Events of the chapter: Shepard Garrus finally have some time alone after months apart

PART II
Chapter 11: Xylem*

1 year, 9 mo. after the end of the Reaper War
 Okanagan Valley, British Columbia, Earth

The shadows of the pines loomed long over the roof. Still breathless and jittery, Shepard rolled over, pin pricks of sun from the skylight above painting her naked body. She shoved the rumpled sheets down with her feet to get some cool air over her tingling, sweat-soaked skin. A long sigh blew through her lips, and her cheeks were flushed with satisfaction.

Garrus, too, was sobering up from the highs of arousal. Seven months had been too long to go without the comfort of Shepard's tender warmth beneath him. The moment the door of the skycar had hissed shut they'd stumbled to the front door of the house, hands roaming over each other's bodies, their eager breaths pressing past each other before meeting in the middle. Her top was already off by the time they fell through the threshold, and his trousers were unfastened and hanging open at the waist. Without a word, he swept her up into his arms and carried her off to the bedroom, his eyes locked with hers as she panted his name exactly once. To say they had missed each other was a severe understatement.

Spent but happy, Garrus lay on his side. Through half-closed eyes, he took in Shepard's profile, the habit a vestige of their time aboard the Normandy, when she, like most good soldiers, had been all too practiced in the art of impassiveness. During mission downtimes or aboard the shuttle, he would often study her face for signals—the atomic changes in the musculature of her face. An observant soldier should be able to read the expressions of those around him; a quick assessment could spare you an aggressive encounter, or worse, a shot through the head from an impulsive adversary.

Eventually, he came to decipher the meaning of her tics, sometimes even catching them through his scope from afar. The slight downturn of her mouth, the bulge at the top of her jaw, her slightly flattened brow: that meant she was pissed off but didn't want to tell you. But something felt different about her face now, and he couldn't put his finger on what.

Shepard turned her cheek against the pillow and a hazy smile appeared. Hers eyelids fluttered closed. He squeezed her hand, and the corners of her mouth remained upturned as she fell into a light sleep. Then, the answer came: she was relaxed. The muscles around her eyes weren't tense with worry, and the skin across her forehead was smooth and glowing. Her cheeks were plump with rest.

Garrus didn't believe in miracles, but this was a miracle if there ever was one.

Maybe the orchard really was good for her. The highs and lows of military life swung wildly at best; at worst, service was the equivalent of treading wind-swept waters. If Shepard was finding some measure of peace at the Alenkos', then he was all for it, even if it meant he could not see her often.

He continued to watch as she slept. A small bead of drool was collecting at the side of her unfastened mouth, the same as the many times he'd found her asleep in the lounge, datapad slipping from hand, bled dry by whatever mission they'd just completed and stuck with the inevitable paperwork that followed.

Garrus reached out and ran his thumb below the corner of her mouth. She started with a muffled gasp, her eyes shooting open.

"Hey, gorgeous. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. You had some, uh, drool coming out of your mouth there."

She yawned. "Ugh, I could sleep for the rest of the day. You took it right out of me."

"I did, huh?" Garrus opened his mouth in some semblance of a smirk. "Same."

A rumble erupted rudely from Shepard's stomach, then fizzled into a tiny whine. "Hey, are you hungry?"

"Mmm, I could eat."

"Me too, I'm starving. I'll fix something up?" She turned her face toward the skylight and watched the shadows sway across the glass.

Garrus fixated on Shepard's face as flecks of light leapt across the bed, his memory misaligned with what he was observing now. There was something unusual about her appearance; he may have been too caught up in the moment to notice before, but with his attention redirected the subtle oddity was plain as day.

"Shepard…have you seen a doctor lately?" he asked with some hesitation.

"What? Why?"

"Your skin. You've got a lot more of those…freckles now. They're all over. And they're darker." He ran his finger along her upper cheek, then along the delicate skin of her décolletage. "There's a strange discoloration, too. It seems to follow the same shape as your under clothing. Are you feeling alright?"

"Huh? Of course I am." Shepard stared back, confused. Then she said through a laugh, "That's just a tan, G."

"A tan?"

"Yeah. You know how humans have different skin tones, right? Because of pigmentation? Well, the sun can cause changes in that. Some more than others." She extended her arm to show him before holding it up to her bikni area for contrast. "This is from me swimming in the lake."

"Wait, how did I not know this before?"

"We were in space. Not a lot of exposure to natural sunlight there. Most turians wouldn't understand it intuitively—your skin reflects the sun's ray. Ours absorbs it. It's not something you'd know unless you were close with a human."

"Fascinating." Garrus drew his talon along the bottom of Shepard's hip and down toward her thigh. "Does it hurt?"

"Not at all."

"A tan, hmm?" Ogling the lines drawn along her breasts, his mind began to wander. "I like it. It shows me where all your fun bits are." Garrus' voice rumbled, almost low enough to be a purr. This was, unequivocally, a bonus to Shepard living on Earth.

She beamed and rolled onto her side to face him. "Wanna have more fun with them later?"

"Don't mind if I do."

Shepard shuffled into the common room as she wrapped a thin robe around herself, tying it with a sloppy knot around her waist. She flopped into a worn, leather chair and grunted.

Garrus followed, wearing only a pair of loose lounge pants. "Sitting down already? Didn't you just get up?" He raised his browplates. "I thought you were hungry."

"You're not wrong," she said through a yawn."It's your fault I'm so tired." Even at the height of her biotic power, she had never felt such a complete and utter feeling of pleasant depletion.

Garrus approached the window that divided the built-in shelves, stretching his neck, and admired the picturesque view of the courtyard and the hills and trees beyond. Shepard, in turn, took in the back of his tall figure—the pleasing shape of his lean outline, his broad shoulders, the curve of his protective carapace, and the plates of his tapered waist. He'd left the slits at the back of his pants open at the bottom, and the round zipper pulls dangled below his spurs like jewels. She liked this view.

The first time she had seen him bare was a shock. Long before they were involved, she'd stood next to him in the armory of the SR-1 as he removed a portion of his inner suit to inspect it for damage. She was surprised at how robust he appeared underneath; his thick skin and chitinous plates could withstand much more handling than the soft, vulnerable flesh of a human. It wasn't long, however, before she discovered the places where he was sensitive. The small bumps behind his jaw and along the upper part of his neck were packed with sensory nerves. The skin beneath his frills, where they met his head, and the wider clefts between his plates offered other secret places for her fingers to wander.

Shepard gave her head a quick shake. Lost in her wanton daydream, she had managed to work herself into a knot. Tired, hungry, and aroused—it was an odd combination of states with competing ends. Untangling the strings would need to begin with food.

"Shit!" Shepard bolted up from the chair and scrambled to the door.

"What?" Garrus yelled after her.

"We forgot the food in the skycar!"

Hastily slipping her feet into a pair of runners, Shepard let her heels flatten the backs of her shoes, then dragged herself to the clearing where they had parked. She rolled her eyes, amused, as the door opened to reveal the bags slouched on the floor of the skycar. Clearly, they hadn't thought about much upon their arrival aside from one thing. When she came back, she kicked her shoes off and flung the bags to the kitchen counter, letting the contents spill out from the tops as they tumbled sideways. Garrus, who was still admiring the view, looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

"Amazing, isn't it?" she huffed out, joining him at the window.

The wind coursed through the landscape, matting down the tussocks of pinegrass and bluebunch into a knurled quilt. Inside, the house was completely silent.

"Tell Kaidan we're buying this place," Garrus said sharply.

Shepard snorted. "I don't think Katie would be too happy about that." Staring out past the short fence, she caught sight of something flying into the courtyard. She smiled and pressed her nose to the window. "Look, he's back!"

"Who is?"

She tapped her finger on the glass, pointing to a small, dark creature with jaunty feathers topping its head. It flew down from the branch it was perched on and hopped along the ground just beyond the penstemon shrub.

"That's a bird, right?" asked Garrus.

"Yep. A Steller's jay, more specifically. He's come to visit me before."

"How do you know that's the same one?"

"I just do." Shepard looked at Garrus, then back at the bird, and stifled a giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"The first time I saw him, he reminded me of you."

"That thing?" He craned his head forward.

"I mean, look at him. He's got sharp claws, and long, dark fringe on top of his head, and those shiny blue feathers all along his body. They're the same color as that armor you refused to get rid of. You know, the mangled one, from our Cerberus days."

"Hey, that was my lucky suit. I nearly died wearing that suit. I kept it as a reminder of how lucky I am to be alive."

"Not that you had the help of anyone special or anything…" she said, casting a sideways glance.

"Like I said, my lucky suit." He drew close and put his hands around her waist, guiding her towards him with a gentle tug. "Though, I thought you liked me better out of it."

Shepard pressed her hands to his chest and gazed up with raised eyebrows. "Oh darling, your corny lines…I never thought I'd miss them so much."

Garrus chuckled. She kissed him deeply, and a sigh hummed through her throat. When she pulled away, the jay took off, shrinking past the pines and towards the road. "Bye…" she said quietly.

You made me smile, little bird, but you made me cry too, she nearly said aloud. She slapped her hands against Garrus' chest. "Ok, I'm going to be hangry if I don't eat something."

She slunk away, and he playfully snatched at her robe's belt, but she managed to evade him by scooting around the leather chair. "Nope. You stay on that side," she said, and pointed to the other side of the island as she entered the kitchen. "You ok with some finger foods? I've got some dextro friendly dipping sauce or cheese to go with the other stuff we brought."

"Yeah, anything's fine. I'm easy. Sure you don't want some help?"

"Nope. Oh, I almost forgot! Give me a sec." Reaching high into a cupboard, Shepard pulled out a faceted glass and a slim, unlabeled bottle. The stopper made a round pop as she yanked it out. She filled the glass a quarter full and slid it across the kitchen island.

"Here."

"What's this?" Garrus picked up the glass and held it up to his eyes.

"Quarian whiskey, triple filtered. It's a test batch, made aboard the Flotilla's new liveship. Tali says they're experimenting with new revenue streams—'future proofing'."

He wafted the glass under his nose, then took a careful sip.

"She brought it last time she was here, figured you'd enjoy some. It's not available to the public—at least not until they can produce at a larger scale." Shepard rifled through the bags and pulled out the perishables first. "Presumably, she means Rannoch."

"Spirits! What's in this stuff?" Garrus took another sip, this time more eagerly. "Oh…oh that's good." He swallowed, and said through a closed throat, "Speaking of Tali…how is she? We haven't spoken in while."

"She's good," said Shepard as she pulled out a cutting board. "Though, I think she's feeling a bit bogged down by the her title. It was an emergency promotion, so it's not like she's commanding a fleet. They've got her in charge of special projects, at least. Says she has something new she's working on. It's pretty hush-hush."

"Word from the Primarch is the quarians will be seeking a seat on the new Council."

"That's going to be a tough sell." She gathered the fresh produce and set it by the sink for washing, making sure to keep the levo items separate from the dextro.

"The krogans might stand a chance—turian backing not withstanding. But I wager the Salarian Union will have a collective tantrum," Garrus said into his glass.

He took a tour around the perimeter of the room, stopping at the brick wall where Kaidan's family photos were hung, then at the west facing window at the front of the house. Taking another sip of whiskey, he surveyed the books lining the shelves along the south wall. "What are all these?"

"Oh, those? Those books are ancient. The ones on the end there were my mom's. My grandad gave them to her before he passed away." Shepard grabbed a cucumber from the counter and rinsed it, then set it down on the cutting board. "Gran'da hated reading on datapads, always said they hurt his eyes. He liked the feel of paper better, anyway. I managed to save a few when I left Mindoir." Her lips tightened. She pulled a knife from the drawer and gripped it as she stared down at the cutting board. "They were the only possessions in my foot locker, aside from a pair of shoes and a toothbrush. The rest belong to the Alenkos."

"Mindoir. That's the first time you've mentioned home since we were aboard the Normandy."

She chose not to respond and proceeded to cut the cucumber into long sticks.

Garrus skulked along the length of the shelves as he ran a finger along the cloth spines. A black book with simple gold lettering stood out—its dented ends and peeled edges ragged in comparison to the pristine volumes at the other side. Tilting the book from the shelf, he read the title through his visor's translator: "Classic Gods and Heroes". He set his glass down on the side table and carefully thumbed through the pages. One of the chapter titles caught his attention.

"Circe?" his subvocals fluttered in curiosity. "That's you."

"Yeah…." she squeaked. Having such an unusual name had always embarrassed her a bit. Explaining it was even worse. "Circe was a goddess—well, minor goddess—from ancient Earth. It was said she had the power to turn men into beasts using potions and herbs."

Garrus shot a look at her and raised his brow plate. "This isn't going to turn me into that thing from earlier, is it?" He looked down at the amber liquid in his glass. "How do I know that bird wasn't some other guy who pissed you off, hmm? What's his name? Should I be jealous?"

Shepard snorted. "Ha-ha, funny." She stopped chopping and let the knife hover above the board. "The name Circe means 'bird' or 'hawk', depending on how you translate it. So, we could be birds of a feather. Just say the word." Pointing the knife in the air, she winked, and a mischievous twinkle flashed at the corner of her eye.

"Birds of a what?"

"Nevermind," she said, putting the knife down. She chuckled and shook her head. "Another weird Earth saying."

"Ahh..."

Garrus took a seat on the velvet settee and continued to read the old stories while Shepard finished preparing a plate for each of them. Occasionally, he would take a sip of whiskey or mutter something to himself as he happened upon an interesting passage.

At one point, he shouted across the room, "Circe—can you believe the balls on these guys? They pretend to abandon a war, then hide some men inside a giant wooden horse and wait. All so they can lay siege to a citadel. Can you imagine being the people who looked up at this thing and said, 'Yeah, I don't see a problem here, let's just roll it past the gates'? Idiots!"

She smirked and pushed the finished plates across the kitchen island. "Come sit with me."

Garrus put the book away and sidled up to the kitchen island. They sat side by side, Garrus slightly hunched on his stool, and Shepard sitting up tall in hers, the difference in their heights still comically incongruous.

"I don't see how that's much different than sending in black ops," she said, dunking a carrot into her tzatziki.

He scoffed. "There's a big difference between hiding inside a giant horse and using your wits and intelligence to gain entrance to some place."

"Look, if we could have stormed the Illusive Man's base by hiding inside a massive shipment of power cells," she said through her wet, sloppy chewing, "I might have preferred that to crashing our shuttle into the docking station. A lot less loud and splashy."

"Shepard, that sounds ridiculous."

"I'm just teasing," she said, knocking her knees into his. "In all seriousness, I don't know how Miranda does it. Planning and executing a regular mission is difficult enough. Gathering intelligence the way she does? Currying favor and pulling strings? Without anyone catching on? Those are skills I've got less points in."

A stick of jerky dangled from Garrus' mouth like a limp tongue. "I'm more of an aim and shoot kind of guy, myself."

"Yep."

"Do you think she's sobered up yet?"

"Miranda? I'm sure she has," said Shepard. "I have to say, though, I was little concerned. It's not like her to drink so much."

"I gather she's got some feelings about Terra Nova. And James. From what I could see, anyway."

"I'm not privy to the happenings at the Alliance, but I know she and Kaidan had a disagreement about it. Not to be a gossip or anything."

Teeth bared, Garrus ripped the jerky away from his face. "Mmm, there's bound to be some tension when two people like that get together."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, Kaidan's a very principled man. He's got his lines that he doesn't cross. Miranda…let's say her lines are more mobile."

"Ah, but if you cross them, there'll be hell to pay."

"Exactly."

The couple remained silent as they continued to eat. Shepard shoved an apple slice into her mouth, the sweet fruit crunching as her gaze went blank for a moment. And then, auspiciously, the corners of her lips crept up into playful simper.

"Hey, I have an idea," she said, turning to Garrus. "Are you up for some fun, later?"

"What kind of fun?"

She'd piqued his curiosity. Perfect.

"You'll see."

Garrus leaned in and spoke into her ear. "I don't usually like surprises, but from you…I have a feeling this is going to be good."

Garrus' finger throbbed as Shepard held it tight. Buoyant and eager, she was leading him down an alley of apple trees, so hastened that she was practically galloping. It wasn't long into the night, but the waning summer sun was making its idle drift toward autumn, and Shepard was concerned it would be another seven to eight months before they had this chance again.

"Come on," she urged.

"Where are we going?"

"Just follow me."

"It's too dark. I can't see where the hell I'm going." Garrus tripped on something small and hard, maybe a rock, and nearly tumbled into her. "Slow down, Shepard!"

"The moon's out, there's plenty of light. Your eyes are just getting old."

"Need I remind you, you're older than me."

"Older, schmolder!" she said dismissively. "This way. Watch your step."

They trekked along the the precipice and emerged from a thin stand of firs to reach the secluded beach. Garrus stopped at the treeline to appreciate the tranquil view. From here, the mountains were dark, jagged shapes against a cobalt dropcloth, and the lake their ward. Shepard continued to the edge of the water. Her puckish smile touched her eyes as she tugged her shoes off, then cast them away toward the trees.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're taking your clothes off. All your clothes…" Garrus stared with his mandibles flapping. "You're not going in like that, are you?"

"Watch me!"

Before stepping into the water, Shepard rummaged through her pants pocket and produced an elastic band. She bent over, throwing her hair forward, then combed her fingers through it to gather it into a rough ponytail. In the weak light, Garrus could make out the outer ring of her amp port; the connection at the base of her skull was covered with a standard soft plug, which had been in place for some time. He'd seen it so little since the end of the war, he'd almost forgotten it existed. The sight made him sad, and his shoulders fell as she finished tying the elastic around her ponytail.

She stood up straight again. The moon cast a blue pall over her naked body; the raised scars on her shoulders seemed to throb at the edges, and the thinnest lines, where Cerberus had grafted new skin to her existing tissue, shone like the fine threads of a spider's web. She stalked to the black lake and disappeared into it with ease.

"Come on G, water's fine!" Shepard's smile was bold and bright as she looked over her shoulder, her body halfway into the water.

"You're kidding, right?"

"What, not even a toe?"

"You know turians and water don't mix."

"Come on, Garrus, don't be such a chicken!"

The water had now come up to the undersides of her breasts. She cupped both hands and submerged them beneath the surface. She slowly brought them over her chest, letting the water fall and follow the curves of each mound, then did it again as if to make a point.

"You're a tease, Shepard!" he yelled after her.

She grinned and dipped further down into the water. She was a ruthless crocodile, and through the darkness, Garrus could only see the whites of her teeth and the reflection of the moon across her forehead. She waved. Then she swam farther out, past the shallows and the buoys that demarcated the swimming area, and out of her lover's sight. He listened for any indication she had turned around.

"Shepard?" Garrus approached the lake's edge and raised his chin as he strained to see what was happening.

There was a faint splash. She was gone, and the water was still; only strokes of moonlight graced the glassy surface. Any evidence of Circe Shepard had plunged into the obscured depths with her. He listened again, and he began to grow nervous as the silence stretched on. A full minute passed, then another, and another.

"Shepard?" he asked plaintively. "Shepard!"

His stomach churned—a rare feeling usually brought on by stones that had grown too smooth and useless in his gut. Garrus tore his boots off. He looked down at his feet as his talons gripped tight to the pebble-strewn beach. His breaths were short and nervous. As the water lapped over his toes, any hesitation he had washed away, and he trudged into the lake with clumsy steps, his thick soles pounding the rocky bottom. He continued until the water hit his spurs and wicked up the fabric of his pants.

"CIRCE!" he cried, the flange of his voice drawn high.

The last vowel had hardly left his throat when a sudden splash rose and fell further from shore. Shepard had finally emerged, gasping as she broke the surface near the closest buoy.

"Shepard!"

She wrapped an arm around the buoy and wiped her eyes free of water. She waved at Garrus, then swam back at a sluggish pace—not an easy glide like before, but a stilted, bobbing kind of swim, like a child might do. When she reached standing height, she stopped swimming.

Garrus waited patiently. He didn't speak or walk toward her. He didn't want to show her how afraid he had been, or how worried he'd felt when she didn't come up for air right away. As she lurched back to shore, and he looked on with lingering trepidation, the sound of gravel scraping across the ground caught his ear.

A voice called out from above, "Hey, who's down there? I'll have you know this is private property!"

Surprised, he spun around to see a woman perched on the ridge—her small figure silhouetted against the sky, the darkness rendering her features unreadable. She wore a long coat that hung open, and she appeared to have a weapon hanging at her side. And steadfast by her heels, an imposing, four-legged animal cloaked in fur stood, silent. A wolf? At least that was Garrus' guess based on his basic knowledge of Earth life.

"Sorry Ms. Ly! It's just me, Circe." Shepard croaked from the water. Her words were deep and clipped, like she was stifling a cough.

"And a companion, I see," said Ms. Ly.

Unsure of what to do, Garrus stammered, "Just, uh, going for a night swim."

"You?" Ms. Ly said, leaning in his direction.

"Well, Shepard is."

"I can see that. Well, I was just locking up the gates and heard a lot of noise coming from the lake."

"Apologies ma'am, we'll try to keep it down," said Garrus.

"Appreciate it. Sorry to bother you both." She waved her weapon in the air. "Carry on. Come on, Charlie."

After Ms. Ly had disappeared over the ridge, Shepard continued to make her way to dry land.

"Who was that?" asked Garrus.

"Rear Admiral Jillian Ly, retired," she said as she trod over the rocks with caution. "The first female rear admiral in Alliance history,"

"She lives here?"

"Kind of. She owns the vineyard next door."

Shepard, pale and bedraggled, shook as a long shiver ran through her. Her body was covered in tiny bumps, reminding Garrus of newborn turian skin: exposed and pliable, before their plates grew together. The sight must have triggered some latent instinct, as he could think of nothing else but getting her back inside.

"Spirits, Shepard, you're freezing! Here."

He got out of the water and fetched her shirt from the beach, shaking the dust off as he picked it up. He helped her put it on. She was still wet, but it had to be better than nothing.

"I should have thought to bring a towel. Maybe a bit too impulsive of me," she said through chattering teeth.

"What were you doing under there?"

"Just swimming." She grabbed her underwear and pants and shimmied into them.

"You're telling me you were underwater all that time, just swimming?"

"Yeah," she said matter-of-factly. "It got you into the water, didn't it?"

Garrus looked down at his wet feet, which were now covered in a layer of coarse sand. He wiggled his toes and frowned. "I guess I just have to go back like this." Picking up his boots, he gawked at Shepard as she pushed her heels down into her shoes.

"You ok?" He put his other arm around her shoulder and rubbed to generate some heat.

"Yeah, of course. I'm fine… see?" Strings of wet hair hanging in her face, Shepard turned to him and offered a bent smile.

It may have been a trick of the darkness or the moon's light, but he could have sworn her lips were tinged blue.

The tap let out an arresting squeal as Shepard shut the water off. Lingering in the stall, she tilted her head back and sighed, letting the excess steam bathe her in its warmth. She felt much better now, grateful for a hot shower and a chance to collect herself. The impromptu skinny dip hadn't played out as she imagined—much worse, in fact—but she doubted Garrus had known any better. She yanked a towel from the rack and stepped out of the stall.

Standing at the half fogged mirror, she leaned in to inspect her face, turning it from side to side. It was still colorless. She massaged her lips in circles to encourage the blood to flow through them; some of their healthy pink had returned, but they were still a touch blue.

"Shit."

She slapped at her cheeks with both hands. There wasn't any hiding it.

Towel wrapped tight around her body, she shut off the light and drifted down the dark hallway toward the bedroom. The bedroom was dark too, except for the small bedside sconce Garrus had kept on while reading documents. He might have been away from Palaven and away from work, but the needs of the Hierarchy didn't stop just because he was away.

"Hey, you. Feeling better?" he asked. He was sat up in bed, back against the wood headboard and datapad in hand.

"Yeah, nice and warm."

"It might be a good idea to wear some clothes to bed tonight."

"I was thinking the same thing." She had already opened the dresser drawer to find her most comfortable set of cotton pajamas. "I can always take them off again…if needed."

She waggled her eyebrows, but Garrus, who had opened his omnitool, was staring at its display with a grave expression.

"Did something happen?"

"Mmm, just checking my calendar. I forgot I'm supposed to chat with my mom in the morning. Would you mind?"

"No, of course not. Take all the time you need." She had already pulled her underwear on and was now slipping into her pajama top. "How is she, anyway? You haven't mentioned her in a while."

Garrus shut off his omnitool. "It's more of the same, maybe a little worse. Solana's terrified she's going to take a turn for the worse while she's gone. She's been reluctant to leave Cipritine since the siege in New Aeris—she doesn't want to be caught up in work if she has to rush home for an emergency." He sighed, and set his datapad down on the bedside table. "I keep telling Sol that she needs to live her own life, but she won't listen. We…kind of had it out when she came to visit the camp before. I think she's still secretly upset that I'm away so much. She won't say it—she knows my work is important—but I think that's how she really feels."

Shepard sat at the edge of the bed and touched her hand to his leg. "It can be hard to really know someone's mind. I'd take her words at face value for now, at least until you find out more. She might not be ready to tell you yet." Gazing at Garrus with soft eyes, she frowned. "You might be right, though. Speaking as a younger sibling, sometimes we don't want to admit to our weaknesses. It's hard growing up in someone else's shadow. It's even harder if that person is someone you look up to. They can feel larger than life, so you want to be like that too. Not small or weak." She paused. "I know I felt that way about my brother."

Garrus' mandibles wavered slightly. "Your brother," he said quietly. "You mentioned him before I left."

"I did." Shepard swallowed and lowered her gaze. Dr. Tokarczuk had tasked her to open up about her past to others. She said it was a way she could reconnect with herself. If she was going to do it, she would do it with the person she trusted most.

"Damian. That was my brother's name."

She did it, she had said it. She said his name.

"He was headstrong, just like my mom."

"You mean like you?" Garrus sat more upright.

"No. I was a bit more reserved then." Shepard came closer, folding one leg up on the bed. "Anyway, like I said, he was headstrong. He was always getting into trouble of some kind—at school, at home, in town. But he was likable—had plenty of friends. He was funny, and he was fun, and he was charming. Clever too. Smarter than me by miles.

With a half-smile, she snorted. "When he was in his third year of high school, there were these bullies who wouldn't stop picking on this one kid in their class. The kid was small and quiet—an easy target. And Damian, he couldn't abide by it anymore. It bothered him that the school did nothing to stop it. He wasn't the violent type, so he avenged this kid with the tools at his disposal."

"Tools? Are we talking weapons?" Garrus blurted out.

"What? God, no, Garrus. I just finished saying he wasn't the violent type."

"Sorry. Bad translation. My imagination went a little wild there."

"Like I was saying, he used the tools at his disposal. Damian was part of the yearbook club, and he had access to all the images that had been taken that year. So the night before the yearbook gets distributed to the external network, he accesses the files and alters them. The yearbook goes out the next morning, no one having checked it since the afternoon before—because why would they? When the bullies, and everyone else, receives their copy, they're horrified—or delighted—to find that all images of the bullies have been replaced with half-bully, half-ganton stand-ins. Without a stitch of clothing on." Shepard popped her lips for emphasis.

"What the hell's a ganton?"

"Mmm, they're hard to describe….I think it's enough to say they look like a cross between a vorcha and an Earth pig."

"Oh no…" Garrus lowered his voice. "Then did he make their….you know…small?"

She flattened her lips and nodded emphatically. "When I say all the images, I mean all of them. Pictures of biotiball games, school dances, class photos….you name it." Through a soft chuckle she said, "I still remember him coming home and showing me. He was making loud honking noises and just laughing his ass off. I didn't quite understand it all at the time, but I thought it was hilarious."

Garrus shook his head, his mouth open and close to laughter.

"Best part is no one ever found out it was him. Or if they did, they didn't bother doing anything about it."

"Now that's playing the long game. Could there be anything worse to a teenager than immortalized embarrassment? Good man, not getting caught."

"Oh, he didn't get caught that time, but he was caught more often than not, and for far worse things."

"It sounds like Damian was a bit wild, then."

"Oh, he couldn't be tamed. Gran'da tried to convince my parents that a good military academy would whip him into shape. They fought about it lots, but they never ended up sending him—we didn't really have a lot of money at the time. But it didn't matter anyway. He left home as soon as he turned eighteen. He couldn't wait to leave Mindoir. He hated living on the farm, hated working on the farm, he just hated everything that life stood for. The Alliance was his way out."

"He was a 'seeker', then."

"A seeker?"

"In turian culture, we call people who have that kind of drive 'seekers'. Those who go to any length to seek the new or the novel, or to go against 'accepted' practices. Do humans have a name for that kind of thing?"

"Mmm….I can't think of what the human equivalent would be. Maybe 'wanderlust'? Or 'bohemian'?"

"That's hard to say. Translators don't always get the subtext right." Garrus touched a hand to her leg. "So what happened after he joined the Alliance?"

"It seemed like he might go far in the military, given the chance. He had already made it to private first class by the time he was stationed on Elysium. That day….the day…" Her voice devolved into a whisper as she choked on the words. The words had been too long dormant.

"It's ok, you don't have to say it of you don't want to," he said, squeezing her knee.

Inhale, Circe. "Batar…batarian pirates had taken hostages at a large hospital. They were threatening to destroy the entire facility if they didn't have their demands met. The story goes that Damian and a few others from his unit were caught sneaking in through a back entrance. The pirates kept them alive as collateral. Beat them. Tortured them. But in the end the pirates killed them all.

"My—my dad was the first one to find out. He'd been reading the news on the extranet the next morning when he saw mention of my brother's unit in some local rag. The reporter had been careless and left identifiers. No one had caught it until it was too late. My dad waited until my mom had returned from the co-op to tell her.

Hand still on her knee, Garrus waited patiently as she collected her thoughts again, Shepard having lost her train of thought somewhere in the middle of her last sentence. The story had poured from her mouth as blood from a wound—unforced and natural, yet stirring anxiety with its inexorable tide.

She continued, "For the longest time, I thought Damian left because of me. My family had discovered I was biotic when I was about six. He would have been around sixteen. He'd been going through a lot at the time, and my parents we so focused on what the hell was wrong with me that they kind of left him to his own devices. They only really paid attention to him when he got into trouble. I imagine he must have felt neglected or unwanted, maybe even unloved. I don't know if that's true, but that was the story I had in my little brain.

"As for my parents...my parents weren't the same after my brother died. My dad was a pretty quiet man, but he was nearly mute after that. And my mom…after Damian's memorial, she tried to act like nothing happened. But she was colder and stricter than before. I knew she still loved me, but it didn't feel like it sometimes.

"There were days I'd hear her crying behind the grain silo, when she thought no one was around." Shepard hung her head and bit her lip. "If there was one thing my mother despised the most, it was having others see her cry. And she definitely didn't want to see me cry either."

Garrus took her hand. "Wow, Circe. That's a lot for a little kid."

"Yeah, it is," she said, her voice quavering. "Gosh, I haven't told anyone that since…since my training days on Arcturus."

"Anderson?"

"Mmm."

"You know it's ok to cry, right? You're safe to cry with me."

"I know. I just don't want to."

"Why's that?"

"I'm afraid if I start, I won't stop."

Cradling the back of her head, Garrus wove his fingers between the strands of her dark hair and leaned forward, his forehead pressing hers. "Then it's a good thing I'll be here all night. And all morning. And hey, I'll even be here in the afternoon. Funny, that."

"Smart ass," she whispered, their noses nearly touching. "You're one to talk."

"Yeah, well turians can't cry. It doesn't count."

"So you get off on a technicality?" she asked facetiously.

"Mmm, for now. We can save that conversation for another day."

Shepard caressed Garrus' wrist, then pulled back. "Thanks. For listening, I mean."

"Any time, love."

"I'm a little tired. Do you mind if we just go to sleep? We can always have more fun in the morning."

"I don't mind."

As she stood up from the bed, they exchanged an understanding smile, their gaze unbroken until she crawled under the sheets on the other side. Garrus turned out the light. She rolled over, and he held her close, neither saying a word.

Under the protection of darkness, she allowed a few tears to fall down her cheeks, and she wiped them away as swiftly as they fell. That was it. She wasn't going to cry anymore tonight. Crying would be akin to drowning. She took a deep breath, savoring the gracious air and the warmth of Garrus' arms, determined not to let herself be dragged down into the depths.

Furtively bringing a heel to the calf of her other leg, she ran her heel along it, pressing the whole way down. The pain hadn't stopped at all since their walk to the lake.

Song: "Transatlanticism" - Death Cab For Cutie
And the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row / It seems farther than ever before (oh no) / I need you so much closer

*xylem - the tissue in plants that takes water and nutrients upward from the roots