Content warning: a tiny bit of suicidal ideation near the end of the chapter.
8. SQUAD
For a race of bloodthirsty barbarians, krogan were surprisingly strict about protocol and ceremony.
Good thing she'd always been a quick study. Shepard rubbed her forehead, and glared at the retreating figure of Gatagog Uvenk. Asshole.
The shaman chuckled. "Not bad, human. Bring that fire with you to the rite, and Grunt will do well."
Their Tomkah truck rattled over a vast, crumbling stretch of highway. Ruins drifted past the grimy windows.
Grunt sat on the bench in a cloud of hostile silence, arms folded over his chest, glaring out at nothing and everything. The cabin jolted over each pothole and crack and chunk of debris, bouncing Shepard half out of her seat. A nasty bump cracked Garrus's fringe against the wall. He hissed a curse that made her translator fizz in protest.
Grunt and the shaman stayed solidly in place, unperturbed.
They streaked past ruined skyscrapers, collapsed overpasses, the twisted and charred remains of communications towers.
The truck shuddered to a stop, depositing them in a cavernous underground tunnel. The thick iron walls were pitted with centuries of rust, scored and scraped high along the sides from the passage of traffic. Rivets the size of her forearm anchored the seams. The dark reaches of the ceiling disappeared in the gloom overhead.
Shepard stared up at it, feeling somewhat puny. New Tuchanka was a ramshackle mishmash of flimsy prefabs, bombed-out craters and cannibalized machinery. This was Old Tuchanka. Enormous, spartan, and built to last.
But now it stood empty. Starved and useless. An entire planetary network of highways, but Grunt and his little entourage were the only passengers.
Shepard's forehead wrinkled. She knew Mordin had been careful with his math, had run simulation after simulation, but... this couldn't be sustainable. You only had to look around to see that Tuchanka was a dying place.
Maybe she'd need to revisit Maelon's data sooner than she'd thought.
The shaman led them to a crater blasted into the curving walls. "Climb."
They climbed.
She found herself aboveground, blinking against the harsh sun, in the middle of low, wide platform overlooking a blasted concrete arena. Two distant staircases led up to dark tunnels at either side. The ruins of an amphitheatre, maybe, or a coliseum.
The shaman stood at the lip of the crater, breathing deeply from the dusty, sun-baked air. "This was the last surface city destroyed in the rebellions. The keystone lay at its heart." He looked up.
Shepard followed his gaze. They stood underneath an enormous steel and concrete spire that pierced up through a set of concentric rings. A signalling tower.
"That's the keystone?" Garrus said.
"What is it?" Grunt asked, sounding interested for the first time.
"Who knows?" said the shaman dryly. "It is for you to contemplate. Act. Adapt. And thrive."
He turned and thumped back down the tunnel.
"So polite," Garrus said. "So helpful. Now what?"
Shepard squinted up at the spire. "No idea. Your call, Grunt."
"I'm going to look." Grunt stomped up to the base of the tower. A minute later, his voice crackled in over the comm. "Shepard. There's a... thing here. It's glowing green."
"Could be a switch for a power generator somewhere," Garrus said, scratching at his bandage. "Or some kind of communication device. Or, knowing our luck, a bomb."
"Or it could turn out to be another Prothean beacon, and scramble our brains like an egg." Shepard clambered up on top of a rock and peered in Grunt's direction. "Huh. From here, it just looks like a button."
Grunt frowned, and poked it.
Something shot up the tower, too fast to see. A krogan voice bellowed over the loudspeaker, and a shockwave ripped outward from the keystone, knocking Shepard off her rock.
"Regroup, Grunt," she called out. "Whatever that was, pretty sure that was it."
Garrus edged closer to her and unhooked his assault rifle, scanning the perimeter with a wary eye. "How do you want to play this, Shepard?"
"Who knows?" she said lightly, checking her heat sink. "You heard the shaman. Adapt. Thrive."
"Cute," he drawled. "My guess is the keystone's going to summon a horde of blood raging krogan. Or just explode. Either way, I'd prefer to have a plan."
"Fine." Shepard assessed the field as Grunt thumped his way back over to them. "We're wide open. Anything could come from anywhere, but my hunch is that it'll take those tunnels, and keep the advantage of cover until the last possible second. Garrus, take that pillar. Watch the west stairs, shoot anything that moves. Grunt, get behind that metal thing and guard the east side. Stay alert, stay light on your feet. I'll hang back and cover our rear. Got it?"
"Affirmative," said Garrus.
"Hah," said Grunt, and crashed his fists together. He was starting to look excited.
"I'll take that as a yes. Switch to incendiaries."
They fanned out and took their positions.
The keystone hummed.
Her heartbeat crept up steadily. Her fingers twitched around the grip of her gun.
Pointless. Stupid. It wasn't like she had anything to be nervous about. If she died here, once or a thousand times, no one but her would remember.
Her short, violent life had taught her three valuable lessons. One: never let it get personal. Two: you can't control how other people act, only how you respond. Three: any organization calling themselves a 'family' is bad fucking news.
The Tenth Street Reds had been a generous source of learning opportunities.
She'd shoved that part of her past far, far behind her, but she still remembered her initiation rite.
It had been completely fake. Exploitative. Entertainment for the others. But it had felt real to her. She was strong, she was a survivor. She had earned this. She was wanted. She belonged.
If she died here, if she cheated her way through this— it would strip all the meaning out of Grunt's rite.
So... she wouldn't die. Simple. Plenty of people had survived it before.
Those people all outweighed her by a factor of twelve and had backup lungs and nervous systems, but—
"Incoming," growled Grunt. Varren poured over the eastern staircase. The plan immediately went to hell. The dogs were too fast. Didn't matter. She'd never put much stock in plans anyway.
Shepard picked off a few varren that were circling around Grunt's back, exhaled, and let her amp bloom to life. She had this.
"Damned— thing—" Garrus looked less comfortable with the changing situation. "Get off!" A skull cracked under the butt of his rifle.
Shepard knocked the swarming dogs off him with two blue flicks of her fingers. "Having problems?"
He kicked out viciously at the varren, panting. His assault rifle chattered. "One less, now."
"That's the spirit," she purred, and punched another clear across the arena. "Adapt, Garrus. Thrive."
He glared down at the tooth marks in his armor, then at her.
"Fuck your biotics, Shepard."
She cackled, delighted.
"And your ancestors. And your hometown." His gunfire echoed over the field, punctuated by Grunt's shotgun bursts. "I can't believe I let you talk me into setting foot on a planet where every single form of life wants to eat you."
"Only the ones too dumb to know any better," Grunt growled behind them. "Turians taste disgusting."
Garrus's good mandible snapped down with an audible click.
"...Tank imprint, right?" Shepard said, voice flat.
"Yeah. Why?"
"No reason. Grunt, knock back that group with a concussive. I'll cover the incoming on the west stairs. Garrus, after me."
She swept over the arena, pouring bullets into bodies, throwing out biotically enhanced fists and feet, flinging dogs into the distance and using them for target practice on the way down.
Yelps and barking. Paws thumping against the earth. The sharp thwack of a concussive round slamming into a body. Garrus snarled off to her side.
"Need some more help back there?" She blasted another varren off the platform, grinning. "I can do the heavy lifting for you. I don't mind at all."
He just growled at her, and fired a stream of bullets behind them. "I'm not the one who decided to bring a sniper to an arena fight. This isn't exactly my scene, Shepard."
"Sure it is," she said. "You're keeping morale up."
He spat something that her translator parsed into 'progenitors' and 'fuck' before trailing off into confused static. "I'd rather take on a factory full of hotwired mechs."
"I can arrange that."
Grunt barreled past them, his shotgun smoking, the smell of burnt flesh and a bloodthirsty chuckle trailing in his wake. "East side's clear, Shepard."
"Good job, Grunt," she called, and booted a dog down the stairs before splattering it with a quick burst of gunfire. "Garrus, mechs are tedious as hell. All they do is march straight at your face and soak up ammo. At least varren keep you on your toes."
"Varren eat your toes," Garrus corrected, executing another with a swift kick and a few rounds to the head. "And mechs aren't tedious. They just take a bit of finesse. If you hit the hydraulics in the neck, the head pops right off. One bullet."
"My ass. I've never once seen you do that."
"Because you insist on staying right on top of them, and an unlucky ricochet could pop your skull open. So I always have to do things the hard way."
She made a skeptical noise. "All right, hotshot. Next time we're up against an YMIR, I'll stand back so you can demonstrate."
"Dragon," Garrus said.
"What?" She finished off the last two varren, kicked the corpses to the side. That had to be another translator error.
"Big flying snake thing," he said. She twisted and looked. Shit.
She sunk low, watching it warily, but the winged worm-like creature seemed content to skulk around the perimeter. "Grunt? Any background?"
"Harvester," he muttered, thumping up the steps behind her. "Territorial. Slow. Strong, but not aggressive. Spawns klixen. Aim for the neck."
"Right." Shepard scratched her forehead. "What's a klixen?"
"I'm on it," Garrus said, reaching back for his sniper rifle.
Shepard put her hand on his arm. "Hold up a sec." It was hard to hear anything over the wind and the beating wings of the harvester, but there was something faint, sharp. Scratching.
A half-dozen insectoid creatures, two meters tall and as wide, surged over the edge of the platform.
"Klixen," Grunt announced, pleased.
Before she could say anything, he charged in and shotgunned the leader at point-blank range. The bug reeled, limbs thrashing, then unhinged its jaws and spewed out a jet of flame.
Grunt retreated, smoking.
Shepard jogged backwards alongside him, spraying bullets into the advancing mass of bugs. "Uh. Grunt. Didn't you know it would do that?"
Grunt nodded. There were black scorch marks on his face. "Yeah. But I wanted to see it."
Shepard smirked. Her vat-grown krogan was a barbaric, amoral menace. But he could also be kind of cute sometimes.
"Plan," snapped Garrus, firing into the thick of the crowd.
"Keep them at range, and shoot like crazy," Shepard said.
It worked, for a little bit. Garrus and Grunt knocked them back with concussive and shotgun blasts and she knocked them back with her fists and her brain. But there were too many of them, and they were awfully fast for something that had that many legs to coordinate, and the harvester kept circling and swinging back down, dropping more, and more, and more.
"I'm up against the rail," Garrus announced behind her.
"Understood," she said. The skittering, scritchy noise grew louder. "Get ready to move. I'm breaking west, and I'll try and draw them after me. You two throw down concussives and then fall back south. Stick to the perimeter, circle around and keep firing, but don't pull their attention. On three."
"Classic Shepard strategy," Garrus rumbled. "Split up and run like hell."
"We're not running, wiseass. One." She aimed a last Throw at the bug in the vanguard. "We're executing a tactical maneuver. Two." She picked off another on the edges with a spray of bullets. "Watch and learn. Three!"
"This is the Shepard strategy," she panted into the comm, feet pounding against the earth. The klixen chittered behind her. She glanced at her radar. The lure had worked. "Make the enemy chase you—"
A blast of fire singed her heels. Crap, they were fast. If she stopped to aim another biotic punch they'd fry her to cinders. She'd just have to haul ass and hope.
There. She darted towards the corner of the platform, penned in on three sides by the railing. The klixen closed in around her, little flames licking from their mouths.
She reached out for the rail and vaulted herself over it, thudded to the ground below. The bugs surged after her, crowding against the bar.
Shepard whirled and unleashed a heavy Warp and a Throw in quick succession, followed by a clip and a half of incendiaries into the mass of trapped bodies.
Scrabbling legs thrashed and stilled. High-pitched shrieking slowly trailed off into silence.
"—Until you catch them," she finished.
"Hah!" barked Grunt's voice over the comm. "I want to try."
She glanced overhead. "You'll get your chance, kiddo. The harvester's coming around for another pass."
Grunt executed the Shepard maneuver perfectly, albeit with a lot more blood and shouting and flaming insect guts.
He frowned and toed the corpse of the nearest klixen. "Is that all? I want more."
Garrus looked up at the sky, praying for strength. "...Krogan."
Shepard jammed in a fresh heat sink.
"Pure krogan," Grunt muttered.
"We know you are," she said absently. She felt— strange. Unsteady. Like she'd knocked something loose in her brain.
She put a hand over one eye. Nope. The landscape was definitely moving.
"...What's that noise?" Grunt squinted at his feet. "Why is the ground shaking?"
Shepard stiffened, and twisted to look back at Garrus. He was already looking at her, eyes wide.
"Fuck me," she said with horrified delight. "Big things."
"I told you," he rumbled, snapping his sniper rifle to full extension. "Reach out to the spirits, and they reach back. You brought the nuke launcher?"
"You bet your ass I did." She unhooked it from her shoulders. "Jacob said it takes forever to warm up tho— oh shit." She whirled as she saw Grunt's white-armored figure trundling off to the edge of the arena, where a great pile of rocks was beginning to shift and rattle. "Grunt!"
The thresher maw erupted from the earth.
Grunt stood in its shadow, transfixed. Stared up at the massive, coiling body, the legs unfolding like knives.
Shockwaves tore through the arena. The pavement buckled and cracked under Shepard's feet. "GRUNT!" she shouted again over the crashing noise, hoping the comm filter would make it intelligible. "FALL BACK!"
He scurried behind a distant chunk of concrete. Turned to look at her, wide-eyed. "Shepard. It's a thresher maw."
She cupped her hand over her helmet mike. "I know. It's okay, kiddo. You've got this. Stay in the open, stay at range, and keep moving. Cover is useless."
He scowled at her across the arena. "That makes no sense. We should get behind—"
"Damnit, Grunt!" Shepard scowled back. "These, I know how to fight. I'm the galaxy's leading goddamn expert. Listen to me, or get yourself squished. Your call."
"The tank says to shelter—"
The thresher maw spiraled up, shoulders hunched like a cobra.
"Fuck your tank!" Shepard bellowed. "MOVE!"
A stream of acid hurtled at her face. She dove to the side, heard Garrus doing the same behind her. Droplets spattered and fizzed against the earth.
The maw roared.
Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. The edges of the world sharpened, settled into crystalline focus.
Another set of shockwaves rippled through the ground. She rocked back into a low stance and rode them out, swaying easily with the movement.
Grunt looked a bit singed, but he was up and shouting defiance at the beast. And he was taking her advice. Good boy.
A slow, uncontrollable grin stretched her lips. Cracked wide across her face.
The sun blasted down upon her. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Alive. Alive. I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive.
Shepard clicked the safety off, and sparked the warm-up sequence for the Cain.
And you're dead, you fucker.
She dropped her helmet to the ground. Rubbed the sweat off her face, leaving behind finger-shaped streaks of dirt. The arid wind whipped sand into her eyes. Snarled her hair.
Garrus leaned over, his hands braced on his knees, taking in gulps of air.
"...A nuke launcher, Taylor called it." Inhale. Exhale. "It barely made a dent in the damn thing."
"It made a dent. We would have been out here a lot longer without it." She pinched the bridge of her nose. Her nerves were crawling with stale adrenaline. "It doesn't matter, anyway. The maw's dead. We're fine. And Grunt got the kill shot."
"True." Garrus straightened. "He might be the first person ever to shotgun a thresher maw to death."
"Mm," she said.
"What's wrong?"
Shepard looked up at him. "Huh? Nothing. Why?"
He tilted his head to one side. "I'm not an expert on humans, but I'm pretty sure that expression means you're pissed off about something."
She pushed her hair out of her face and looked away.
In the distance, Grunt's little white figure clambered over the corpse of the maw. He tugged on its slender, serrated legs. Stuck his head under its armored plating.
Shepard switched off her hardsuit comm. Tapped the side of her head. Garrus gave her a funny look, but reached up to fiddle with his visor.
A click. The low buzz in her ear cut out.
"It was too easy," she said.
Garrus choked. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. I can't count how many times I came within inches of getting melted on Akuze. Getting crushed between their coils, or buried under rocks. Getting my leg bitten off. Or my head."
Shepard shook her head angrily. "This? This was nothing. It was big and it made a lot of noise, but it didn't even touch us. This is what killed my entire unit?" Her empty hand curled into a fist.
Had it just been kind of a small and puny one? Or was she too much— whatever she was now, for anything to be a challenge anymore?
On the other side of the arena, Grunt reached out and poked the monster's long blue tongue.
"You were hoping for a grudge match," Garrus said.
The tongue shuddered and twitched. Grunt leapt back like a startled cat.
"...Yeah. I guess I was," she said.
Embarrassing. Stupid. She'd let it get personal. Never let it get personal.
It didn't even fucking matter. It was Grunt's kill, not hers. He stomped around in the thresher muck, laughing with homicidal delight.
The maw was dead, and she wasn't. She survived. And she'd keep on surviving.
Maybe forever.
She gazed out into the swirling sands of Tuchanka. Exhaled. Unclenched her fingers. Let the Cain fall to the dusty earth.
Garrus holstered his rifle, and came to stand next to her, a steady, silent presence at her side.
She turned and looked up at him. Opened her mouth, then hesitated.
He looked back at her, eyes soft, waiting.
"Fuck your big guns, Vakarian," she said.
He patted her head. "...There, there, Shepard."
She just glared at him. But she did feel a little better.
"So mini-nukes aren't your style. We'll try something else. I'll convert you eventually."
She kicked the spent Cain, scowling. "Nope. I'm done. Next thresher maw we find, I'm taking it out with my pistol."
Garrus examined her bruised forehead. "Uvenk must have hit you harder than I thought."
"I'll do it," she warned. "Don't think I won't."
"I'm having you sedated before you get into any more trouble," he said, pressing a finger to his comm link. "EDI? Get me Doctor Chak— ow, Shepard!"
Off in the distance, Grunt crouched down in front of the massive corpse. Something glinted between his hands.
He straightened back up. The maw's electric blue tongue dangled from his fist.
Shepard squinted against the brightness. "That better not be what I think it is."
Garrus took advantage of her distraction to pry his elbow out of her joint lock. He rested his arm on her shoulder. "Look at that. Our little boy's a full-grown killer."
"I'm telling him you said that."
He made a flat noise. "Please don't. I prefer my tongue attached."
"Shepard," Grunt called, striding up to them. "Shepard. Look." The tongue was still twitching, its pointed tip curling in the hot air.
"Hell of a trophy, kiddo," she said. "Good work out there. You kicked ass."
"Hah," he said, as pleased as she'd ever seen him.
He shoved the slab of tongue into her arms. Shepard staggered under the weight.
"For you, Battlemaster. Eat it tonight to celebrate our victory."
"Thank you, Grunt," she said faintly.
She looked down at the pile of flesh. It was covered in dime-sized tastebuds. They pulsated gently.
Well. At least he wasn't trying to bring it onto the Normandy.
Grunt grinned at her. "I'm going back to get some teeth."
Uvenk returned like a bad penny, and this time he brought backup.
Shepard swatted his biotics aside. Grunt laughed and cocked his shotgun.
The bodies thumped into the dirt. Timewasters.
Back in Urdnot camp, awed whispers followed them up to Wrex's platform. "Well done, Urdnot Grunt."
Grunt bowed his head. "Thank you, clan leader."
Wrex rose, and nodded at one of the guards. "Orek, get him something to drink. Throw some more meat on the fire."
"This too," Shepard said, holding the maw tongue out to the guard. Her arms wobbled with the effort.
Wrex grinned. "Hell, Shepard, look at that. You think like a krogan. We'll eat it and gain its strength."
Shepard pointed wordlessly at Grunt.
Wrex shifted his gaze. "...I see."
The two krogan faced each other for a long moment. Grunt, unblinking, steady. Wrex, narrow-eyed.
"You know our old ways. That's unexpected."
"Okeer's teachings were thorough," Grunt replied. "Empty. Bloodless. But thorough."
Wrex's red stare lingered on the cluster of maw teeth in Grunt's fist.
"I can see you've been given a lot, Urdnot Grunt. It's up to you now to figure out what to do with it."
He lumbered over and slapped Grunt's shoulder. "But tonight, we're celebrating. Let's get you a drink. You can tell your new clan brothers all about the maw. It's been a while since they heard a good battle story."
Grunt grinned.
Wrex shifted slightly, looked back at Shepard and Garrus. "You two coming? Or do you have to get back to your ship?"
Shepard paused. Garrus glanced at her. So did Grunt.
Aw, hell. It was an important day for him. And it wasn't like she had any leads yet on the Collectors.
She came up and slapped Grunt's other shoulder. "Damn right we're coming. I'm his battlemaster now."
"None better," Wrex said, pleased.
"Oh, uh," she said. "By the way. We killed Gatagog Uvenk. Hope that's okay."
"You're on a roll, Shepard," Wrex rumbled. "Just another reason to celebrate. Good thing there's plenty of ryncol to go around. Not that you aliens should drink any."
Shepard smirked. "Who's gonna stop me? You?"
"Hah. I haven't survived this long by being a fool." Wrex leveled his red stare at Garrus. "Vakarian. If she dies again, you're carrying the body back."
They stood in the center of a thick, sweaty crowd around the fire. Embers snapped and sparked. Strange smells drifted up in the air: wood smoke, roasting meat, sizzling fat. Burning plastic. Ammonia. Hot metal. Ash and dust.
Protocol and ceremony dictated that Wrex make the first toast, which he did with his usual grace.
"You have completed the rite. Your strength is our strength, and our strength is yours. Your enemies are our enemies, as our enemies are yours. You are Urdnot Grunt. Welcome."
He crashed his mug against Grunt's, then drained it in one long gulp. Grunt followed suit, coughing a little.
"All right, you bastards— I see you all fidgeting out there." Wrex slapped Grunt on the back. "You know he killed a thresher maw. Go talk to him about it."
Grunt was immediately swarmed.
"Beautiful ceremony," Garrus told Wrex.
Wrex squinted at him. "...Have a ryncol, Vakarian."
"Ah, I'll pass, thanks."
"Hah." Wrex turned to Shepard. "What about you? I hear you're made of sterner stuff these days. You might actually survive."
"Why the hell not? —Oh! Hang on a sec." She flicked on her comm pickup. "Miranda!"
Garrus gave her a questioning look.
Miranda's tinny voice filtered through the speakers in her hardsuit collar. "—Shepard? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong! Grunt's an Urdnot now. We're celebrating. Come join us."
A long pause. "...Shepard, I recall telling you that I would pick the bar."
Garrus tapped his comm link. "What's the matter, Lawson? Tuchanka not your scene?"
"Vakarian." Miranda's voice flattened. "I should have known you'd be in on this."
His good mandible flared out in a grin. "Oh, come on. What's not to like? The sunshine. The fresh air."
"The eligible bachelors," Shepard chimed in.
Wrex snorted.
A heavy sigh. "Keep an eye on her, Vakarian."
"Hey," Shepard said, offended. The comm link buzzed emptily.
"New friend?" Wrex rumbled.
"Not exactly," she said. "But I'm working on it."
Later, they retreated to Wrex's platform. Masses of Urdnot warriors jostled for position by the fire, where the maw tongue crackled and spat over the flames. Grunt's pale armor blinked in and out of view among the crowd. The shaman was trying to engage him in conversation, but the young krogan kept getting distracted by all the others coming up to him. Offering congratulations, welcomes, a punch to the face, a quick grapple.
Wrex handed her a mug of clear, bitter-smelling liquid. "Here. If you're brave enough. Put your new digestive system to the test."
Shepard took a sip.
"—Jesus fucking christ, Wrex." She clawed at her tongue.
Garrus hummed, half sympathetic, half amused. Wrex laughed and took the cup away from her. "So, there are some things even you can't do. Good to know."
"Don't spread it around," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "I have enemies. ...So. What do you think of Grunt?"
"He's an interesting case," Wrex said slowly. "Tank-bred aren't well regarded. Anything contaminated with science isn't. But there's no denying he's strong."
"And fast," Garrus added. "He kept in shotgun range of the maw the whole time. Barely caught any acid at all."
"Okeer was twisted. Corrupt. But he knew what he was doing." Wrex shifted his weight. "I talked to the kid for a bit, earlier. He's smart. Lot of knowledge in his head, and he picks things up fast. He knows more about our lore and traditions than I do."
"Smart? Grunt?" Garrus cocked his head to one side. "On the prison ship he charged headfirst into an YMIR. Tried to punch it to death."
"To be fair, that almost worked," said Shepard.
"I said smart, not wise," Wrex rumbled. "He's still too fresh. He noses all over like a varren pup. Sniffing and pawing at things to see if they'll bite."
Shepard smiled. "Yeah. I noticed that, too." There were still a few scorch marks on Grunt's face.
Wrex stared out at the throng below them. "But he'll learn."
"Glad you think so. I don't want to know what that tank's been telling him about turians." Garrus glanced between her and Wrex, then stepped back from the platform. "—I'm going to go look around for a bit. I'll catch up with you two later."
They watched him pick his way down the slope. His loose, long-legged strides carried him off into the surging crowd.
"...Shepard." Wrex regarded her out of the corner of one red eye.
A small, nervous tendril coiled up inside her. "Yeah?"
"When you finish blasting the Collectors into dust, send Grunt back to Tuchanka. We're going to need him."
She made a face. "Pretty sure if I tried to send him anywhere, he'd try to squish me into a bloody pulp. Battlemaster or not."
Wrex laughed. "True. But if it's you, you'll manage. You can talk anyone into anything. You talked me into not shooting you on Virmire."
"Wrex, I didn't talk you into shit. You know blowing that base was the right call."
"I know. Those clones weren't worth the air they breathed." He let out a vast sigh. "Now here I am, welcoming one into my own clan."
"But— Grunt's different." She tilted her head. "Isn't he?"
"He's better," Wrex said, shrugging. "Better instincts. Stronger genes. More educated. But still a clone." He scratched his massive crest. "It's difficult, Shepard. We're krogan. We have to stay true to what we are. But we're dying. Where do I draw the line?"
She exhaled, and gazed out at the mass of bodies.
"Uvenk made him an offer," she said. "Provisional clan membership. Gatagog in name, but no breeding rights or land."
"That idiot got what was coming to him," Wrex rumbled.
He watched sparks fly up from the fire. Took a long drink from his mug.
"I never wanted children of my own, you know. Not after what happened with my own father. I thought I'd wander the galaxy until I found an enemy good enough to kill me, and then die alone."
She nudged him with her elbow. "You trying to make me cry, Wrex?"
"Hah." He took another quaff from his mug. "Point is, now I'm responsible for more than just my own hide. I need to find a way to steer us through this. To give our race a future. Our children are dying in the womb. Maybe it's time we started making them in tanks."
"Wrex," she said.
"I know. It turns my stomach, too."
She laid her hand on his arm. "You sure that's not the ryncol you're feeling?"
He gave her a toothy grin. "Just because you can't take it."
A clamor erupted from the pit below. Grunt was hoisted on the shoulders of a pair of hulking Urdnot men. A blackened hunk of something was clutched in his meaty fist.
He took a massive bite out of the hunk. Pumped his arms in the air. The cheering grew thunderous.
Shepard shook her head, smiling.
Wrex watched the spectacle with narrowed eyes. "Cloning might be our last hope. But I'll be damned if I hand our fate over to another salarian scientist. If we do this, we do it on our own." He scowled down at the pit. "Nothing good ever comes of alien meddling. Maelon proved that all over again."
Shepard stilled.
"I didn't think I ever told you his name," she said slowly.
"You didn't. He came to me before he went to Weyrloc. Asked for volunteers. And a lab."
"...So you knew what he was doing all along."
He chuckled darkly. "And you were trying to be so delicate. Shielding your professor from my wrath. Shepard, salarians aren't the only ones who can spy."
She said nothing for a moment. Queasy dread unfurled in her veins. What the hell else did he know? Her eyes flicked to his shotgun.
"So, that slimy little pyjack was his student." Wrex began to pace along the edge of the platform, a dark edge in his gravelly voice. "Solus, was it? Too scarred up to be just a science teacher. And he's with you. So, STG, then, both of them. But a thousand years too young to be involved in the genophage. That means the salarians must have been up to some other funny business on Tuchanka recently. Something that might have caused some of them to develop a guilty conscience. I've already got my people looking into it." He paused and looked at her. "Of course, you could make the investigation a lot shorter. If you wanted to."
"You know I can't tell you anything about him." Her voice was hollow. "Mordin's part of my team. He's under my protection."
He stopped in front of her. Clapped her on the shoulder, hard. "Well. Glad you could take time away from saving the galaxy to drop by, Shepard. It's been informative. Lucky for you Maelon didn't manage to undo any of the salarians' good work. Or were you lying about that too?"
"No," she said. She put her hand to her face. "Damnit, no, Wrex. That's not it. You're right about the STG stuff. But we didn't know what you knew about Maelon. We didn't know why he was here. Mordin thought that the Blood Pack had kidnapped him as revenge for his— STG days. That they were going to torture and kill him. Make an example."
He fixed her with a red stare. "Really."
"Yes." She met his gaze. "We went there to rescue him, as a personal favor to Mordin. That was all." Her face darkened. "Turned out Weyrloc were the ones that needed rescuing from Maelon. Mordin ended up pulling the trigger himself."
"You and your personal favors," Wrex rumbled, eyes narrowed.
"They always fucking go like this." Shepard rubbed her forehead. "Start out with the best of intentions. Wind up in a bloodbath. I guess my good luck carried over from the afterlife." She looked up at him. "I didn't tell you earlier, but... we found one of Weyrloc's women in the hospital. A volunteer. Her body was a mess. Every organ covered in tumors. Maelon's experiments ate her alive."
"What a waste." Wrex shook his head. "That's why I turned him down when he came to us. I could smell the desperation bleeding off of him. I knew that he would hurt people. That whatever he did, it wouldn't be worth the cost." He let out a long sigh. "Wish I hadn't been right."
He turned to face her, then, scowling. Pointed a finger at her chest. "I learned my lesson on Virmire, Shepard. We'll find a way to survive this, but we'll find it on our own terms. We might have to change. Adapt. But we don't have to put our fate in the hands of aliens. We don't have to destroy who we are in order to live."
"No," she said. "You don't. Nothing's worth that price."
Not that it mattered. The price had already been paid, in human and krogan flesh.
And perhaps, in a moment, she'd be paying it with hers. But that didn't matter either. Next time, she'd talk faster. Lie better. Make him believe her.
And then maybe in the future, when the time was right, she could tell him about Maelon's data. Reveal that she'd kept it safe. Her gift to him.
Maybe he'd be grateful to finally have some concrete hope. Or maybe he'd dismiss her offering as too blood-stained, too contaminated by alien influence, to be of any worth.
Maybe he'd kill her all over again for hiding it from him in the first place.
She looked up at him. "Your day will come, Wrex." Maybe.
"I'll make it come." He rested a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry I doubted you, Shepard. You've always been a friend to me, even if we haven't seen eye-to-eye the whole time. I know you'll help me look out for my people."
Oh. She let out her breath.
Her heart sank. She felt coated in grime. But she stood straight and tall, forced her respect and affection for him to the surface. Buried everything else down deep.
"Damn right," she said with a smile. "You better name some of your future daughters after me."
"You have to be dead to get children named after you," he rumbled.
"Well, I plan on living forever. You'll just have to make an exception."
Wrex snorted.
She looked out over the pit of Urdnot men, rowdy with alcohol and testosterone, or whatever the krogan equivalent was. Thought back to the sepulchral stillness of the hospital.
"Five," she said. "At least."
"You drive a hard bargain, Shepard." His eyes slitted. "All right. You can have your daughters. But I get five of your sons. I'm not waiting around until I'm dead, either."
"Five! That's pushing the limits of human fertility, Wrex. I don't even know if I'll ever have kids at all." She blinked as a thought occurred to her. "—I don't even know if I can."
"If it's you, you'll find a way," he said, shrugging. "But all right. I'll just name your first, then."
"Deal," she said. "After all this crap is over, I'll bring him to Tuchanka. You can teach him how to be a warrior."
"Deal." He gestured down at the crowd below them. "I'll need your help keeping all these idiots in line."
"Oh hell no. I'm not helping you with shit. I'm dropping my kid off on your doorstep, and then I'm gonna retire to some tropical planet in the middle of nowhere. You'll never hear from me again."
He gave her a skeptical look. "Didn't think you were the type to die of old age, Shepard."
"Well, I'm not letting the Reapers get me, that's for damn sure."
"Just make sure you leave some for the rest of us to fight." Wrex thumped her on the shoulder. "I'm going to go crack a bottle open for our newest Urdnot. You should find Vakarian. Make sure he's not getting into trouble."
She thumped him back. "I will. See you, Wrex."
"Shepard." He trundled off.
She exhaled. Her heart flip-flopped with relief.
She wanted to find Garrus and unburden herself immediately. But nowhere on Tuchanka was safe from Wrex. And nowhere, period, was safe from Cerberus.
Shepard kicked out at a chunk of concrete, then wandered down the hill, hunting for a slim, solitary blue figure in the mass of red and black.
He found her first. "Shepard."
She glanced up. A three-fingered hand waved to her. He'd staked out a relatively quiet corner, dark, elevated, ringed by waist-high chunks of masonry. Snipers were nothing if not predictable.
"Hey." She clambered up into his little base. "Anyone tried to maim you yet?"
"So far, Urdnot seem like friendly drunks. Lucky for me." Garrus settled himself on a broken pylon. "Looked like you and Wrex were having a good chat."
That was one way to put it. "I may have just promised him my firstborn son," she said, rubbing the back of her head.
He gave her a long look. "...I guess it's true what they say about women and scars."
"Ha," she said, and sighed. "Christ. I need a drink."
"Ryncol or groundwater," Garrus replied. "Your choice— they'll both kill you. And we have these." He gestured at a pair of blackened skewers with charred lumps on the ends.
"Is that—?"
"Grunt's little souvenir. Dinner, if you like, since you're levo-amino."
What the hell. You only live twice. She tugged off her gloves and reached out for the skewers.
Garrus's good mandible dropped open. "I was kidding. Really, Shepard?"
She sat down cross-legged in the dirt and pried the cubes of thresher tongue off the sticks. Pungent, vinegary juice trickled down her fingers.
"I'm hungry," she said, shrugging. "And curious. Wish you could join me. Sorry about your freakish alien biology."
"Don't be," he rumbled, glowering down at her. "It smells awful."
Couldn't really dispute that. She chewed silently.
"...What does it taste like?"
"It's actually not bad," Shepard said, in between bites. "Savory. Light, despite the smell. Texture's pretty weird though."
He slid down to the ground across from her, watching with revolted fascination. "So. Are you stronger now that you've feasted on the flesh of your enemy?"
"No," she said in disgust. "It was a crap enemy. I wasn't even scared."
"Shepard."
"Fine." She kicked his foot. "I was scared. But not enough. I changed my mind about the pistol. The next one's going down with my combat knife in its neck."
"Shepard—" He shook his head. "You know what I told you about making wishes."
She grinned around her mouthful of thresher maw. "That they come true. Because of spirits or being faithful or some bullshit. Exactly."
"I'll overlook your appalling racism, but only because we're at a party." One finger tapped against his visor. His voice lowered. "Did you see anything... out of the ordinary, back at the arena?"
It took a second before she realized what he meant. "—No. Nothing out of the ordinary. We're good."
A puff of breath. "Ah."
"What?"
"Nothing much," he drawled. "It's a perpetual source of delight, trying to figure out if you're being regular Shepard insane, or extra-special Shepard insane."
She popped the last bit of maw into her mouth and scowled at him. "Vakarian, this is getting old. If you're going to keep calling me crazy, you could at least do it in a nicer way."
He folded his arms. "You want to find a bigger, meaner thresher maw and kill it with a knife. There are no nice words for what you are."
"With my fists," she said. "I changed my mind again. Grunt punched an YMIR, I get to punch a maw. And there are plenty of nice words. You just need to try harder."
"Like hell."
"I'm serious. Back on Illium, Thane called me a loaded gun." She settled back against a large, jagged rock. Brushed her fingers over her smiling lips. "I think that might be the sexiest thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Really," he said, watching her fingers with narrowed eyes. "Thane."
She frowned, and dropped her hand. "What's your problem with him?"
"I don't have one. I recommended you bring him along, remember?"
"So you have a problem with me, then."
"No." He sighed, and rubbed under his visor. "...Yes."
"Let's have it, Vakarian."
"It's a stupid problem," he growled. "Of course you're going to chat up all the new recruits. Become best friends with everyone. It's what you do. I'll get over it."
Shepard blinked. "You're not— jealous. Are you?"
He let out a soft hiss, and turned his face away. "I told you it was stupid."
"Garrus." She scooted forward. Leaned in close.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, his silvery skin lit by the glow of the distant fire, and made no comment.
"Of course my team is important. But nobody is more important than you." She pushed her matted hair back from her face, and smiled up at him. "When I find the king of all thresher maws and rip it apart with my fingernails, it's you I want at my side."
He clicked his jaw at her. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you keep downgrading your armaments."
"It's fine." She patted his knee. "You'll be there to pull my ass out of the fire."
He started to say something else when Grunt stomped up, flanked by two rust-colored Urdnot men and grinning like a berserker. "Shepard! There you are!"
Alcohol fumes wafted from his body. If she set off a spark, he'd probably ignite.
"The man of the hour," she said. "Have a seat, Grunt."
He collapsed beside her. "Shepard. Tur— Vakarian. This is..." He squinted up. "Urdnot Jarv. And Urdnot Drax. My brothers."
Shepard nodded up at the pair. "Thanks for looking out for him."
"This is your battlemaster?" One of the Urdnots leaned forward, peering at her. "So small. Scrawny. Underfed."
"I know! That's why it's so great," Grunt said, flailing his arms. "You'd never expect that kind of power from a creature that looks so feeble!"
Garrus turned aside, vibrating with suppressed laughter.
Shepard ground her teeth. "Thank you, Grunt. Did you talk some more with Wrex?"
"Yeah! He knows lots of stuff. Asked lots of questions, too. He was very interested in tank mother."
"Was he." She glanced over at the dais, eyes narrowed.
Grunt was formidable, but he was still just a child. Innocent. Uvenk had wanted to exploit him for his brute strength, but Wrex had other goals in mind.
—No. She shook her head. Wrex was trusting her. She had to trust him. He was looking out for the future of his race, but he wouldn't exploit anyone else to do it. He'd treat his young charge with care and respect. Grunt needed to be among his own people, and Wrex was the best out of all them. End of story.
Until that day arrived, though, Grunt was hers to mold. She'd make sure he returned to Tuchanka with honor and purpose. That he'd be an asset to the krogan race in and of himself, not just because of the science behind his creation.
And she'd make sure that if anyone else ever tried to use him for their own interests, he'd be sharp enough to put a stop to it.
"I just don't get how something that puny could survive the maw," the first Urdnot rumbled behind her. "Much less kill it. A single blast of acid would tear that body in half."
The second Urdnot gave them a speculative look. "The turian looks reasonably tough, though. Battle-scarred."
"Thank you," Garrus drawled, folding his arms behind his head.
"We'll fight later," the Urdnot said, nodding to him. Garrus suddenly looked a lot less relaxed.
"I like it here," Grunt said to her. "Can we stay a bit longer?"
"Of course, kiddo." Shepard patted his shoulder. "And by the way— congratulations. You earned this."
"I did," he said happily. "I know who I am, now. I am Urdnot Grunt. I have a strong clan, strong krantt, and strong enemies." He flung his arms out. "Everything I could ever want."
Enemies? She pursed her lips in thought.
Without Cerberus, without Saren, without the Reapers, who would she even be? Some PTSD nobody. Stuck on a colonial outpost somewhere. Stagnating.
Krogan philosophy might have a point.
"And you led me here." Grunt passed her his mug. "For you, Battlemaster. This is your victory."
Shepard looked down into the clear, evil-smelling liquid. Grunt watched her expectantly.
She took a deep breath, and drank. Tipped her head back, throat pulsing. Wiped her mouth. Passed the empty mug back into his hands.
Grunt let out an ear-splitting whoop, and pointed a finger at the startled Urdnots. "See?"
"Cheers, Grunt," she managed, clapping him on the shoulder. "We leave at dawn. Don't make me have to carry you back to the ship."
"Hah!" he said, grinning, and punched her arm.
Garrus stood up. She nodded to the Urdnots, pushed herself to her feet. Kept walking in a reasonably straight line until they were around the corner and out of view.
Garrus caught her as she staggered. "You're full of terrible ideas today," he murmured.
"Unit cohesion," she ground out. Her throat was on fire. "Bonding rituals. Impressionable youth. I've got to get out of here before I throw up."
She tottered down the hill to a shadowy, rubble-strewn path curving behind Wrex's dais. Garrus followed, hands outstretched.
He helped her over a broken column lying in the way. "I'm young," he tried. "I'm impressionable."
"Yeah, right." She thumped him on the chest as she slid past. "It's way too late for you. You've already seen me at my worst."
She swayed. He grabbed her arm. "Steady. —I don't know, Shepard, I'm pretty sure vomiting would be a new low."
They followed the path into a rusted-out tunnel, sloping gently upward. Hazy pools of sunlight filtered down from gashes in the ceiling. Dust glittered in the air.
"I want to die," she muttered, her hands over her face.
Garrus's fingers tensed around her forearm. "If you do, I'm telling them to put 'unit cohesion' on your gravestone," he said, voice light.
"Ha."
"Don't think you have to worry about it though." He tapped his visor. "Your bio-signs look pretty normal, considering. Seems like Cerberus knew what they were doing."
"Oh good," she mumbled. "Good for them."
He steered her around a fragmented chunk of piping before she could trip over it. "When have I seen you at your worst?"
"Ffff. Pick one. Horizon. Getting schooled by Kaidan and not even having a comeback. Crying and moaning to you about every little thing. About my special hell. About Tali and Liara not wanting to be friends anymore. About Aku— all that stupid garbage."
A mandible flared out in surprise. "What— all of that?"
"It's your fault," she slurred. "All of it. You're so easy to be around. To talk to."
He hummed, low and warm. "You're a mean drunk, Shepard."
"Ha." She bumped him with her elbow. Well, she tried, but her depth perception seemed to be off.
Thank god he hadn't been there on Illium. Talk about rock-fucking-bottom.
...Wait. She frowned. He was the reason she'd hit rock-fucking-bottom in the first place.
But no. That wasn't true. Not exactly. Right? You can't control what other people do. You only control how you respond.
Even if he'd been a self-righteous, overprotective ass. Even if he'd opted to follow his own incomprehensible turian logic and not common fucking sense. Even though he'd snuck off to tell Cerberus all about her frayed wires the instant she wasn't looking—
She pressed a hand over her racing heart. No. It was still her own goddamn fault for freaking out. She was the one who'd decided to keep secrets. Tell lies. She had to own that.
It was a fucking miracle Wrex hadn't shot her.
"If that's you at your worst, I think you're being overly dramatic," Garrus said, amusement threading through his voice. "You're allowed to complain. You're just one human."
"N'm not," she said.
"Well, mostly human. But either way, you can't blame me for you and Alenko. That's just unfair."
Shepard groaned, tipping her head back. "I've got th' worst goddamn ideas."
"What, trying to out-drink a krogan?" Garrus looked down at her. "Or did you mean Alenko?"
She hated this. She was so tired of this tightrope act.
"...Or did you mean talking to me?" he added quietly.
"All of it," she mumbled. "—Huh? No. Wait. Not that." She glanced up at him. "...Well. Kinda. But it's not like— I like talking with you, I just don't wanna get— I rely on you— I'm tryin' not to—"
"I see," he said.
"No, I mean— I want to— you... you're my best— I'm just—" Her hands scrunched into fists. "Fuck! I'm doing this part over." She gestured violently. "Supernova."
"Shepard," he said, putting a hand to his face. "I don't know if 'loaded gun' even begins to cover this situation."
"Sorry. Sorry. Nevermind. It's okay. I'm fine." She patted his arm. "Let's just get outside."
A dark rumble rose up from his chest. "Fine."
The sun hung low in the sky, blurred with reddish smog. Pale silhouettes of broken buildings shimmered in the heat. The wind swept little swirls of sand over the ground, and tugged gently at her hair. She breathed. Slowly, deeply. In, out.
"Feeling better?"
"...Yeah," she said. Surprisingly. She closed her eyes and rolled her head from side to side, testing.
Still conscious. Not collapsed in a puddle of nausea. "I think it's burning off. The cybernetics must have kicked in."
"Good." He came over and sat down beside her, and stretched his legs out. "You were making even less sense than usual."
"Sorry." Her cheeks flamed. "I have no idea what I was talking about. Just— ignore all of that."
"Done," he said, voice flat.
The tunnel had led them to a high, empty plateau littered with old plastic containers, broken crates, the wrecked and rusting skeletons of ancient machinery.
Not much for comfort. But it was hard to argue with the view. Shepard leaned back on her elbows, soaking up the warmth of the lingering sunlight.
"...Miranda doesn't know what she's missing," she murmured, at the same time Garrus said "What a hellhole."
They looked at each other.
Garrus made a wry noise. "If Lawson saw this, I think she'd be happy to keep on missing it."
"Oh, c'mon." She nudged him. "You know what I mean. You're planet-born too. I love the Normandy, but planets are special."
"Not this one," he muttered. "I feel sorry for the krogan. Almost."
"What's your deal, Vakarian? You've been complaining nonstop ever since we got here. Even a blasted hellhole can be beautiful, in its own way."
"It's not the way it looks. It's—" Garrus made a sharp, discordant noise, and turned his face away.
"What?"
"It's the smell," he muttered. "Ash and chemicals and burning meat. It's everywhere."
Hmm.
She tilted her head, watching him closely. His expression was shuttered. "Omega?"
He glanced at her, then away. "...Yeah."
"I thought the place just smelled like stale ventilators and garbage."
"It did. Most of the time." His mandible flexed.
Shepard turned her gaze back to the sun.
The wind gusted, hot and ashy. Motes of dust clung to her eyelashes.
"We were betrayed," Garrus said quietly.
She said nothing. Watched a thin trail of smoke unfurl from some burning wreckage off in the distance.
"They bled out on the ground floor of our base. Every single one."
She made a soft noise to show she was listening.
A muscle in his throat jumped. "...I couldn't leave the bodies. Scavengers, organ thieves— vermin. But the only airlock within two kilometers was a garbage chute. I would have had to hack them into pieces. Feed them into the compressor one by one. I couldn't—" He shook his head. "It didn't matter anyway. I didn't have the time."
He fell silent. The landscape was still and quiet. The distant coil of smoke slowly lengthened.
Shepard looked up at him. "What did you do?"
His shoulders were stiff, his brow furrowed. His good mandible twitched in and out in short, agitated movements.
"I burned them," he said.
She reached out and touched the back of his hand.
"The Blood Pack had sent in their advance troops. I managed to scavenge a flame thrower. Didn't have a lot of fuel left, though. I had to improvise."
He laughed. Low, black, and bitter. "Turns out vorcha burn pretty hot."
"At least there's one thing they're good at," she said.
"It ended up being a pretty respectable funeral pyre, actually." He stared out at the dust-swept ruins spreading below them. "I was almost proud of myself."
"Wish I could have been there with you," she said.
He closed his eyes. "...Yeah. Me too."
Shepard studied his tired, careworn face.
The more she saw of him— the exhaustion, the loneliness, the buried embers of rage and shame smoldering underneath— the more she wished it.
She imagined his sharp-edged silhouette before the roaring fire, fury and grief written up the long lines of his body. Watching with empty eyes as the stinking corpses disintegrated. Watching the fat bubble and spit in the flames. Watching the muscle char and shrivel, the skin curl and flake away like paper. Listening to bones creak and snap in the heat.
Breathing in the black smoke. Letting it sear his lungs, and settle deep.
Shepard wrapped her fingers around his.
"I'm sorry, Garrus."
He glanced down at his hand, then at her.
"I'm so, so sorry." Her voice was low and fierce. "I know it doesn't matter that I am. I know there's nothing that helps. I know you want to deck every last asshole who tries to tell you it wasn't your fault."
He took a deep breath. "Yeah. I do."
"Good thing I have a heavy bone weave. It wasn't your fault."
His hand clenched around hers. "The hell it wasn't, Shepard. I pushed them too hard, too fast. I should have seen it coming."
"Maybe you should have," she said. "I don't know. But you aren't the one who sold them out. You aren't the one who pulled the trigger."
He yanked his hand away. Got up and stalked over to the edge of the plateau.
"Their deaths weren't your fault, Garrus. But they are your responsibility." She pushed herself to her feet. "You were their leader. So be responsible for them."
His shoulders stiffened. "You think I'm not being responsible?" he snapped, whirling on her. "Fuck you, Shepard! I haven't stopped thinking about them— all of them— ever since—"
"That's not it," she said sharply. "That's just blame. You're letting it burn you up. Letting it own you, instead of owning it. You think I don't know the difference?" She grabbed the cowl of his ruined armor and pulled him in close. "Accept what happened to you. It's part of you now. Look at it. Learn from it. Let it make you better and smarter and faster."
Easier said than done. She knew that. But it still had to be said.
"—It takes time. It takes work. It hurts. I know I sound like an asshole right now, but listen to me. If you accept it, next time, you'll do better. You'll be able to protect them."
Garrus glared at her in silence for a long moment. She released her grip on his armor. He turned away, towards the rust-red glow of the dying sun.
"Damnit, Shepard." His voice was tight. "I didn't even want to talk about Omega."
"You still mostly haven't."
He put his hands to his face. "I just— damn it. How does this always happen with you? I wanted things to be different this time."
She blinked. "...You've lost me, Garrus."
One hand rubbed underneath his visor. The other gestured between the two of them. "We didn't talk much, before. On the SR-1."
"What the hell? We talked all the time. C-Sec. Turian culture. Your dad."
"Exactly." He pointed a long finger at her. "I talked. You listened. Sometimes you gave advice. But you never shared anything about yourself."
"...Huh," she said.
"Remember the first time you came to find me on the SR-2?" He crossed his arms, and leaned back against a boulder. "You brought that six-pack of beer from Taetrus. We cracked into it right then, sitting on the floor of the battery. And you told me the story about how you and Anderson met each other, back on Earth."
Anderson. Shepard looked away.
He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. He was the only reason she'd ever made anything out of herself. The only reason she hadn't died before she'd reached twenty.
And now he was a stranger. Like everyone else in this fucking galaxy.
"You'd just gotten half your face shot off, Garrus," she said, folding her arms. "I wasn't going to make the guy with the broken jaw do all the talking. Sorry if I bored you with my story."
He looked supremely annoyed for a moment, but then closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. "Shepard— I wasn't complaining." He stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. "I was honored you'd share it with me. So... keep talking. Please. I want to listen."
She blinked up at him.
Well. Maybe not everyone else.
Garrus slid down his rock to sit on the ground again. Shepard settled herself beside him.
A moment passed. She fidgeted. Glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes.
"How the hell did you get Taetran beer on a Cerberus ship, anyway," he said.
"It was on Gardner's grocery list from the Citadel." She raised a finger. "—Before you say anything, I did all the work. And used mission funding to pay for it. So it wasn't stealing. Gardner probably never even missed it."
An irritated rumble. "I wasn't going to say anything."
"Once a cop, always a cop," she said.
"...But Gardner? Really?"
She shrugged. "I guess he's got cosmopolitan tastes."
Silence stretched out. The wind pushed little eddies of dust around their feet.
"I really did like listening to you talk about C-Sec and your dad," she murmured. "I was honored, too. That you'd share with me." She glanced over at him. "I kinda felt like you were the little brother I never had."
His good mandible fell open in surprise. "You did?"
She shrugged, embarrassed. "Yeah, well. You seemed a lot younger to me back then. All fired up and idealistic. Raring to go. You'd be bouncing off the walls waiting to get out of decon." She smiled. "It was so cute."
He gave her a wary look. "And now?"
She grinned. "Less cute."
He glanced away. "Well." His fingers brushed against his bandage. "I have a medical excuse."
"Oh, c'mon. I didn't mean it like that." She bumped him with her knee. "Just that you're older. More seasoned. And the scars are an upgrade. You were cute before, but now you're— um—"
Garrus raised a plated brow.
"—Ruggedly handsome," she decided.
His eyes narrowed. "...And dangerous. And alluring."
"Don't push your luck, Vakarian."
They settled into a short, peaceful silence. Little burnt fragments of something— plastic sheeting, maybe— drifted past like snow in the wind.
She reached out and caught a flake on her palm. "I can't remember why I didn't talk about myself before."
"I couldn't tell you." He tilted his head to one side. "You've changed a lot, Shepard."
Yeah. She glanced up at him. "You have, too."
"Good change?" His voice was carefully neutral.
Shepard cracked a smile. "The opinion of an undead cybernetic psychopath matters to you?"
"Just this one particular psychopath," he said. "We have a bit of history."
She looked at him for a long moment.
"I miss cute Garrus sometimes," she said finally. "But new Garrus is pretty hot shit."
He made a pleased rumbling noise.
She watched the flake curl and twist in the heat from her hand.
"I don't know if it's you, or me, or whatever," she said. "To be honest, I don't care. I'm just really glad we can talk like this now."
"Me too," he said.
She raised her palm and let the little fragment fly away on the wind.
"Sometimes I think if it weren't for you, I'd have lost it completely," she murmured.
"Then I'm glad I didn't die on Omega," he said.
"Me too," she said. And had to fight down a wave of nausea at the memory.
The reek of copper and carbonized flesh. Her knees skidding on the slick floor. Inky blood, oily and thin, spreading out, staining everything it touched. The terrible wet sound from his ruined throat. Her medi-gel was all levo-amino. Worse than useless. Fucking Cerberus. She'd pressed her hands to the steaming wound in his neck, no no no no come on please please please but his life kept pulsing out between her fingers, hot and slick and slippery, wicking up into the fabric of her gloves.
"Joker," her voice barked into the comm. Inside her head she was screaming. White-hot noiseless fury. How dare you. How dare you bastards bring me back for this.
She should have just let him go.
Pulled out her pistol. Blown a hole through her temple.
She would have come back and she would have known. She would have done it all better. Done it faster. Run back to his side. Kept him out of the line of fire. Shot the gunship out of the sky.
If she'd died violently enough, maybe she could have rewound even further. Maybe she could have reached him before the massacre ever happened. Before he'd had to watch the bodies burning. Before he'd been left all alone. Maybe she could have saved them all. Maybe—
"Shepard?" His pale eyes were sharp with concern.
"Nothing. Just—" She swallowed. "—I wish I'd found you sooner."
"Hey." Garrus placed a gentle hand on top of her head. "You found me. That's what matters."
Shepard took a deep, shaky breath. "Yeah."
"Besides. If you'd come earlier, I'd still just be your cute little brother." Garrus's voice dropped to a sly purr. "Now I've been upgraded to dangerously handsome."
She snorted. "More like dangerously crazy."
He patted her on the head. "Guess that makes two of us."
Shepard tipped her head back against his palm, and let out a long sigh.
How on earth had it turned into him comforting her about Omega? Christ. She was a fucking trainwreck.
But he was right. He was alive. And he was here. That was a good place to start from.
She scooted in closer, nudging his elbow out of the way, and settled herself against his side. Rested her head against his armored shoulder.
Garrus tensed, his hand hovering in mid-air. "...Shepard. I'm not your pillow."
"Deny it all you want, Vakarian. We've got some hours to kill, and I'm sleepy." She blinked up at him. "—Uh. Unless I'm making you uncomfortable? Or stepping on a serious cultural thing?"
He made a soft clicking noise which she had no idea how to interpret. But he settled his palm on her head again. "No. You're not."
"Good." She closed her eyes.
This close, she could hear his breath humming faintly through his vocal cords. A low, rhythmic whisper over the wind.
The tension in his shoulders slowly eased. Her breathing quieted. The warm breeze and the gentle weight of his hand were melting her into a sleepy, boneless state.
His fingers stroked lightly, experimentally, through her hair.
"...Is this okay?" Garrus murmured.
"Very," she murmured back.
"I always wondered what your— what do you call this?"
"Hair," she said. "It's caked in dirt right now. Don't judge me."
"Right." His fingers snagged on a tangle. "—Ah. Crap. Um, Shepard, I think I broke something."
She reached up, her knuckles brushing against his, and teased the knot apart.
"Freakish alien biology," he muttered.
"Shh," she said, smiling.
Maybe she hadn't been able to fix things, back then. But she could damn well fix things now. This was her new life, for better and for worse, and she was going to use it.
Even if it meant running the Omega 4 relay a million times. Even if it meant burning in the red glare of the Reapers, over and over again, until she got it right. Even if it used up every last heartbeat.
She'd keep him safe.
She'd keep them all safe.
Shepard closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.