***Author's Note***

Sorry for the late update :3

Thank you to Gamer072196 for their hard work yesterday :P

Enjoy and review!

Month Four

He sighed as he crawled out from beneath the Mako. Relieved at being out of the cramped space, he stretched, his arms high over his head before falling back to his sides. The terminal beside him beeped, reminding him that he had calibrations to do on the new parts he had installed. Damn Shepard's driving. He got to work, losing himself in the endless algorithms, in-depth coding, tracking the bridges and dips of the wiring. So much was needed just to let the Mako move. It's a good thing he was there to make the repairs, otherwise the Mako would not have survived its first ground side mission.

Behind him, he heard Wrex rumble his deep chuckle. "See you around, Shepard." And then Shepard's scent hit him. Gun oil and eezo, metal and leather, and something distinctively Shepard. Like mint and sweet fruits. He shivered and carried on with his calibrations. Damn human and his damned distractions. He then heard Ashley. She was speaking softly, even with her usual steel edge in the tone. Throaty laughs and taps on the table top she stood by. Garrus turned to glance over his shoulder at the two humans. The female patted the commanders arm, a clear show of interest, though Shepard smiled and shrugged it off, as though he hadn't noticed her advances.

The Commander began to walk away from Ashley and toward him. His short blonde hair was swept back, as it usually was, his brown eyes glinted in the dim light. The swagger to his walk and cocky smile.

"Hey, Garrus..."

He melted away. His face falling away from his skull in thick stinking globs. The commander fell to his knees screaming, pulling at his burning hair, his clothes melted into his flesh. Then he crumpled forward. A pile of meat and bones, still smoking, barely recognisable.

"Shepard?" Garrus knelt beside the body. "Elliot?" Why was he whining? The ship was falling apart around him and he simply sat beside the body of his Commander. "Elliot...come on."

"The Commander is dead, son." Anderson was sat opposite him, his eyes meeting his over the charred body. "The Normandy...it...it was attacked by an unknown vessel. Shepard...ordered an evacuation but he didn't make it."

"I-I don't understand...he can't be dead!" He had promised he would tutor him. Help him become a Spectre. They were going to work together, two Spectres aboard one ship. A ship that could do anything!

Anderson patted his arm. "Take all the time you need, Garrus. I'll send you the details of his memorial."

"Garrus! What are you doing here!"

Shepard was stood with his arms spread in welcome. His hair was long, past his shoulders and tied back. His familiar smiling brown eyes, cocky grin. Red scars traced his face and neck. He reached forward to take his body and pull it to him.

Pain. So much pain. His face...his chest. He vaguely felt himself being turned over, soft hands patting at his head, his fringe. His eyes opened. Shepard's face was drawn into agony. His mouth was open in a silent scream, tendrils of his hair had escaped its tie. A tear fell from his deep brown eyes and smudge the blue on his nose and cheeks.

"Shepard...why are you wearing blue?" Ouch, it hurt to speak. He was so tired. "I...I'm gonna take a nap..." His hand reached up and gripped Shepard's cheek. "You...don't suit...blue..." Things started to go black.

"Vakarian!" Someone was screaming. "Garrus! Wake up!"

Garrus sat up in his chair. When did he fall to sleep? Spirits, damn it all.

The door to his quarters opened and the stale air of Menae invaded his space, followed by the stagnant face of his second in command. What did I do to deserve her?

"Vakarian, sir." Lieutenant Catius was a pale brown, bare-faced, thorn in his side. Her constant presence had grated on his nerves from day one, and her not to subtle advance for "relieving stress" made him cringe. He had vaguely told her he had a mate already and when she had asked for details, as though they were old friends asking for the juicy bits of gossip, he refused to tell her. Catius had then decided he was lying and proceeded to try to sway him. She underestimated Garrus' loyalty however, and was quickly becoming frustrated. "You are needed. General Corinthus has requested your presence."

Being a military consultant sucked. Garrus stood and nodded his acknowledgment and strapped his side arm to his mag belt.

"Maybe, when you've finished...we could-" She was wringing her talons, an oddly human gesture she must have picked up from somewhere.

"No."

"Vakarian-"

"No." He brushed past her. It was a shame really, she was an excellent soldier, but her priorities were wrong.

Spirits, I miss Shepard.

Excellent. His Omni-tool declared that his message had been delivered to Urdnot Wrex's. Containing valuable information about the goings on of Sur'Kesh.

Wrong. Inhumane. Barbaric.

There was only five left now. Five fertile females, immune to the genophage, half the number of those who had been ambushed and bagged by the STG force a few months prior. Mordin had been updating Wrex on their well-being and the progress of the experiments. It wouldn't belong before he could devise a plan to get them out.

Four were looking ill. Pale and withdrawn, dull eyes watched him warily. I am not here to hurt you, he wished to say. Tubes and wires protruded from beneath their clothing, hooking them up to machinery that monitored their life signs and progress of their fertility. There has to be an easier way!

The fifth stood tall. Her deep red eyes watched him with a casual dismissal, her arms were crossed over where he knew she had been tested. She was hiding her pain. He watched as she comforted the other females, soothing them with gentle words and promises. It wouldn't be long before she caved too.

What was the point in these experiments? What was the point in developing a cure if they had no plans in using it? Experiments for experiments sake. It made him ashamed. Disgusted to be a Salarian. If only he could make them see! But he wasn't a diplomat. He was a scientist, a soldier. He needed a silver tongue, someone strong, someone with neutral standing. He needed Shepard.

Alas, Shepard was incarcerated. Besides, it has to be me. Someone else might get it wrong.

Oooh, very nice. Kasumi smiled to herself as she stayed hidden on the window. Her gloves and boots stayed secure on the smooth surface as she took in the sights. With the sunset behind her over Vancouver, and Shepard before her in his room, she could watch at her leisure as he and the large soldier worked out together. Of course, she wasn't watching Shepard in that moment. Buddha protect her if Garrus ever thought otherwise.

She had taken it upon herself to check in on all her squad mates before returning to the citadel for work. Yes, her squad mates. Her partners in crime. Her family. As far as she was aware, everyone was more or less fine. Though she still had to check on a familiar drell and his human. Shepard, however, seemed bored. And pale. And thin. Much of his muscle mass had disappeared from months of doing nothing. Probably why he seemed to be going through a rigorous exercise regimen now. The sweat on his brow fell and dripped from his proud nose and his wet hair stayed slicked back after one swiped through it with long fingers. Oh, how she wished she could hear him. Not that she would let anyone now how much she missed her time on the Normandy.

She also spied, on the table, an open sketch pad. Pencils and colours strewn around it haphazardly. It seemed Shepard had been getting in touch with his artistic side to help cure his boredom. You'll have to share that with me, Shep.

After a while, the larger soldier left the room and Shepard was left alone. His face fell from its usual joy into something resembling pure loneliness. Kasumi wished she could open this infernal window, talk to him, but the window was always sealed. When was the last time he felt the sun on his face? A breeze? A raindrop? It wasn't fair, but there was nothing she could do about it. the best thief in the galaxy could not spirit her friend away.

He disappeared for a quarter-hour through a door that she decided was the bathroom door, and reemerged with his hair freshly washed and braided down his back, a towel around his bare shoulders. He then lay on his bed and simply stared up at the ceiling. It was a wonder that he hadn't gone stir crazy yet.

Kasumi sighed as she began her descent to the ground. She had to leave if she was going to hitch a ride to the Citadel. She only wished that she could have stayed longer. He wouldn't know she was there, and maybe the visit was to comfort herself. Maybe it was to gather information for everyone else. She could tell them how he's faring. Though, it may upset them, to learn of his loneliness, his thinness, the way he stared blankly into space.

She reached the floor and began to make her way to the port. At least he's alive.

"May you find peace in the embrace of the goddess." The neck snapped beneath her heel, but she felt no victory, no sense of accomplishment, she was merely providing justice wherever it was needed. And Omega needed it more than anywhere.

Samara strutted away from the dead vorcha with no sense of remorse. She sat at the flimsy desk it and its accomplices had sat around and took out the data pads they had debated over. Though she thought of the word debate lightly.

The vorcha were known to have worked for the collectors, who had been prothean originally. They had been reaped and changed, grotesquely altered and warped. Their DNA: stripped and rebuilt, theirs forms: remolded, their minds: indoctrinated. All for the vile work of the Reapers. And that would have happened to the poor humans on the Collector base had Shepard not succeeded and destroyed it. Any data she could find on the Reapers would help the cause.

She frowned at the new information. Nothing. Not one word concerning the Reapers or their plans. No estimate of their arrival, no mention of their possible numbers, no idea of their plans. Useless. All the data pad told her was the best place to get krogan meat on the black market. And on Omega, every market was the black market.

Goddess, preserve my patience. She rubbed at her temples with a fore finger and thumb and crossed her legs delicately. Why must everything be so...difficult.

She decided to summarise everything she knew about the Reapers so far.

She knew they were a highly advanced race of synthetic-organic starships. Reports on the ship: Sovereign, proved that. They reside in dark space: a vast, mostly starless space between galaxies. Shepard had told her as much and she had no reason to be wary of his judgement. she knew the Protheans were wiped out by them and changed into the collectors. Legion had called them "The Old Machines".

For all these facts, she still knew nothing. She didn't know dates, sizes of the Reaper armies, their weaknesses. In all her years, Samara had never met a problem so frustrating. Not that she would let that show, of course. Sometimes she wished she had something much simpler to do, but then this cause was the one with the most importance. The galaxy required saving lest something of the utmost injustice would happen, and wipe them all out. She would not let that happen, nothing would divert her from this path.

A bullet scraped his armour just as he ducked behind cover. Well I'll be damned! Fucker can't even shoot straight. He chuckled to himself as he leaned out from behind the concrete block and fired his rifle. a satisfying scream and a spatter of blood on the white washed wall, left him to sigh happily as he sat back and brace against his cover. Oh, this never gets old.

A new round of fire began and he pulled his rifle up, cocking it back and hacking into it. The program settled and he fire of his carnage. The ball of fiery bullets flew through the air and swerved to hit their target. A small explosion that tore armour and ripped limbs away, rocked the area. The Cerberus scum screamed as he bled out, begging for mercy, for help. Zaeed ran to his side, looking down at the man with a cold eye. He took out his combat knife and swiftly cut the screaming mans throat, silencing him and killing him in one swipe. Damn, Shepard has rubbed of on me. In a past life, Zaeed would have left his enemies crying out.

This Cerberus base was a center of communications for this quadrant in their databases. If Zaeed could wipe it out, then the dogs would be blind for a while. At least in this small back-washed system and the system beside it. In return for his hard work, he'd find a hefty amount of creds and have the satisfaction of making some salarian's lives easier for a while. Not that they would know it was him taking out the Cerberus troops in this area. Who would want to take over small farming colonies of salarians anyway? Goddamn bastards. Then he would make his way back to Omega, find a good shag, and sleep for a couple of days. Seemed like a fair deal to him.

He kicked down the rotting metal door in his way and stepped into the cooler air of the commandeered building. A rank stench from a room with a closed-door confirmed to him that Cerberus had killed the previous occupants weeks ago. They hadn't even burnt the bodies, just put up with their decomposing matter. Bastards. He pushed his way down the corridor, checking empty rooms and finding no small amount of creds and ammo inside. Advanced payment? Nice.

The corridor eventually widened out into a communal area. A space that should have been filled with Salarian families, happily going about their simple farming lives. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps coming his way. He ducked down behind a pale sofa and waited for his opportune moment. He heard the subtle brush of a door opening and took his chance.

Jumping up and throwing an inferno grenade. The fire spilled onto the Cerberus bodies, eating at their armour and making them panic. A few well placed shots from his rifle silenced them. Too easy. Where's the meat?

Shrugging, he waltzed down the passage that the troops had come from. A faint blue light came from beneath a gap in the door. Must be the computer mainframe, take that out and I take down the whole operation. Hopefully.

He pushed the door open with a finger and frowned. Shit.

The room was full of people in lab coats, cowering beneath desks and holding small fire arms, shakily pointing them at him. He would have to kill them, put bullets through the skulls of all of them. He raised his rifle and some of them let out small gasps of fear, silent tears fell down cheeks as they faced their end.

And then, someone raised their hands above their head. No weapon, no detention device. Just a simple gesture of surrender. He gestured with his gun for the person to stand.

The person stood, arms and legs shaking in fear. Her thick auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders, and her large brown eyes filled with tears. Her lips trembled as he pointed the gun at her. She moved around her desk and Zaeed instantly lowered his weapon. The scientist's bulging stomach showed that she was heavily pregnant. Budding life just under the skin. Life he had no right to take.

"Get out." He growled at them. They stared at him, as though he was having some sick joke. Giving them false hope before he hunted them down. "I said get out. NOW!"

The pregnant woman ran first, protecting her child's life. The others followed her closely, thanking him profusely, even as their tears still fell.

He watched them go before turning back to the complex system of computers before him. He pulled his rifle back up and simply shot at the hardware, making it crumble or burst into flame, destroying the data within. No hope of Cerberus communicating with its troops here, now.

He sat at a desk and put his feet up onto its surface. He dug into a pocket and pulled out a cigar, lighting it and breathing in the acrid smoke.

Mission accomplished. He thought wearily. The mission hadn't turned out quite so satisfying as he would have liked. At it had started out so well too.

Shepard bent over his sketch pad, flicking through the pages lazily. He made him smile at how much someone can improve at such things, given the time and patience.

His first couple of drawings were mediocre at best. Silly drawings of his friends and family, the proportions were all wrong, and the shading didn't give depth. His latest drawings though, were a lot better. The people they resembled actually looked like the people he wanted them to. His colours looked almost real, and his shading was defined.

He paused at a picture of Grunt and made a minor modification to the krogan's eyes. They needed to be bluer, and armed with a blue pencil, he made it so. He had decided to go through all his pictures and, colour by colour, make them better.

The next picture was Samara. So he spent some time adding minor details to her daring blue skin and eyes. Adding lines and brightness to where he thought needed it most. He added a brightness to her eyes, giving her portrayal a certain amount of intelligence.

The next was Chakwas. And in a sudden wave of morbidity, he added a streak of blue to her face. Turian blood from when she had patched up Garrus after his stand-off with a missile. He gave it some more shading for the grey in her hair and flipped the page.

Marie was next. Her hair was braided over her shoulder so he coloured in her bobble. Behind her was Thane, an eyebrow cocked with a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. The drell didn't need any blue.

He added colour to Jack's tattoo's. Making them pop of her skin and forcing the viewer to look at them. Just as you would if the real Jack was here.

And then there was Garrus. He needed more blue than either Liara or Samara would ever need. His icy eyes smiled at him (Shepard hadn't quite mastered drawing a turian smiling yet) and he added cockiness to his stare. His teeth were showing just a little and his head was canted to the side. His clan markings were added easily from memory. How many times had he traced those markings with his fingertips? And the blue trim to his armour was filled in. He made the dog tags around his neck glitter a bit, showing that his turian was taken.

When he was finished he sat back and observed his work. Maybe I should draw a group picture? He turned to a blank page and began measuring up the space. He would have to thank James for the drawing supplies, it helped to relieve his boredom for a while.

A couple of hours later, after he had drawn in some outlines and general shapes, he sat back in his chair once more and almost cried out. I'm so bored!

During editing, I realised there is next to no dialogue in this chapter. Sorry about that, I'll have actual conversations for you all next chapter :P

Hope you enjoyed!

Also, if anybody would like to see something happen in the next two chapters (and if it goes with what I want to happen in the story) then let me know and I'll try to fit it in somewhere. Love scenes? Violence? Fluff? Anything.

I also like the thought of Kasumi checking up on the crew of the Normandy :D