Shepard slept well that night, better than any night in her recent memory. Sure there was the waking to use the facilities, even get a drink of water, but each and every time she woke disturbed from her sleep, there was a warm turian behind her to act like a personal space heater against the night chill in the air with his arm curled around her, keeping her close. Sleeping beside someone again… it was a comfort she'd missed very much. But come morning—and she knew it was later than she usually slept based on the angle of the sun from the sole, tiny window—that warmth was gone.

Shepard rolled from her side to her back, hand groping in the sliver of space that had been allocated to Garrus on the single twin bed they'd shared. He'd argued the night before, quietly, never above a whisper, that he could withstand the floor or a couch or anywhere else, but he also hadn't taken much convincing to end up spending his night on the edge of the bed while Shepard took the safe space between him and the wall. The sheets were cold and Shepard moved to her other side, staring out into the room as she blinked away sleep.

"Garrus?"

"Hmm?"

She spied him not half a second later after she heard him, and he was at the opposite side of the closet-like bedroom, a few feet apart from her.

"What're you doing?"

"Looking," he said, and raised the old leather-bound book that he held in his hands. She couldn't tell what it was, something she'd read awhile back and had never returned to the proper owner. "Seeing what you've been doing without me."

There was no ill will in his voice, but she still felt a pang of guilt as she ran her hand over and through her mussed locks, finger-combing them into some kind of neat order. "It's been…quiet," she said with a relaxed sigh. "Most days I can't even believe some of the things I used to do. Killing people? Shooting a gun?" Her head shook where she laid. "I haven't picked up a weapon since the Citadel and I'm happy to keep it that way for the rest of my life. But you… what have you been doing?"

Garrus set the book back down from where he'd found it atop her unmatched dresser. He idly took some of her laundry in hand, worn and draped over the back of a chair, and began to fold it as best as he knew how.

"I was here for a long time, looking for you mostly. I went back to Palaven when the Relays were up and running again, tried to see what I could do there. Went to go see if anything was left of my old home—"

"Your Dad and sister?" She inquired, hopeful, laying her arm across her blanket covered stomach. "Tell me they're okay, Garrus."

"Yeah," he said with a nod, "they're okay. A little worked over, but they're good now. Dad's even come back to the service, got himself a spot as a general in the hierarchy, mostly managing refugees."

Thank his Spirits. At least he'd had that, she thought. He hadn't had to suffer through the loss of her and them, all mixed together.

"I have to say, these are definitely a downgrade from your old quarters."

Shepard quietly laughed. "Yeah, no fish tank here. Civilian life doesn't quite come with all the Cerberus perks. You know," she looked around, actually considering the space. "I think this place is only just barely bigger than my old bathroom."

"And that's being generous." Garrus made a neat pile of shirts, complete with even a pair of her underwear, next to where he'd replaced that book, then began to look for something else to do with his hands. Wedged between the dresser and the wall were the components for what he could only imagine was a small cradle, the support legs unscrewed and taken off, the actual bed portion set vertical, small mattress half leaning out of it. Garrus ran his fingers over the carved, decorative edge.

"Found it in a neighbor's attic a few months back," Shepard supplied.

"I don't know a lot about humans and… do you have a lot of time left?" He could do the math in his head of course, but without an extranet search, he wouldn't have known the types of numbers he was looking for, especially given the different time cycles of their respective planets.

"I'm not exactly sure. Things at the end were kind of a jumble, and I hadn't had my…," she stopped, censoring herself, "in awhile. I was on birth control at the time, it shouldn't have really been possible, but who the hell knows. Take some antibiotics, get exposed to something, turn out to be a clone with questionable insides and upgrades, and... Yeah. A few weeks, maybe. I'm right at the end. She could come early or late, now I just get to wait and see, I suppose."

Garrus paused. "It's a girl?"

"No, I don't know. Haven't exactly had the most regular check-ups around here, but I wanted to be surprised anyway."

He nodded absently, eyes adrift in the room, and Shepard would have given nearly anything to be able to see into his mind, to get a clear view of his thoughts.

"Can you feel it?" Garrus asked, mandibles flicking in almost a nervous fashion. "Does it move?"

Shepard blinked at the question. That was certainly the last thing she'd been expecting. Although they'd touched upon the very apparent fact that she was carrying a child, had even discussed the father and his lack of notice on the subject, talking about pregnancy with Garrus Vakarian… that wasn't something she'd ever even considered on her periphery.

"Come here," she said from where she laid, and nudged the blanket down until it bunched below her expanded waistline. Her hand went to the exposed line of skin below the tank top she wore to bed and then repeated the previous gesture but in reverse, this time moving that fabric up until the bulk of her belly was bare. Shepard pressed gently at the side of the hard roundness, delicately prodding the baby in to some wakefulness.

Though his expression read confusion, Garrus neared anyway, kneeling beside the bed on the floor rather than taking up what little room Shepard wasn't sprawled over and across. She patted her fingers towards the top of her stomach, marking a spot, and when he was apprehensive, she sought out his hand and brought it over for him. Deep inside her, the child squirmed.

"Feet, I think. Maybe knees. She was head down last I heard."

If it hadn't been for her hand holding him close, Garrus would have jerked it away. He nearly did at the sudden moving, the stretching and contorting of skin of her abdomen in time with the pulse of movement he felt.

"That's… disgusting," he said before he could even think, his words unfiltered.

Shepard just laughed, the loudest she'd let out in weeks. "I think disgusting about sums up everything about being pregnant, if I'm being honest. Cool, but disgusting."

Despite the previous trepidation, Garrus was fascinated with the process after that, even moved his hand of his own accord further down the side of her stomach. "Elbow?" He ventured.

"Maybe. Probably."

They didn't need to say anything afterwards, the two of them locked into a circle of cycling behavior. The baby in Shepard's stomach wriggled and Garrus moved his hand to find and feel it, eyes following as he did so. And Shepard, well, her eyes were on him, watching the rapid change of emotion over his face as the time passed. Eventually, though, the child's movements slowed and then stopped, and with reluctance, Garrus' hand slid away from her stomach, instead to find Shepard's hand within his. Their unmatched number of fingers interlaced together.

"Come with me," he asked, pleaded, begged. "We can make up whatever story you need. Tell the Alliance you had amnesia… whatever works. We'll get them to leave you alone, let you have your baby in peace, somewhere with doctors, a hospital, just to make sure nothing goes wrong."

Shepard squeezed his hand and sighed deeply. "This is my life now, Garrus. Not hers, mine. I've got friends here, people that treat me like family, look out for me."

"You still have family," he argued, hurt.

Her face fell. "I know I did… I do," Shepard's other hand made it to his mandible, soothing the hard flesh. "I know I'm not being completely honest with the people here, but everyone has their secrets. Here… I'm Kate. I built something myself, not just in Shepard's footsteps. It doesn't matter who I was before, or who I never really was. You know, the last few months I've actually started to feel like a who and not a what." A beat. "I just can't ever imagine having to return to being Commander Shepard, I know I am her in most ways, but now that I know that I'm not—I don't know—something just changed. It's like I could finally see with my eyes fully open."

"Then you don't have to be her. You can be Kate, we'll go somewhere else, just you and me."

"Do you know why I joined the Alliance, Garrus?"

He eyed her with suspicion, but shook his head. "No."

"Because after my parents were killed on Mindoir and the Alliance found me, I had nothing else. All my extended family were gone and they put me into a group home. When you turned of age, there was nothing they could do, they didn't have the funds or space to keep people who were legally adults, so they gave you a little cash, some leads on finding work or possibly going to school. Most people left and never amounted to much, ended up in shelters, shipping out to some colony near the Terminus to find any kind of work they could. Me… I waited until I turned eighteen and enlisted with the Alliance because there was nothing else for me, and because I wanted to repay my debt.

"Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if the slavers had passed by Mindoir and hit somewhere else. Joining the Alliance wasn't even on my radar. My parents had a good life, made enough money to get by and a little extra to do the things they wanted to, within reason. I probably would've helped, then taken over the farm for them when they got older. I would've settled down, got married, already had a couple kids by now. But you know… that isn't how life worked for her or for me. Our parents were murdered, so we became soldiers and saved the galaxy instead. Not saying it wasn't worth it, not saying that I'm not glad I did it, but all I can think about is that farm back home, and how much I want to get back to that quiet life if I can. Experience it for myself and not from someone else's memories. That's why I belong here."

The way Garrus hung his head, eyes avoiding her own, damn near broke her heart. He said nothing, just kept their fingers folded together, kept his breathing steady.

"I need you to understand that… that as hard as it was to choose to leave everything behind, I'm here because I want to be. I may have been a girl that needed rescuing, but I've never been the woman who ever did." Shepard forced herself up into a sitting position, a feat that was not easily managed, but she succeeded with just the same. She pushed the top down to cover her stomach once again, inching towards the edge of the bed and thus closer to Garrus. Leaning forward, she kissed the side of his closely fitted fringe, her fingers running along the opposite side.

"So stay a few days with me, Garrus."

"Is that it?" He asked, even as he tilted into her touch or the breathy vocalization of his flanged voice purred from the back of his throat. "Just a few days?"

Shepard kissed from one brow plate to the next, covering his face with brushes of her lips done in perfect symmetry. "You've got family that needs you. Practically no one has any family left at all. Don't waste it."

His hands found the fabric at her waist, fingers tangling in it, nearly securing the two of them together. "I can't," Garrus murmured, and there was something quiet about it, delicate even, that Shepard wasn't sure she'd heard before. No—scratch that—she had. She'd heard it when she'd put him back onto the Normandy that night in London as he pleaded with her not to leave him behind. He buried his face into her side, hidden in the cradle of her arm and against a bit of her stomach. "I can't, I just can't. I can't leave."

"You've got to," she fought against herself to say the words aloud. "You need them."

"I need you too, Shepard."

Though her emotions bubbled on the edge of in-check and horribly spiraling out of control, Shepard tried to chuckle, as feigned as it was. "Nah, I'm just trouble, Vakarian."

Garrus, however, didn't return her pretended mirth. "I can't. I won't go. I won't leave you here on your own. You've always had crazy ideas, but this is the worst."

"I'm not on my own," she made her case, even if it was an argument based on semantics. She knew what he meant. "Listen, Garrus… You and I, I'm not sure what this even is. I'm pregnant, you don't need that burden. You've got your family to take care of, and your own to start some day. Besides—how could I make you stay here? There's nothing for you on Earth. I can't… I can't even live on Palaven. Where would we go?"

Very deliberately, Garrus made eye contact with her, holding it as the time passed between them, challenging her. "Ask me to stay, and I will."

"No," she whispered, biting at the inside of her lower lip, brows pulled downward. "I'm not that selfish. You know I'd never ask for something like that."

He threaded his fingers through the short hair on the side of her head, both pulling her close to him and to draw him nearer to her. Somewhere in the middle, their foreheads knocked together and stayed that way, pressed up against one another, their noses likewise aligned. "You've given your life for everyone else twice. You can be selfish. Just this once, be selfish."

She shuddered with the weight of what he was saying and shut her eyes in the wake of his suggestion. There was guilt there, for a million things of course, but for just how much she wanted to agree with him, take his advice, and reach for what she wanted. The decision would be easy. Living with it? Not so much. Shepard found her head shaking against his.

"Spirits damn it, stop being such a martyr. For Kaidan, for me, for the other Shepard, for the whole Galaxy. You keep saying how you want to leave it behind, then you have to stop talking about it and start doing."

The breath she let out was shaky, jaw clenching tight afterwards as she fell into some internal debate with herself. Take what she wanted, consequences be damned, or consider what she thought was right, even if it meant sacrificing what she wanted in the end. She'd always done the latter when it came to the things that really mattered. Sure, there were a few punches taken at reporters, a couple cheap shots at people on the opposite side of the fight. But in the grand scheme of things, they weren't much. She'd allowed some other small concessions at times, but they were always calculated and thought over carefully, like how she'd propositioned Garrus on the Cerberus-controlled SR-2, but had been fearful of finally acting on her desire. Had he not come to her quarters that night with his bottle of cheap alcohol, Shepard didn't think she'd have ever had the kind of guts to take that final step in risking their friendship over a romp. …But God how it had been worth it in the end.

Shepard sighed, and without opening her eyes or pulling her forehead away from his own, she just nodded into him, first shallowly and then with gusto. "Will you stay with me?"

Garrus laughed with the kind of joyful happiness Turians weren't exactly known for, the kind she'd heard only after he'd pulled her into the shuttle after the Collector Base, marveling in the rush of excitement to just be alive after one hell of a fight.

"Yes," he breathed, "I'll stay."

As it turned out, in making a commitment of that magnitude, getting Shepard to break down and say yes had been the easy part. What followed was all the rest, like logistical issues regarding how someone of a dextro species could survive on a levo planet, and the even more complicated question of what lie he was going to feed his remaining family members and friends about where he'd be spending his time. Temporary, Shepard had said. It would be temporary until the baby was born, until they were better prepared to make decisions about the permanence of their lives together.

Though she'd been apprehensive about the reaction of the rest of the household to the notice that her guest had become more than just that, the reception had been surprisingly warm. At night, with the window cracked open to keep the stale air of the room fresh, Shepard had curled into Garrus' embrace and voiced her worries, that perhaps the rest of her friends—the people who had become her family in his absence—were only holding their tongues for her sake. Maybe it was true, Garrus didn't know if their kindness was only extended to him out of propriety, happiness at seeing the once lonely woman finding comfort in another, or perhaps because he was a reminder that Kate hadn't simply turned up out of nowhere. She had a past, even if they all weren't exactly sure what it was. What mattered, however, was that in the days that followed his visit to the home, he'd been welcomed. And that was more important, he knew, for Shepard rather than himself.

A week had passed before the stores of dextro-rations he'd brought along in his skycar had run from dangerously low to completely barren, but it was not only the prospect of his slow, starvation-induced death that finally forced Garrus to make his leave. He had things to do, plans to make, even an official request from the hierarchy to join in a permanent manner that he had to turn down. It had been lingering for months now, Garrus always waiting for a reason to shirk duty and not to heed the call. Shepard had finally been reason enough.

On Palaven, his father hadn't asked many questions, for although their lives post-war had made them closer than they'd even been in Garrus' own childhood, the senior Vakarian knew Garrus well enough not to push a man and had no qualms about pushing back. Solana hadn't been as easy going about her brother's notice that he was heading out again, not afraid to voice her concerns over his wellbeing, but Garrus had promised that unlike the last time he'd up and disappeared, he would be back. And often. Shepard had made him make that promise to her, that he wouldn't let her be the reason to keep him from the rest of his life, and Garrus hadn't had a problem in giving her what she wanted because he knew it was he wanted, too.

What few belongings he still had were boxed and packed, along with the small cache of her items he'd taken from the Normandy before they'd even reached Earth after their garden world crashdown. The word they'd received over the QEC had been that Shepard was dead, efforts still being made to find her remains along with what had exactly happened on the Citadel. The news had shaken him to his very core, angry and fuming at his Spirits for getting hit on Earth, for having to retreat when Shepard pushed on, for leaving her on her own. As for the rest of the crew, even Kaidan, they'd been much the same, and the tone of the Normandy had been that of a collective, widespread misery.

In that grief he'd gone to her quarters, not knowing what kind of procedure the Alliance would have for an unmarried woman with no family to speak of, and most likely no will that reflected any of the changes in her life in the recent years. Kaidan had come in halfway through the process, both of them at a silent standstill in her quarters, and without a word they had divvied up the small collection of things that had once belonged to the Commander. Kaidan had taken her dress blues, the photo frame on her desk that still bore his image. Garrus had taken a copy of and then subsequently wiped her terminal, not wanting the Alliance or anyone to find anything to ever use against her; the model of the SR-2, Turian cruiser; a few knick-knacks she'd purchased throughout the Galaxy; a couple pieces of handwritten correspondence that didn't amount to much.

There'd been a few other things as well, and as Kaidan had gone to leave, his arms full of all that remained of either of the women known as Shepard, Garrus had stopped him and given Kaidan the N7 helmet from Alchera, the framed dog tags that belonged to the original. Kaidan had looked at him, tears in his eyes, and Garrus knew that the Major had understood. Yes, Shepard had told him who she was, or rather, who she wasn't. It was important that Kaidan had the very few things that had belonged to the woman he had first loved, both of the women would have wanted that.

It was on the flight off Palaven and on his return to Earth with his life's belongings in the ship's cargo hold, that his omni-tool blinked and blipped, flashing at the receipt of a new message. He had half a mind to power the whole thing down, no longer wanting to field the complete inquisition that had been coming to him for days now since he'd returned to his home planet and made his intentions, however vague, to be clear. Garrus scrolled through the list of unread messages, past the ones that were confirmations for regular delivery of dextro-supplies from a few sources in the nearby area to where Shepard resided; past the ones from Victus and other turians from his past; past the—no, he stopped at the one from Liara. He hadn't heard from her in some time, and an uneasy sensation in his gut told him he already knew what it said.

T'Soni, Liara: Received some intel you're headed back to Earth again. If that means what I think it does, we need to talk.

Garrus sighed, nearly closing the message before he took pause, and thought of the ramifications of not replying at all. Shepard… though he was sure she'd be glad to see another old friend, wouldn't want to be broadsided by it, just the same.

Vakarian, Garrus: Not right now, but know that both are well.

If Shepard was right, Liara would know what he meant. He hit send and continued through his messages, stopping at the latest, the one received only a minute earlier.

Harolds, Annie: Hope this is the right address. Kate told me where I could reach you. Baby's coming, been in labor for a few hours now, midwife just got here. She said to tell you not to rush back. We'll take care of her.

Leaving Earth, Garrus had of course known that Shepard might have her child in his absence. It wasn't that he thought he would be any real support or help, not with how very little he knew about human pregnancy. Maybe it was more for his good than for hers that he'd wanted to be there, even if it ended up with her sending him out to wait in the hall while she and those more knowledgeable finished what had been started all those months earlier. The very notion of proximity to her brought him comfort, and though it may not have been having her six, it was something.

The last eight hours of the flight had been anything but calm. If he could have charged onto the flight deck and demanded they burn their engines a little harder, perhaps offered to go down to the engine room and talk to the crew himself, Garrus would've. But it wasn't the Normandy and it wasn't his ship to run, so Garrus had waited along with the other mixed species of passengers, and when the ship had docked, he'd been the first one off. The luggage, the belongings, all of that would be taken care of through arrangements previously made, and so Garrus caught a shuttle on out, making the journey back towards Shepard.

He'd been checking his omni-tool incessantly, but there were no updates to be found. No announcements of a child born, no change of progress on her condition. That signified the worst to him, that maybe his fears against Shepard wanting to have that child at home were founded, that something had gone terribly wrong.

The sun was setting on the farmhouse when Garrus pulled up, in much the same manner it had been when he'd followed a lead and the feel in his gut out to the countryside, looking for the woman the entire galaxy believed to be dead. Though mostly dark, there were a few lights on, the interior of the home obscured by the curtains that hung on the inside. He didn't stop at the front door like he'd done last time, hesitating and unsure of himself, waiting for someone to answer. No, this time he reached for the doorknob of the old home, and finding it unlocked much like he knew it would be from his brief stay, he moved inside.

You could have heard a pin drop, that was how quiet it was. Every creak of a floorboard, every sound the house made as it continued to settle on its foundation after all this time, could be heard from where he stood. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to find when he'd arrived, maybe a few people bustling by, maybe just the encouraging conversation given to a woman on the cusp of becoming a mother. He'd expected to hear a baby crying, but there was nothing. Not a sound.

He never should have left. Should have insisted she leave this sleepy little village of homes and people trying to make it out here on their own. Should have called the Alliance, told them where she was, made sure she was taken care of even if it hadn't been what she wanted. The grief of the unknown, all the possibilities in all varying degrees of horror, were laid out before him. Garrus had scarcely made it through the entryway and front hall when he caught sight of someone else down towards the kitchen, their movements deliberately quiet.

"In the library," Annie said, but her face gave nothing away.

Garrus turned with a question towards the set of closed accordion doors to his right, and raised his hand to touch them, already hearing their near constant rattling in his head. Swallowing hard, Garrus stopped… and with a deep breath, slid the folding door open just enough to step inside.

A fire burned in the small fireplace, fighting off the evening chill that filled the rest of the house and the outside. The furniture—and he'd known there to be an armchair, a coffee table from his time spent in the home—was pushed to the perimeter of the room, leaving the small couch along the back wall and the square of flooring in the center of the room open. Towels and cuts of cloth were piled in one corner beside a basin of water, and it took him a moment to realize the streaks and stains of red across the fabric weren't merely part of the decoration, but rather, blood. Not blue like his, like he'd always known. Red blood, human blood.

Taking up most of the rest of the floor space was a barely covered mattress, presumably pulled down from one of the many beds upstairs. Emma looked up from where she sat on the floor beside the mattress, and it was only then that Garrus took the time to realize what he'd thought had been nothing but a bunch of rumpled blankets piled together on the makeshift bed, was a person beneath it, lying on their side, back given to him. He saw the hair now, short and unlike all the other women in the home, and distinctly Shepard. Kate.

The body didn't move. Garrus thought he was going to be sick.

Emma brushed her hand across a part of Shepard he couldn't see from his current angle. Her face, he thought. She was touching her cheek. Not a few seconds later did the matriarch of the household stand, stopping to gather a few of the most soiled towels, placing them into a cleaner one for easy carrying. She slipped by Garrus, offering only a smile, and then left, closing the doors behind her, leaving him alone.

"Come to see him?" The formerly still and quiet body said, and though Garrus was positive he'd dreamt it, the slight shift of her form strewn out across the mattress reassured him otherwise.

Spirits. Bless every Spirit, every Goddess, every God. He'd never ask for anything again in his lifetime, would never dream of it. She was alright.

It took no persuading for him to round the edge of the mattress, Shepard lifting her head as soon as it was comfortably feasible to do so. She looked tired, weak, and worn, and yet… she was smiling. Shepard was smiling, the kind of peaceful serenity he'd never seen from her—or for that matter, anyone—before.

Garrus couldn't recall the last few steps or how he'd knelt beside her temporary sleeping space on the floor. "Him?"

"Yeah," and then her smile grew wider, brighter. "I have a son."

With one heavy hand, she tugged down the outermost blanket that was draped over her. Beneath that formerly tented area, Shepard's arm—the one she was laying upon—was curled and cradled around her newborn. He had his own smaller, and by the looks of it, softer, blanket loosely covering him, but Garrus could make out a knee and foot peeking out, even a tiny hand that was fisted, resting against his face as he was turned in towards his mother, nursing slowly at her breast. Shepard soothed a finger over his cheek, watching him, and then looked up to where Garrus sat.

"I made this," she said in a bit of wonderment. "Can you believe that? I made a whole person."

The relief that Garrus felt would never know any words. If he lived to be a hundred and thirty years old, he didn't believe he would ever be able to describe the kind of solace that washed over him. She was alive, she was well, and she had a son.

"All the things you've done… I think I can believe this one."

Shepard was captivated by the boy, never allowing her eyes or hand to ever be drawn away from him for too long. She traced the shape of his bare foot and the baby pulled away at the sensation, but eased back, re-extending his muscles in the open space, no longer cramped inside his mother.

"How are you feeling?"

She sighed, dramatically and loudly for effect as she rolled her eyes. "Like a thresher maw ate me and spit me back out. But it's not so bad. I've had worse. Not sure if I'll agree tomorrow when all the soreness really sets in, but right now, it's okay."

"I tried… If there was any way I could've, I would've come sooner," he apologized, looking back down to the infant. "I wanted to be here for you."

"He came pretty fast. I wasn't really looking forward to two days of labor, so I can't say I'm not relieved. And you're here now," she said, momentarily letting her hand leave her child to reach towards him. She couldn't make it all the way, not without twisting her fragile and pained body, but Garrus did the rest, taking her hand in his, bending forward to kiss her knuckles. "That's what matters."

Between them, the baby fussed, turning his head away from the breast that no longer satisfied him. His tiny mouth gaped open, and though there was no sound at first, his face crinkled in a sign of what was to come. Shepard was quick to try to soothe him, touching her palm to his cheek to remind him he wasn't as alone as he may have felt, and while it calmed him temporarily, his instincts won out, a suffering cry piercing the quiet of the room. His mother scooped him up, nestling him against her chest with one arm, the other making a poor attempt at trying to help her up.

"Sit behind me," she requested.

Garrus nodded before her words were finished, already shifting to aid her in her struggle. He used his body as a weight to prop her up, pushing back against her gently, carefully, as he slid away the pillow her head had been resting on and slipped himself between her and the wall that the head of the mattress was butted up against.

"Mm, perfect," she hummed as his arms circled around her, her own arms busy with keeping her son safe and close as he was propped up against her chest. Taking the nearby cloth, she laid it over her shoulder, one palm rubbing small circles against her son's back, and every so often gently patting to encourage the extra air in his belly to come on out.

The baby, however, wasn't very interested in what his mother was doing. Though he'd calmed, he hadn't returned to that kind of all encompassing comfort he'd had while enjoying his meal, but rather was still letting out a soft, sad, bleating. Shepard turned her head in towards him, kissing the side of his cloth-hat covered head, then nuzzling her forehead against him, breathing the sweet scent of her newborn baby in.

"Careful," she said to her boy, even if he couldn't have understood, her hand hovering close while he lifted his heavy little head, straining the muscles of his still weak neck. For the first time since Garrus had seen him, he blinked his eyes open just barely, and he had to marvel at the expression the child wore. Whether it was his imagination or not, Garrus swore he had seen that sleepy, squinted expression before from Shepard. The boy looked in his direction.

"Can't see that far and clear yet," Shepard informed him, "but he knows you're here."

With his arm tucked between himself and his mother, the baby set his head back down to Shepard's shoulder, his mouth sucking languidly on the back of his fist. He blinked again, this time looking towards his mother.

"I can't believe something that big came out of you," Garrus said in jest.

Shepard tried not to laugh, but it was a fight certain to fail, and the boy lifted his head at the disturbance in his mother's body as it shook and jerked with laughter. A single wail left his lips, almost seeming like a warning, and then Shepard was offering her quiet apologies to him, the whisper of sweet little nothings to her baby. Garrus had always known Shepard could be tender, she was never the hardened soldier so many saw her as, but the level of quiet affection she showed her child was far above and beyond what he'd ever seen before and ever imagined.

"What do you think of him?" She asked, voice full with pride. "I should let you know that I won't accept any answer besides 'He's perfect.'"

"A little wrinkled," Garrus said, but ran his hand lovingly along her upper arm, a reminder of his playfulness. "A lot different than turian young, but strangely… very much the same."

"That reminds me." Supporting him fully in one arm, her palm and fingers spread across his upper back, neck, and offering generous support to the baby's skull, she tugged the hat from the boy's head. Beneath that piece of fabric was a thick, dark mop of hair, matted and sticking out all over.

"Spirits, you humans are even born with hair?"

Shepard just grinned, running her fingers through it, pushing it back into place though it had no plans in behaving, returning to its formerly bent appearance. "Babies usually come with a little, but he does have a lot."

"If there was any question as to who the father was…" He started, but didn't finish, a regretful nervousness passing over him.

"Yeah," she agreed with a sluggish nod of her head. "He looks just like Kaidan, I think."

Garrus held her tighter. "Are you okay with that?"

Shepard didn't answer, not right away, instead lost in looking at her child. She downshifted him from her shoulder to cradle him in her arm against her chest. The baby fussed, wriggling at first but eventually easing, his tongue sticking in and out of his mouth, saliva coating his lips. Shepard ran a finger along the shell of his ear, perfect in all its miniature size.

"I started crying towards the end." She was quiet and timid when she made her revelations. "There were plenty of people here taking care of me, but I just looked around the room and felt like they were all complete strangers. It reminded me of the field hospital, alone and in pain and not knowing if anyone I knew was alive. You weren't here—" she stopped, grazed her hand along his arm for reassurance so that his guilt didn't manifest too harshly over his unplanned absence. "And I just started to… I don't know. The pain at the end—and I was afraid something was going to go wrong, that he wouldn't breathe or he'd already be gone, that maybe the Reapers had done something to me, that after how Cerberus made me he wouldn't be healthy or even human." Her head shook, and though she was looking down at her child, Garrus could see the tears spill down her cheek. He took the time to wipe them away for her but more came, replacing the rest.

"And when it was over, when he was out and they laid him on my stomach… I just couldn't stop. I was so happy, he was perfect, he was beautiful even covered in all that fluid and blood. He was just screaming at me, crying, and I don't even know who cried louder, me or him. Then they told me he was a he and it got worse. I thought of Kaidan, how he had a son now and he didn't even know. And I was just inconsolable, even holding him, I couldn't stop. I wanted Kaidan to be here… I wanted him to look at his son and smile and cry with me, I wanted him to tell me I'd done well, that he was beautiful. All I could think about was, did I make a mistake? Should I have found him, told him? I thought about it all these months… but I was too afraid, Garrus. I didn't think I could deal with the possibility that I'd tell him and he would be horrified. So I told myself it was all for the best, that I didn't need him or anyone, that I could do it on my own."

His heart broke for her as she talked of the birth. On that ship, he'd hoped beyond hope that he would be able to make it there in time, be with her through the worst of it and the end. He'd promised her he would stay, but when she needed him, he hadn't made it in time, she'd been relatively alone. Garrus leaned forward, rubbing his mandible and jaw into the side of her head, looking down at the baby in her arms. "You did well, Kate. He's beautiful."

Shepard erupted into fitful cries at his words, turning her head in towards him, the tears hot on his neck. He was cautious of where his arms went, but he brought them around her fully, running along her arms and thus helping to hold her child as well. There was no shushing her, no way to comfort because these were tears of necessity, even he knew that. They were tears that she'd been holding, that needed to come on out. Instead, Garrus offered the low, soft vibration of his dual-flanged vocals from the back of his throat, drowning the three of them in the warmth of it.

The baby only put up with the jostling for so long, and soon, he too joined in on his mother's weeping, shuddering cries shaking his tiny body. It was that tortured kind of sadness, his wails quivering frightfully, lungs used to their full potential only hours after he'd become a part of the world with the rest of them. Garrus palmed the side of the boys head not nestled to his mother, palm to his cheek as he'd seen Shepard do earlier. Though it wasn't quite the magic touch he'd hoped it would be, the warmth of another seemed to at least quell the worst of the infant's misery.

"He really is beautiful," Garrus said again, just as Shepard's tears seemed to die down as well, the mother and baby inexplicably linked together.

She nodded, smiling, and then laid her head back against his shoulder, even as the sniffles persisted. "He is. Thank you… for saying it."

"Did you give him a name yet?"

Shepard hummed a positive reply. "Nathan. Nate, for short. I started using my mother's maiden name awhile back, so he'll be Nathan Shaw."

"Does it mean anything—is it after anyone?"

"I thought about it," she said quietly, "thought maybe David because of Anderson, or maybe my father's name, but I think I just want him to get to be whoever he grows up to be… no weight of anyone else hanging over him, no one else's name to live up to."

Shepard twisted suddenly at the waist, turning within his hold so that she could actually look at him, face to face. "Do you want to hold him?"

"Probably not the most hospitable place for a baby," he said, helplessly glancing to his arms as they went slack, knowing the roughness that lingered below his sleeves. Where Shepard was firm muscle but soft, he was rock hard, stiff, no pliable skin to give way.

"Sorry," she gave a shameful shake of her head, dropping her eyes back to her son. "I… I'm sorry. We haven't really had time to talk about all of this. You know I don't expect you to have to be his father or anything like that, right? He's my responsibility, I didn't mean…"

"Shepard—"

"…To make you uncomfortable with the idea—"

"Kate—" He brushed the backs of his fingers under her chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to look to him with her red-rimmed eyes. "What did you think I was going to do? Come stay with you, sleep through the night while you get up with him?"

"I don't really know what I thought. I hoped—" She sighed, shoulders slumping. "I don't know. What I'm saying is… it's not too late for you to change your mind, to back out, Garrus. This is," Shepard swallowed, choking on the words, "a lot to ask of anyone."

"However much you want me to be to him, I'm going to be. Now," and to solidify his point, he took the blanket the child had been draped in earlier, fitting it in his bent, but open and waiting, arm. "If he cries, you're going to have to be the one who calms him down because I'm flying blind here."

Shepard was skeptical, that much he could tell by the creases at the corners of her eyes, the line formed between her brows, but she gave in after her own silent deliberation, transfering the hold of her son into his arm. There were a few exchanges of words, like careful and gently, and then Garrus' soft, mumbled reassurances as the boy settled in against the carapace of a man who was a relative stranger. Nathan let out another warning howl that made Garrus grow tense and nervous, but Shepard was there, wincing through the pain as she turned even more so now that she was facing Garrus, sitting between his legs. She offered her finger to the boy's mouth, and though he'd just eaten, he instinctively suckled out of what was already a comforting gesture. His mother kissed his forehead, and spoke in hushed tones to the baby for a moment before pulling back to sit upright again.

"You've got it," she complimented Garrus, her free hand seeking out the one of his that wasn't curled around her child. It was her turn to kiss his knuckles, just as he'd done earlier when he arrived.

In his arm, Nathan was deceptively light, almost like there was nothing there at all. Garrus tried to keep his breathing shallow in fear of upsetting the careful balance he and Shepard and the child existed in, his eyes locked on the baby, watching as the boy looked around the room with wide, alert eyes. His heart clenched, or at least that was how it felt to Garrus. Never had he thought of having children, not in any real sense anyway, but somehow, he knew, this felt right. Emotions running high, his breathing became slightly unsteady, mandibles twitching.

Shepard, as always, caught on right away, and forced herself to rise just a few inches despite the pain she must've been in, and brushed her lips across his mouth before sitting back down.

"Did you mean what you said… that night you first came here? You yelled at me, told me that Kaidan hadn't been the only one to love me."

Faintly, Garrus nodded, the apology for his volume and intensity that night already on his tongue, but Shepard just shook her head, dismissed it before he could even get it out. "I…" he sputtered, sighing. "Yeah. For a long time." He didn't know why it was so hard to say the word itself, but it was. It wasn't that he didn't feel it, he felt it in every inch of who he was, in every pump of blood from his heart to all the extremities of his body. Garrus had never felt that before, not for anyone that wasn't family, but it was also so very different from that familial kind of emotion, the kind reserved for lovers, partners, mates.

For the first time since he'd arrived, Shepard didn't allow her attention to be pulled back to her son. He was safe where he was, content for the time being, and so she took the time to put her focus on the turian in front of her.

"I'm never going to know if I loved Kaidan because of the memories I had or because I did really love him," she began, but raised a hand to him, asking for good faith as she strolled down the memory lane of an old lover while with her current. "It felt real, it still does, but it's just something I'll never know. You, Garrus… you were her friend. A good friend, someone she trusted more than most, someone she would have proudly taken with her to the end of the galaxy, but she didn't see you as anything more than that. What I'm trying to say is… I love you. And that's something I'm sure of. I love you, and that will always belong only to me."

Unshed tears shone in her eyes yet again, but these ones didn't make him sad, regretful, or hurt for her. Like the earlier ones, they were happy but there was no tinge of anything else except complete, absolute, joy. Garrus suddenly found himself able to say the word he hadn't before.

"Kate, I… I love you, too."

Their mouths met but it wasn't urgent, just soft and lingering like they had all the time in the world. Shepard pressed her body tight up against his, only leaving enough space for Nathan, one arm around his neck and in the gap of his cowl, the other allowed to rest against the swell of his chest while her forehead found home in the hollow of his throat.

Garrus thought of the months he'd feared her dead a second time. It was easy to meet her here, to proclaim that he'd been searching for her, looking for her living and breathing once he'd actually found her. It had been hard to believe those words late at night, however, after searching through wreckage of the Citadel. Every piece of warped and bent metal he pulled away in the daytime left him with the fear of finding her body broken and lifeless, and night meant the dreams that came with those fears. A hundred thousand times, he dreamt of her death, waking in the morning to try to convince himself it hadn't been real. It would never be real. He would find her and she would be alive.

Tilting his head, he laid it barely atop hers, both of their eyes set on the infant as he fought off the sleep that pulled to him. Each time he closed his eyes, they stayed shut a second longer, reopening again in the moment that followed, until finally, eventually, Nathan shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

It was heaven, and not the kind where old soldiers met at a bar after they died. This was unquestioningly real.

"Garrus?" Shepard said above a whisper, but not at full volume.

"Yeah?"

"If I asked you someday… if I asked you to get Kaidan for me, could you do it?"

Garrus rubbed his open palm along her back, trying to coax the mother just as easily into sleep as the son. "I don't know where he is, but I know how to find out. Is that something you want me to do?"

"Not…" she yawned, going a little boneless against him as exhaustion overwhelmed her. "Not yet. I need some time."

"But some day soon?"

"Yeah. Some day soon."