Author Note: And now we start to coincide with the official me timeline. Thanks for all the feedback!
I do not own Mass Effect.
Zaeed is freaking the hell out when she comes home. Convinced Garm or his Vorcha or both had killed her: he'd made dozens of calls to his contacts. A good thirty minutes following her arrival is spent firing off messages to all of the roused parties.
Then he wants to know what she's up to. She feeds him the same lines about expanding her clientele.
"Bullshit," he says. "You're up to something. And I bet this whole apartment that I'll hate it."
"Then you probably don't want to know," she shrugs. He scowls but takes her advice, dropping the matter. The next few days are quiet ones as Shepard takes a mini-vacation and Zaeed depletes their beer stores.
She returns to work. The first night is a long one with two Humans and Batarian from the Blue Suns. All mid-level in the Merc structure. Zaeed won't deal with the Blue Suns higher-ups, even if Tarak doesn't bother him like Vido would. The job pays well. No news to pass along to Garrus though. The rest of week is spent with her regulars: Kela, Harrot, the Afterlife bouncer.
After a grueling session at Kela's, Shepard naps on the Asari's couch. She's roused by her client, laughing loud into her comm. link.
"I knew Garm was lying!" Her client hoots. Shepard sits up, kicking off the blanket covering her. Kela must've put it there. She wipes the drool off her chin. "That dishonest bastard deserved what he got."
She tiptoes to the door to listen. There's a woman's voice on the other end, deeply pitched. Another Asari matriarch. Probably Eclipse too. "This means Archangel is not dead after all."
"Let him focus on the Blood Pack then. And the Blue Suns," Kela says. "No matter what he does, Eclipse will always be on Omega."
Probably true. Word is, Aria's old friends with the Eclipse leader. Still, Shepard will bet on Garrus. And hopes that he gave Garm a thousand times what the Krogan gave to her and Garrus. Deserved what he got indeed.
When she gets home, Zaeed's waiting on the couch. There's a plate of chopped protein rations balanced on his knees, a few beer cans decorating the couch. He leans back when she comes in, folding his arms.
"Real funny turn of events," he says. "Archangel came back from the dead and got the drop on Garm. No one's sure how Archangel knew where Garm was meeting his slaver contacts. Or how many men he'd be bringing."
"Huh," she frowns. "Garm was pretty sure he killed Archangel. Maybe it's not him. Maybe it's some copycat vigilante."
"Right. Well if Garm survives all the lead they pumped into 'em—and he will—I hope he doesn't figure out who snitched on him. For the snitch's sake." He lets that sink in. At last he stands, knocking over his dinner. "Now tell me why someone left a big damn crate for you on our doorstep. Payment for a good deed?"
"What?" Had Garm sent a bomb? Garrus' severed head? "Where is it?"
"In your room. Still not going to tell me what's going on?"
Shepard rushes to her room. A long crate is waiting on her tiny bed, the mattress sinking beneath its weight. She grasps the top and pries it open, grunting. Inside is a crinkled piece of paper on a bed of cloth.
"For helping our mutual friend. Thank you. Erash, Monteague, Mierin, Grundan Krul, Melanis, Ripper, Sensat, Vortash, Butler, Weaver and Sidonis."
Beneath the cloth is an old, beat-up, newly modified, beautiful sniper rifle.
"The hell?" Zaeed asks behind her. She crumples the note, stuffing it into her coat pocket.
"Satisfied patrons?" Shepard glances over her shoulder, gripping the sides of the crate. "Look…if things get too heavy, I'll let you know. Deal?"
"…Fine." Zaeed sighs. "You're right. I still don't want to know. Now let me have a look at your new toy."
Garrus is embarrassed that his squad gifted her with such an extravagant present. And, he admits to her, mad at himself for not thinking of it first. But he teaches her the best ways to care for and handle the rifle. He's a thorough teacher and they spend many productive hours in his shooting range.
Shepard revels in the lessons but also in flustering him. Like when he gets behind her to adjust her stance. She'll press her bottom to his groin, grinding against his hips. He can't feel much beneath the armor. It doesn't stop him from sputtering and stammering.
Garrus gets her back. The next time her stance is off, he traps her in his arms. His hands move in slow caresses down her body while he nips at her neck. Shepard discovers that she really likes the feel of Turian teeth. And really, really likes his prehensile tongue.
And damn, he's a fast learner. They move their fucking upstairs out of deference to the other squad members. (Garrus is learning all types of tricks to make her scream.) When she's too sore from work and he from missions, they sit and calibrate their guns. Swap stories about their day and their past.
She's actually kinda happy.
And then one night, she's servicing two Blue Suns. Humans, ranking in the upper-middle of their gang. She's opened herself up to more Blue Suns clients though security experts like them don't often leave intel lying around.
Shepard rides one of them, hands braced against his chest, head thrown back. She presses her nails into his abdomen and he lets out a low moan. The other watches in the corner, pumping himself, urging Shepard to fuck his friend harder.
Someone pounds on the door. "LeClair! Farraday! Code A is a go! Asses in gear!"
"Fuck," says LeClair beneath her. He scrambles upward, dislodging Shepard. She tumbles to the floor. "Sorry ma'am. You gotta go."
Shepard hands his pants to him and he jumps into them, swearing under his breath. She asks, "Code A?"
Farraday groans in the corner as he spills onto the floor. He leans back, naked body slick with sweat. His mouth tilts to one side. "We've had a plan in motion for weeks. This means we finally found that Turian's nest-"
"Farraday!" LeClair hisses. He looms over Shepard, eyes narrowed. "You didn't hear anything. Or I call the bank and have them take back my credits.
"Got it," she nods. The picture of calm while inside, she's fucking terrified for Garrus. For his squad.
She gets out of the room, only to be stopped at the front. It's one of the apartment blocks owned by the Blue Suns with tight security at every entrance. Shepard's hands itch to draw her gun as they go over her record. Question her. Make sure she hasn't heard anything she shouldn't. It was never so strict before.
But they hadn't been about to kill her Archangel before.
Shepard's released forty painful minutes later. Two of the Suns follow her for five blocks. She goes in a wide circle around, keeping her pace to a fast walk until she loses them, squeezing behind a dumpster. Soon as their voices fade away, she's off.
"God, please be alive," she whispers as she runs. The missionaries had said God answers prayers. Shepard's never gotten anything but silence back but desperation has her pleading to him. To anyone listening.
The Blue Suns are everywhere. When she thinks she's clear, that she knows a path they don't…the bastards show up.
Shepard has been humiliated. She's been mauled. She's been choked, whipped, shot, stabbed, clawed and a dozen other things. But she hasn't been this helpless since she was a kid, watching her family ripped to shreds by the Blood Pack.
She makes it to the building. A crowd is creeping around the perimeter as the Suns swarm over Garrus' base. In front of it are ten bodies, lain out for Omega to see. None of them are clean kills but she knows them. Erash, Monteague, Mierin, Grundan Krul, Melanis, Ripper, Sensat, Vortash, Butler and Weaver.
No Sidonis. No Garrus.
Have they both made it out? Are they still inside, waiting to be displayed in the street? Shepard has to get in there.
A Blue Sun, Human from his helmet, ducks into one of the alleys. Shepard follows and finds him relieving himself behind a few trashcans. Time to perform. Time to act like her make-up isn't smeared and her heart isn't pounding.
"Well hello." She says with a smirk. Her eyes linger on the cock in his hands, studying the length before she sweeps her gaze up to his. The Merc lifts his helmet visor and offers a lopsided smile.
Last week, Garrus helped mod her pistol to be silent as death. She's quick and the kill is easy. Easier than expected. The insides of the helmet are now splattered with blood and the armor's heavy as hell but it gets her into the building. All she has to do is not breathe in the stench.
The loft is decorated with bodies and blood. Shepard, already sick from the carnage in the helmet, has to find a private corner to retch. The room is filled with Suns dragging out their comrades' bodies (not to be displayed). There are a few others getting sick as well. Shepard escapes overt notice.
No Sidonis amidst the dead Turians. No Garrus. She checks as she takes orders to bring Blue Suns bodies out back to the Merc transport. The amount of Mercs allows her to work fast and get out without notice.
When she's safe, she has to throw the helmet down. Retch again. Tear the armor off in disgust, down to the undersuit she filched from the dead Human. His blood is still on her face. Shepard wipes her cheek and her fingers are covered with blood and bits of his flesh. The pistol blast disintegrates but not everything is eradicated.
She doesn't know how to find Garrus. He always found her before. Dropped in on her walks. Sent messages telling her when it was safe to come. And excepting the time with Garm, she'd played by the rules. To defend the base's secrecy.
Anger dries up the panic swirling in her. They'd taken plenty of Blue Suns with them but Garrus' squad had still been massacred. They hadn't deserved that. Every one of them had been a good man, trying to bring some justice to the darker corners of the galaxy.
She's felt this thirst for vengeance before. When she took on those two Vorcha clients as a teen. When she endured Garm to make him pay. This time is different. One person can't take a gang by herself. But three people might be able to. If those two others are in fact alive.
Shepard waits.