Roarkshop here: Welcome to the new and improved Sense and Flexibility. Big long authors notes are a thing of the past as I will post them on my blog from now on so those who do not with to read them, do not have to. Your comments, reviews, faves, and feedback are always read, appreciated, and loved. Thank you all for the tremendous support, you all are what keep me writing. Thank you so, SO much.

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This is a fan fiction, all themes and character belong to Bioware. No copy-write infringement intended.

(Updated 1/1/12)

The weeks passed and Shepard recovered. Not fully, but well enough that she could sleep in her own quarters and didn't need constant monitoring. She started doing her daily rounds again, even going down into the Cargo Hold to punch the bags around to keep her strength up. Though she was careful not to overdo it so she didn't have to go back into the Med Bay for extended period's of time.

There was a ruckus in the Mess Hall one night as Garrus entered. The entire crew seemed to have congregated there.

"What's going on?" Garrus asked Tali as he took the seat next to her, a fresh drink in his hands.

"Some crewmen asked me to hack our signal so we could intercept and exposé on Shepard airing from Earth. It's about to come on so the crew is completely excited."

"Well this should be fun," he said, entertained. He noticed Joker a table over. "If you're here, who is flying the ship?"

"The auto-pilot, man," he said waving a hand dismissively. "It'll be fine."

"Comforting."

He looked over at the Commander who was sharing a few good laughs with the crew before everyone started hushing everyone else.

"This is Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, with Westerlund News, exposing the path to glory for the first human specter, Alliance Commander; Jane Shepard."

The whole crew cheered, raising glasses to her, Garrus was no exception. Shepard just smiled, laughing to herself as everyone hushed each other again. There was a twenty minute story on her military life, telling the tale of the Skyllian Blitz. It cut to a snippet of a recorded conversation she had while the blitz took place. While her voice came over the screen, a picture of her was displayed, receiving the Star of Terra. It told of her protecting the civilians who had raised arms to hold the position, and her unwillingness to abandon them.

The whole crew whooped again, some people patting her on the back. She put a hand over her face, laughing, obviously enjoying the support she was receiving. After more tales of the Star of Terra ceremony, and other snippets of her military life, it cut back to the reporter.

"But where did Jane Shepard really come from? Why is she so determined to never lose a crewman or sacrifice innocent civilians? Why does she weigh every other possible option before resulting to casualties? We here at Westerlund News are proud to report that we have found out.

The earliest known record of Jane Shepard is when she was found at the age of three by the proprietor of Safe Anchorage Orphanage, Shelly Bourneim, in New York city. She was badly malnourished and taken in by the proprietor, where she was affectionately named "Jane Doe" for her lack of birth records. It was there that she grew up until the age of ten, where she became close friends with another little girl two years younger, Deelia Shepard, according to Bourneim." A picture of an orphanage and all the children living there was displayed on the screen, zooming in on two girls hugging. One blonde one, and one curly red headed one. The crowd all had a long "awwwwwwww", at the sight of her as a child.

"No, they couldn't have," Shepard said. It was so soft only Garrus' superior hearing caught it under the sound from the broadcast, and even he wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. He was entertained to see Shepard as a child only until he looked at her and saw that her jaw had set. Tight. Tighter than he had ever seen it. Her easy hands had become shivering fists on the table. Even when she lay in the Med Bay, possibly dying, a gaping hole through her abdomen, shouting at him, he hadn't seen the look she was giving now. But he had seen it many times on others, and he knew it too well not to know what it was.

It was fear.

"When Jane Doe was ten years old, eight for her adoptive sister, Deelia, they were on their way back to the orphanage one night after picking up supplies for the other children at a local shelter. With armfuls of various supplies, they were stopped by an impoverish duo of two adult men, police reports say..."

Shepard scoffed.

"...They forced the young girls to give them what they had, and reports indicate that they were both beaten badly. Further details were too explicit for this broadcast."

The hush that settled over the room was devastating.

"A young Jane then called an ambulance for them, the following is the call that was recorded."

"9-1-1 what is your emer-"

"Please help," came a frantic, tiny voice. "My sister has been hurt badly. We are on Marigold Street by an Italian restaurant. She's very hurt, please help me. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, tell me how to save her, please! She's all I have!"

"Alright sweety, calm down. I'm sending a unit out now, stay on the phone with me..."

The recording cut out.

"A local reporter who was researching the increasing crime rate, and the terrible conditions for the poor, followed the sirens to New York General Hospital where the girls were unloaded. The following was captured. We warn you, however, that the images we are about to see are disturbing and not recommended for children."

The screen went to an old vid of the two girls being carted into the, obviously already overcrowded, hospital lobby. One little blonde unconscious girl, and a tiny red headed one were strapped to gurneys. Jane was thrashing in hers as they tried to restrain her with leather straps around her wrists and ankles. One eye was swollen shut, the other was wide, furious, and a very familiar vivid green. She was barely wearing any clothes. Her body was covered in wounds and bloody gashes. Her thighs were stained with her blood. She screamed.

"DEELIA, NO," the girl cried. She pulled as hard as she could against the restraints around her wrists.

"Please, honey," the nurse said. "We need to take a look at you."

"NO! Don't help me! Help her! Help Deelia! DEE! DON'T DIE, DEELIA PLEASE! SAVE HER! OH GOD!" she screamed, trying to kick out of her restraints. Her voice was screeching and going hoarse but she kept screaming, kept thrashing, kept fighting. Her face poured tears of determination. Anger. Her wrists were turning purple where she was pulling against the leather straps. There was another few seconds of it before an off-screen voice spoke to the camera man.

"Alan, turn it off, this isn't what I wanted. This is horrible."

The video clicked off and returned to the reporter.

It was like a nightmare. So blatantly unreal that he couldn't have possibly actually seen it. But just a glance around the room at the faces of the crew told him it had not only been real, but just as devastating to all of them. The women in the crew all had tears in their eyes, or were looking away. The men all pain stricken or angry.

Garrus was seething.

Her words from a few weeks ago echoed in his head.

It's where people go when I've failed to protect them so I can have a front row seat as they flat-line.

He looked at Shepard again, her head was pointed at the screen and her jaw was set, refusing to look defeated, to give the reporters the satisfaction that they had conquered her. She took a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her, and the cold Commander mask was very quickly in place.

"Deelia Shepard died on November Third, the very date the Commander, adopting the last name of her dead companion, uses as her birthday. Shelly Bourneim of Safe Anchorage never saw her again and all record of her disappears until she joins the military seven years later, as Jane Shepard. Even as disheartening as the story is, it speaks of a woman who has fought for her survival at every turn, and eventually, come out on top. It speaks to the sheer determination and willpower of our Commander Jane Shepard. We offer a humble thanks to the memory of Deelia Shepard. It is because of her, that Commander Shepard became the hero that she is tod-" Whoever had the remote flicked the exposé off after that. The silence was painful.

"Well," she said with a smile. "Such is the price of fame, I suppose," she laughed, and cleared her throat nervously as she stood. "Well thank you all very much for sitting with me. I'm sorry that it took such a turn for the depressing, but I hope that doesn't dissuade you from joining me for dinner in the future. I assure you there are no more dirty little secrets in my past that can be dug up, so this will hopefully be a one-time-only-depressing-ass-dinner-date." She laughed again, and rubbed the back of her neck. The crowd was uncomfortable to say the least. "I also hope that knowing where I came from doesn't have any effect on our mission, or how you feel about me, both as a person, and as your commanding officer." She almost looked happy. If Garrus didn't know better, he'd say that she was completely unaffected by the ordeal. With that, she excused herself and went up the stairs toward the star map.

The room was silent long after she left.

"That's heavy," Joker finally said.

"Yeah. That was really hard to watch," said engineer Adams.

"Oh, poor, poor, Shepard," said a crew member.

"Don't," Pressley chirped up angrily. "Obviously this story was only made public because she is famous now. I don't know how they were allowed to air something so horrible, but If she had wanted it on public record, it would have been. I know we all care about her and it was...devastating to say the least. But she's still the Commander we know and love and I'm sure she wants to keep it that way. Don't let this make you feel differently about her. We all have a few skeletons in the closet so respect Shepard's and resume as normal."

A quiet consensus went through the room. Tali sniffled and cried under her mask, shaking her head. "I had no idea it was that bad for her," she said softly.

Garrus didn't know what to do. His talons were digging into his palms so hard he had started to bleed. How could anyone do that to a child? How could her own people betray her so outright? Anyone with half a brain could guess that she didn't want something like that coming to the surface, not to mention broadcasting across the traverse. The image of her, so young, so broken and beaten... still fighting. Her thighs bloodied from where they had... had...

He suddenly felt the need to kill someone.

He washed his hands of the blood and changed out of his armor, into his civvies, then took the elevator down to the Port Cargo Hold where he planned to release his rage on some unsuspecting punching bags. He took a step out of the elevator when he smelled her, and heard her grunting.

Always two steps ahead of me, aren't you, Shepard?

He paused outside the door, listening. Wondering if he should go in. Did she want to be alone? Did she need someone to talk to? Garrus wasn't good at this sort of thing.

But fighting... Fighting he could do.

When he entered she was beating the punching bag so hard she didn't hear the door hiss open and shut. He approached her from behind, hoping he would think of something to say before he got there. Sensing someone behind her she turned in one fluid motion, instinctively, her fist flying toward his chest. When she realized it was Garrus it was too late.

He caught her fist in his hand an inch from impact, and they stood there like that for a while.

"Hey," he said, looking down at her.

"Hey," she replied, sweating and panting.

"You need to work on your form. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy, Shepard," he taunted, shaking his head. He was doing his best not to treat her any differently. Much to his relief, she smiled at him.

"Oh is that right?" She panted. "You think you can do better?"

He laughed condescendingly. "What a stupid question. It's almost as if you think you actually have a chance. It's adorable, really."

"Oh that is it, dinosaur boy, bring it!" Her eyes were playful but he could see the darkness in them.

He rolled out his neck, laughing. "Well if you don't mind getting embarrassed, fine."

The fight started out fun enough. Garrus had been meaning to come down here and work out his shoulder anyway, even better that he could help Shepard while he was at it, and release some of this rage he had inside him. Not to mention that she was superb; Every blow he threw she blocked beautifully. It went on like that for minutes, like a dance, rather than a fight. He was obviously more powerful, but she was fast. Too fast. He had trouble keeping up with her. She dodged a left swipe, driving her elbow into the crook of his arm as it soared past her. He roared with pain and blindly swiped as he spun around, slashing a gash into her shoulder. She didn't notice, or if she had she didn't show it.

That was when he smelled her blood.

He smelled it several seconds before it made itself apparent, seeping through her shirt. Garrus was familiar with the scent, he had smelled it many times before, usually while fighting beside her. He would know it anywhere. But this time it was different. A predatorial surge went through him, his mandibles clicked anxiously. His talons twitched, ached almost. A low growl started in his chest. He looked her up and down, from eyes to toes and back up. Her vivid green eyes were taunting him.

Something was terribly wrong.

But he was thinking too hard. It cost him valuable seconds. Eventually he was on the ground, her knees in his shoulders, leaning over his face. He winced with her weight on his wounded shoulder.

"Is that all you got, turian? I thought your people were supposed to be good at this."

Shepard thought he sounded quite a lot like a jungle cat, growling like he was. She knew he was dangerous, but she was angry and needed to hurt something. Dangerous was exactly how she needed him. She needed the fight drained out of her.

"You're playing with fire, here, Shepard," he warned, trying to buy himself time. Talk himself down. She didn't know what she was doing. She was a human, how could she understand?

She flicked her head to get the few wisps of hair out of her face, carelessly, like she had all the time in the world. "Some apex-predator you are."

He heaved his unwounded shoulder so she rolled off him. She was back on her feet, gracefully, in a matter of moments. Garrus took his time, his talons dug into the mat under him as he slowly hoisted himself up, then they were back in the dance, exchanging blows. He wasn't just brawling with a comrade, he was fighting a battle internally. His predatory urges were making his blood hot, but she wasn't a turian. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that? Of course she wasn't a turian.

But his senses couldn't tell what she was. They were only picking up one signal.

Predator.

The smell of her blood was intoxicating, and it was getting harder and harder to fight his instincts. He was disoriented, his head was spinning, he had never had to fight his instincts so hard to not dominate his opponent. She wasn't a turian. She wasn't a threat. She was his friend. He was supposed to be helping her, damn it.

She took his leg out while he was disoriented and he toppled to his knees, she quickly twisted his arm around his back, and screwed it up behind him. She knew it had to be painful, and she was rewarded when he roared angrily, his growl moving now to his throat. Louder. Deeper. She leaned down, getting her face close to his ear.

"I have to say, I'm rather disappointed, Vakarian," she cooed. "Is this why you left the turian military? Couldn't hack the hand-to-hand?"

He reached behind him with his free arm, and wrapped a taloned hand around the back of her neck. With an impressive show of strength, lifted her over his head and slammed her onto her back in front of him. She grunted and scrambled under his grip. The sight of her struggling made his talons itch.

She lifted her legs back over her head, contorting in a way a turian female would never be able to. Her legs wrapped around his neck, crossing her ankles behind his head over his shoulder ridge. She roared with effort as she flipped him over her so he landed, now on his back in front of her. She had meant to keep him in a headlock with her legs, but felt something in her stomach pop and she knew she had re-ruptured something. She scrambled to get to her feet, but he was too fast, his leg swept hers out from under her and she landed on the flat of her back. And before she even had a chance to react or figure out how to get up, his huge talon wrapped around her ankle and pulled her. And just like that he was on top of her, looming over her, his right talon next to her head, holding him up, his left tight on her throat. He had a knee on either side of her hips, holding her in place. Their faces no more than a foot away from each other. Each of his claws piercing her skin just enough to make blood bead under them.

"That's what I'm talkin' about, Vakarian" she said smiling at him. She swatted him, open handed, on the shoulder in a show of camaraderie. She could feel his breath on her face.

He didn't hear her. He was too busy listening to her heart beat, feeling it under his fingers. Watching her chest pump with her deep, tired breaths. Her heartbeat was furious, but not frantic. It wasn't a prey response, it was exhilarated. His mandibles clicked as his fierce blue eyes sketched every detail of her face. Her hair had been in a knot on top of her head, but it had come loose and her hair fanned out under her in loose, lazy, crimson curls.

It was the first time he ever truly thought she was beautiful. Not by human standards. By his own.

She tried to turn her head to cough, but couldn't under his grasp. She grunted, trying to pull his hand away.

His grip tightened and his growl surged, thrilled that she would try to escape even now. It wasn't the same growl she had heard when he normally battled. It was different. Primal. For the briefest moment, so brief anyone else wouldn't have picked up on it, she was afraid of him.

"Garrus," she beckoned urgently, "you win." Her voice had become gravely like there was fluid in her throat.

That snapped him out of it. He shook his head as if to clear it.

What's wrong with me?

"Well..." he cleared his throat, letting go of hers. "That aught to teach you," he said, trying to recover. His head was still spinning, like he was coming down from a high. She turned her head as she sat up, still under him, and coughed into her hand, blood speckling her palm. Garrus felt her coughs as her chest heaved against his own. "Oh god, Shepard," he said helping her up, only now really noticing the blood on her shoulder, throat, and lips. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be, Garrus," she took his hand with her clean one and let him help her up. "It was a good fight. If I hadn't popped something in my stomach I would have made you my bitch."

He laughed, once, trying to sound condescending, but unable to shake the euphoria. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, human."

After a lecture from the doctor, not as long as usual as she probably didn't have the heart for it after the dinner debacle, she was patched up and laying in her bed. Chakwas, softy that she was, agreed to treat her in her cabin just this once. So there she lay, in her bed, thinking. About the night. About the brawl. About that sound he had made...

Her door whooshed open and Garrus' frame filled the doorway.

"Permission to enter, Commander," he said.

"Sure Garrus, please," she attempted to sit up to greet him as he came to sit by her side, but only made it to her elbows.

"Sorry I got you back on bed rest," he said.

"Please, don't be so cocky. If I hadn't been pre-wounded you wouldn't have had a chance."

He laughed. She obviously didn't know how the fight had affected him. How he had almost lost control and killed her. How could she? She wasn't a turian, she didn't understand the culture. She mocked him when he called himself and apex-predator, but it was really quite accurate for his kind. When a turian's battle instincts kick in they are almost always dangerous. A female of his own kind picks up on that as stimulation, but every other species usually saw it as terrifying. It wasn't his fault, it was part of his genetic code, but that didn't make him feel any better about it. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why his instincts had kicked in. He had sparred with many friends in the past, other turian's, female turian's at that. Never once did he have to battle his predatory side like he just had. He must have been angrier and more frustrated than he thought if he was losing control that easily. He promised himself it would never happen again.

"Thank you," she said, laying back down.

"For what? Hurting you? You're welcome. Anytime," he groaned. Sarcasm dripped from his words.

"Seriously," she said laughing. "Stomach rupture and all, I needed it. After that... nightmare."

Silence.

"So," he said clapping his hands together once. "I see why you hate the Med Bay so much."

"Yeah," she said with a laugh. "I think about her every time I go in there."

He exhaled through his nose and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Shepard," he started.

"Ugh," she said putting the heels of her palms over her eyes. "You too."

"Me too, what?"

"It's pity," she sighed, letting her hands fall in her lap. "I guess it was too much to hope that at least you would be unaffected."

"It's not pity, Shepard. I just... I mean, that's a horrible thing we all witnessed out there."

"I know," she sighed. "I guess I'm just going to have to get used to losing everyone's respect. I guess you were the only one I expected to hang on to."

"Why would anyone respect you less? Me especially." He wasn't sure what surprised him more. That she had said it, or that it had hurt him.

"You saw it," she said pointing in a general direction. "Weak little Jane Doe, a nobody from no where, broken and bloody, screaming over her dead sister... friend... whatever."

His features softened, as much as turian's features could. He leaned his elbows on his knees looking down at the floor. "That's certainly not what I saw."

She looked at him, her head tilting to the side as he turned his head too look over at her.

"I saw the same vibrant, strong, determined bad ass I've seen since day one. Years younger but with just as much fight in her as ever. Doing what, I realize now, she's always done; fighting for what she believes in." Her eyebrows upturned, as if she was sad, or in pain. Her lips parted just slightly. Garrus had no idea what the emotion was supposed to read as, but the silence made him uncomfortable. "Sure everyone is going to be sad for you for a few days, we care about you, and that scene was heart breaking. But no one is going to disrespect you, and no one is going to forget who you are, or what you've accomplished. If anything they'll respect you more now that they know what hell you went through to get where you are. And I, personally, feel like murdering a few, specific, people now, but my opinion of you certainly hasn't changed. My friendship is hard to earn, Shepard. And once it's in place it's incredibly hard to shake." After a little more silence, her sad eyes staring into his, his mandibles clicked uncomfortably and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the floor again. "So ah... I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

She grinned, and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind and resting her head on the back of shoulder. "Thank you, Garrus."

He smiled and leaned back a little to look at her.

"I uh..." he cleared his throat. "I know it's not something you want to talk about, and I'm not going to pretend I'm any good at talking about things like that, but, you know. If you ever do want to... talk, that is... I'm here."

"I know," she said finally, smiling with her eyes.