, Officer Vakarian?"

"Understood, ma'am." He nodded curtly, staring just to the side of her head. And she left.

She shucked off her boots under her bunk and lay down. Luckily for her, even with the Normandy's FTL drive, a long series of relay jumps meant it would be sometime in the afternoon before the Normandy arrived at Artemis Tau. She would have plenty of time to sleep before she needed to be ready for a mission groundside to find this asari scientist.

She curled into herself, and exhaled a deep sigh, releasing the tension she had gathered up to reprimand Garrus. She felt like shit for having to do that, but she did have to. She couldn't have him thinking she was touchy-feely, or easy to manipulate.

She scoffed to herself though as she realized that she really did want to lay her problems on someone, though. She'd never had an easy time seeing the difference between having a friend and having a liability, though. Too many people she'd considered friends had turned out to be anything but, had volunteered bad information to superiors, gossiped, told lies, used her. She had always either had bad taste in friends and lovers or… or people had something to gain from Hannah Shepard's daughter, from the soldier who survived Akuze.

The turian did seem like a bit of an awkward paladin type character. And she went and flew off the handle for him giving a shit about her. Another flavor of guilt settled in her gut. Why couldn't he have just kept talking about whatever? Why couldn't she have just handled the question without a bout of rage and ego?

She sighed. This really was too much going on. And she still couldn't sleep.

She sat back up in the too-short bed, frustrated.

She might as well go see if Vakarian was still interested in being a confidante... now that she had told him off. She figured a genuine apology might get her somewhere and diligently tried to dig one out of her brain.

She did feel bad…

This time she didn't bother with the shoes, just crawled back out of her bed, padded down to the elevator. When it opened at the bottom floor, she suddenly felt like she shouldn't be here. She felt like an intruder, and she didn't like it.

Garrus was typing away at the portable terminal next to the Mako. The only sound was his talons clicking away at the data terminal.

"Hey." She said, and then instantly wanted to kick herself.

That was not professional at all.

Fuck.

Nothing tonight was going the way she wanted it.

"Hey." He replied—without turning around, she noticed with no lack of chagrin. And that lovely dual toned voice of his was clipped and tight. Great. Fuck. She had no idea how to apologize to him. She felt somewhat justified in her actions… but only somewhat.

"I came down to apologize to you." He turned around, finally, and placed his folded hands behind his back. Formal. She realized that had she not just upbraided him less than quarter of an hour ago, he would have crossed his arms. Maybe smirked and gloated. But he was clearly not pleased to see her right now as it stood.

"Just because I'm technically the commanding officer here, doesn't mean that I had a right to speak to you like I did." She began. She took another deep breath, and kept going; his pinprick bright eyes were centered on her. "This is obviously not a typical mission. You're not Alliance personnel. You're here because you wanted to be—because I asked you to be here. I haven't given you reason to think I'd be running my ship that tight anyways, so I apologize for flying off the handle like that. That's not who I would like to be, nor what I would like you to think of me." He shifted from foot to foot, and suddenly wouldn't meet her eye.

"I ah… just assumed that I asked a question that I shouldn't have."

"It... it is one I would like to… avoid. And it's been a very long day." She nodded and stepped closer off of the edge of the center ramp. "It's probably a good question. A very good question. I'm surprised more people aren't asking me, since I don't think I've been doing a very good…" She shook her head. "I've been doing a very bad job of keeping my shit together." She took a seat under the still open hatch of the Mako.

"So… If I ask it again are you going to bite my head off?" She shot a look back up at him, and while he was still standing stiffly with his hands behind his back, she sensed that he was actually feeling calmer than he looked.

"Off?" She asked with a smile that she hoped didn't look as rough as she suddenly felt. She was sure he was forgiving her too easily. "No, but I might gnash my teeth a bit though." He looked surprised again, and his mandibles twitched before flaring a bit from his face in what she suddenly recognized as a smile.

"I don't know that human teeth are all that frightening." He shook his head.

"Oh, shut up. Just because yours are all sharp and pointy doesn't mean anything. You don't know what damage I can do with these." She laughed at him, suddenly very glad that he was interested in laughing with her. She savored the feeling of quiet joy that he was willing to forgive her… outburst.

"Not much…" Now his arms crossed against his chest, and he leaned against the console, crossing his ankles as well. Completely relaxed again.

"Yeah, you're right." Her eyes settled on his boots. Only two toes. So strange, different from all of her other crewmates—except for Tali. So different from her five stubby little toes that left warm condensation marks on the cold metal deckplates. She pulled her knees up and sat crosslegged, hiding her ten toes away and looked up at him, suddenly realizing that maybe she wasn't the only one looking for a friend.

"So… I'm assuming that neither one of us plans on sleeping tonight," He began, and then looked over to the elevator. "Do you want to go take advantage of some of those lovely prepackaged ration bars I saw? Or maybe some standard issue bottled water?"

Did he just…

"Did you just ask me…" on some strange approximation of a date? Seriously, was that just some version of a pick-up line? After she completely kirked out on him? She laughed a little, then looked back up at him.

His eyes glittered, and he waved his hands out.

"I'll even make you coffee when it's time for morning shift." He offered, his voice was tinged as if he knew that the offer should be appealing.

"Are you... are you bribing me?" She stood up to him but couldn't keep her grinning cheeks down.

"Well, I think you owe me… just a little. So if coffee helps make sure that you really owe me…" He backed away towards the elevator, hands still spread in a shrug.

"What? I'll have to fall in line?" She followed him and keyed the elevator to close after he followed her in. "You might turn out to be more trouble than you're worth, Vakarian."

"I wouldn't say that so soon, Shepard." She raised an eyebrow at his use of her name, but kept quiet. Hadn't she just shouted at him until he was calling her 'ma'am'? "You've barely seen me in action, yet. Trust me, you need my style."

"Okay." She scoffed a little, but still remembered that shot he took in Dr. Michel's clinic.

"Besides—and don't go crazy on me for saying this—I think I'm the only one here who recognizes those marks on your neck."

"Vakarian…" She started. The heat was rising through her shoulders again, she felt that same need to shout, the need she had given into before with him—the need to push away, to keep herself partitioned. She saw him watching her, carefully, realized he was giving her a look like she was a wild varren—a wild animal not to be trusted, and carefully calmed that need.

"Okay. Okay, Vakarian. But you're going to have to be very careful around that subject. I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean anything like what you're thinking. And it's… right now maybe isn't a good time for that." She said. Too fresh. Maybe he'd convince her to talk later… or maybe she'd get some sleep and be able to shut her damn mouth.

But.

She remembered that glimpse of possibility that… Nihlus… had showed her…. the possibility that letting someone in wouldn't be the worst mistake she could make. Maybe she could take that lesson, and make her contact with him mean something. If she could just make sure… that what? That she lets the right people in? How? Though she understood acquaintances, teammates—nothing personal of herself, only tell them what they need to know, but ask good questions, be curious, courteous.

Lovers were easy, too. A quick fuck, or even those she kept going back to... it was always business and then back to her bunk, or send them away to theirs. But friends? If she could gain a friend… Would that make him mean something? Would it do enough for his memory? She looked back at the turian standing between her and the elevator.

"How do I know that I can trust you?" she asked. He looked a little taken aback.

"I just… you look like you could use a friend." He said quietly. She nodded.

"Yeah… You'll have to help me figure out how to return the favor though." His brow plates quirked in a manner she hadn't seen before, but she felt indicated some sort of question. "I don't really know much about being a friend."

"Oh." She could tell he didn't really know what she meant.

The elevator opened. She sighed. She wasn't sure she knew what she meant.

"Come on, we're not discussing this in the mess, I know that."