.

Born of dust and stone
Dead hearts, roaming a dying home
Life leaves us all, white bones
Upon the shores of time
We are but sparks in a darkened world
And yet some things were born to burn

The napalm in your eyes
Is all my cold heart needs
If you bring the matches
I'll bring the gasoline

I'm the same bad news as you
You're the same kind of fucked as me
I'm the same bad news as you
You're the same, you're the same as me

Parkway Drive - Sparks

Chapter 4 ~ The Darkness within all of us

Whisk-whisk.

The soft swish of my track pants was the only sound disturbing the silence of the crew deck. I had tried everything to trick me into staying calm, but concern rapidly ate away the mask of composure I so prided myself with upholding at all costs. For a thousandth time I glanced at the doors of the Med Bay and for another thousandth time, neither Dr. Chakwas nor Lawson emerged.

Whisk-whisk.

I turned on my heels and paced back to the Mess' counter.

We had fought our way out of the warzone and returned to the ship as fast as possible – I thought the Doc almost had a heart attack when she realized who we tugged along more dead than alive. But to her credit, she recovered fast. The next instant she shouted commands and ordered a rather steamrolled Miranda into assisting her. For me was nothing to do – aside from being in the way, apparently – so I grabbed Taylor to meet with the other possible squad members. And frankly? I had needed the diversion dearly.

It fit the situation that I pulled Zaeed Massani – who had been mightily enjoying himself – out of a nice and cozy bar only to shove him into the fetid middle of a plague-stricken district to fetch the salarian professor. He stopped being amused then, and no assurance on my part that he'd soon long for the good old times when burning corpses were his only inconvenience had succeeded in bringing his good mood back. Then again… The veteran merc had a face as if someone had assaulted him with a buzz saw and fixed the mess with a staple gun. Maybe that feisty grimace was supposed to be a smile.

I returned from Omega with Professor Mordin Solus and Zaeed, and midday had faded into afternoon. The Professor had immediately closeted himself into the Normandy's Tech Lab, so delighted about his workstation and the insect-like bot we had found on Freedom's Progress that he jumped at it like a hyperactive duckling at a, well… beetle.

By now it was evening and I was still trapped somewhere between hope and desperation. It left me with nothing else to do but roaming the Crew Deck while the lump in my chest grew heavier and heavier. I was so caught up in my worries that at first I didn't register the sound of the automatic door. Then Lawson shuffled past me. My eyes narrowed.

Collectors. You're so busted, Missy…

My brain finally processed the information. She was out. I spun around and bumped right into Dr. Chakwas.

"Will he make it?" Help. The squeak in my voice gave a rusty door hinge a run for its money.

The elderly woman patted my arm. "Don't worry, that one's stubborn as an old boot. I'm actually surprised about his condition, considering the state you brought him in. Still, it was a close call. We were lucky that Cerberus equipped the Normandy with this high-end Med Bay."

I closed my eyes, feeling sick. Cerberus again. Now I owed them two lives. Maybe it was high time to make some concessions to even out my dues.

I would have rather eaten a handful of dirt.

"Can I see him?"

"Absolutely not. He sleeps and the last thing he needs is an agitated commander who lures him into proving his strength." She served me a stern no-nonsense look.

Uh-huh. If she thought her glaring superpowers would manage to derail me today, she would be in for a disappointment.

I glanced over my shoulder at the Mess' counter. "Oh, hey. Is that an unattended bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy?"

"What?" the Doc asked in bewilderment, but did crane her head to see the galley.

It was all the diversion I needed. Quickly, I dashed past and through the door and locked it from the inside. I could virtually feel her glare as it stabbed through the two inches of carbon fiber. Oh yes words. There would be words.

I sneaked deeper into the room. The sharp bite of antiseptics was omnipresent and almost strong enough to cover the heavy metallic scent of blood underneath. I made a beeline for the bed and sat down on the chair next to it. Caring as she was, the Doc had covered the turian up to his chest with one of her hellish plaid blankets. His left arm rested on the hideous thing, an IV taped to the back of his too pale three-fingered hand, another to the crook of his arm. I grimaced in sympathy. Nasty little fuckers.

And then there was white. So much white. Lying on his back, Garrus seemed to drown in a sea of gauze; the bandages wrapped tightly around his head and his right shoulder; the few visible patches of skin ashen from blood loss.

Frankenstein's Monster and the Living Mummy – some great pair we made indeed.

For a moment I watched his chest rise and fall in slow but even motions. The big knot of worry in me eased and tension left me in a wash of relief. I sagged forward, elbows propping on my legs. He was alive. It was a freaking miracle, but he pulled this stunt off. From here we would wing it somehow.

"Dammit, Garrus," I said softly. "Are you out of your mind? You scared the crap out of us down there…"

You scared me...

"I thought… I thought I'd lose you and after Ashley… Yeah, well, I might have gotten used to have you guys around…"

His hand twitched, thick claw-tipped fingers flexing slightly. My gaze skipped upwards, but he was still asleep. Perhaps it was because I knew he wasn't aware of my presence anyway. Or because the notion of losing him had hurt more than I thought possible. Maybe it was because dying had seriously damaged something in me. Whatever the case, I suddenly felt a strangely compelling need to resume my monologue.

"Honestly? I'm glad you're here, Garrus… Things are really really fucked-up this time and you know… it feels good to have someone at my side I can trust. Someone who wouldn't mind crawling with me through another airshaft, up to our elbows in rachni entrails, shit and blood…"

Silently, I stood up and brushed his arm.

"Alright then. I should go; the Doc is one step away from going ballistic. Please… Get well soon. The Normandy needs you. I…"

I need…

I stomped on the thought and turned to go. Not even in my head I could be completely honest with myself. Go figure.

"Shep… wait…"

His hoarse voice halted me in my tracks. My face went white. Great. Just great. I got back to the chair and sat down.

"Hey…" I smiled bravely to gloss over my embarrassment and transmit reassuring confidence, like any good commander would and should. No need to give him any more of the unhinged maniac that had accidentally been brought back from the dead in my stead.

Garrus turned his head. Blinking, he opened his eyes to watch me. There might have been the ghost of a smile as well, but the bandages thoroughly screwed up even the few expressions, I could normally decipher out of the stony mask he called a face.

"Actually… I never said I wouldn't mind…"

That's a turian smart-ass for you – mouthing off even while dancing on the brink of death. Unbelievable.

"Uh-huh, but you don't mind catching Inferno rockets with your face? What is wrong with you?"

There was a snort, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and he said in this slightly throaty, disharmonic tone common to all turians, "Don't fret, Shepard. It needs more than a stray missile to get rid of me."

My eyebrows shot up but he had already closed his lids again. Had he just don't-fretted me? Really? That was indeed a new one. I gave him another once-over. Brave words aside he looked like hell. The sight pained me with unexpected intensity. I lifted my hand to touch his arm then dropped it mid-motion in favor of smoothing invisible wrinkles out of the sheets.

"If this is too much, just say the word and I'll be off, 'kay?"

"Stay. Please. Helps me focus on something besides the pain…" He broke off with cough and a muted curse. Then he resumed, "So… Cerberus, huh?"

I winced. That punch came only half expected. "It's, hmm, not like it looks like?" After Tali's reaction I hadn't the hots for indulging further in that topic.

"Oh, that I'm certain... But how did you… I mean, Jeff told me what had happened with the Normandy. I didn't believe anyone could survive a fall like this…"

I realized I'd started tugging at the fringes of the dead-ugly blanket and stilled my fingers. There goes nothing.

"... Yeah… ahem, technically, I didn't."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself against whatever to come. Then I looked up and straight into his ice-blue eyes.

"Garrus… I was dead. Not hanging somewhere in between or just a few minutes gone. Dead dead. Like in a burnt, shriveled corpse dead. And Cerberus… Well, somehow they salvaged my body and reanimated it. Or better, they forced the life back in by all unholy means – we're still talking about Cerberus, not the welfare. And then, three days ago, I woke in a burning lab where dozens of mechs were running havoc and Miranda was yelling at me to get my lily-white ass moving… So… here I am, screwing up all concepts of 'souls' and 'afterlives' and whatever..."

I trailed off. I thought speaking the uneasy facts aloud would have made them a little easier to cope with. Guess I erred.

The silence between us stretched until I almost lost it and ran for the door. Only… He neither averted his eyes nor showed any hint of distress. He just… looked, as if he was seeing me for the first time. I frowned. Had I caused him an aneurism? Arrg, you never know with turians.

Finally he gave his head a minuscule shake. His voice, though, was filled with wonder. "Damn… Damn! That's a tough one, even for you."

I let go of my breath. "I know… This is sooo fucked-up. Saved by Cerberus. Oh, the irony." I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms before me. "You're wondering, aren't you?"

"About what?"

"The ship. The crew. You wonder if it makes me switch sides; if it makes me forget the nightmares we've found in their compounds." Just like Tali did.

"No, I don't. Believe it or not, but I actually learned a thing or two while you were… away. Sometimes… Well, we don't always get to choose our allies. It's just what it is." Then he resumed lighter, "And technically you're not with them, they're with you. Something else entirely."

"I see. Outsmarted by my own reasoning."

The turian shrugged. Well, attempted to but the intention was obvious. "You're back; that's all that counts in my log. The rest –" He made a small waving gesture. "Are semantics. We can figure them out on the way. You know, just like always."

Had he indeed winked at me? Reassuring? This was getting better and better. Polite but reserved Garrus I could deal with, but rock-steady, patronizing Garrus was severely messing with my comfort zone.

Say something, Shepard! Something smart-ass to prove you have things firmly in hand and don't need any help whatsoever…

Unfortunately, there was just a huge blank, as my brain decided to leave me high and dry. Then Garrus spoke up again, and with it my time window to remedy this precarious situation was gone.

"I haven't told you yet, but thank you, Shepard. For bringing me out alive..."

"Sure. Anytime." I cracked a weak smile. Oh boy. This was not my week.

"Hey… Hmm, about Tarak. And Jaroth. Did you… take care of them?"

I arched my brow at him. "Do you think they would get away with trying to kill my best sniper?"

"No. Probably not." Something crossed his features. Not anguish. Not anger. "I'm… just sorry it wasn't me taking them down."

Hatred.

"Garrus…" I began softly. "What really happened between you and them?"

The turian sighed. "You will not stop digging anyway, will you?"

Someone else might have been flustered at being called out, but I just shrugged, all deadpan innocence.

He shook his head at me with a snort. "Alright then. As you can imagine things didn't go too well after we all parted. The Council, C-Sec; it was plain frustrating. The one basking in their mind-staggering ignorance and the other… well, C-Sec definitely hasn't changed for the better. The Sovereign's remains vanished in the depths of the archive's vaults and they called the geth responsible. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Seriously? Did they lose their fucking minds?"

"You have no idea. We still tried to convince them of the threat, but without you… A simple C-Sec officer and an asari, barely mature? Our opinion didn't even carry enough weight to get more than a clammy handshake before they kicked our asses out of their provisory bureau."

"Wait. Anderson didn't back you up?"

"He was just installed as Councilor; opposing them openly would have done more harm than good then. And there was still the fallout following the Normandy's destruction. Humanity just lost their first Spectre…" He took a shallow breath. "I wanted to do some good; help the people out there – not sit around pushing papers for Pallin or watching the Council squabble over trivia. So I simply packed my gear and went to the only place in the universe that would give me what I was asking for."

"Omega."

"Exactly. And I found others…"

A tiny piece of information, I had picked up while roaming the mercs' base, emerged and fell into place. "Archangel… He had a team."

"Yes. Eleven like-minded spirits Omega couldn't destroy; determined as hell to fight back. And we were good. Feared by criminals; respected by the rest. I… I should have seen the danger, but our success blinded me. Then the Blue Suns and Eclipse forged an alliance to get rid of us and one day…" His voice hardened and he stared over my shoulder at some distant place. "We've been betrayed and they killed my team. My friends."

"Garrus… I hadn't… I'm sorry…" The universe was never content with punching you in the face. It would also cut away your footing, boot you in the kidney and empty a bucket of dirt over your head.

"Yeah. Me too."

Our gazes met and only then did I truly register the change in his eyes; surfaced so clearly by the exertion and the painful memory. The gung-ho idealist, I had always admired for his rebellious will to fight for a better world, was gone. Instead I stared into the frosty gaze of a soldier who had been forsaken by all light and hope; a soldier trapped so deeply within his own personal hell that only death deemed to be the way out.

And I knew this look; I had seen it after Akuze.

In the mirror.

I wanted to tell him I understood, that I had been haunted by the same guilt, felt the same pain and shame he did; and that there was another way out of this, but the sad truth was I didn't even know how to begin. So I sat there in silence, once again incapable of exposing myself and say the right words to bridge the emotional distance between me and the people I claimed to care for.

I heard the door open and turned my head; relived for the excuse and hating myself for it.

Dr. Chakwas stormed in, face a thunderhead. While she dragged me at my arm out of the Med Bay, ranting about infections and post-surgical stress, I mouthed my goodbyes to Garrus. Before I could hear his reply, though, the Doc had already tossed me out and locked the door behind me.

.~'*'~.

"YOU," Lawson's Australian accent screeched through the Comm Room loud enough to make the insides of my ears hurt. "Are acting completely irrational, Mr. Massani. It's a Blue Suns prison facility; what if someone thinks it might be a tremendously good idea to put their renegade founder into a cell? It will endanger the whole operation!"

She might just as well have bitched at the sun for all the impression she made.

"Wish they'd dare," the merc with the damaged vocal cords replied. "Been quite some time since I've seen some decent fun."

Of course Captain Control-Freak was not going to take this. "Fun? FUN? Now, listen to me, as the Executive Officer of this vessel, it is my responsibility to –"

And again they carried on and on, completely unperturbed by the fact that everything had been decided fifteen minutes ago. A dull throb hammered behind my eyes, making it really hard to concentrate on anything but the alluring thought of strangling first the merc and then my XO. Very slowly.

Why hadn't Cerberus left me to rot in peace?

The Professor was a smart one. He had listened only for a solid three seconds, before deciding he would rather sniff into some Petri dish containing carnivorous bacteria, and even Taylor had fled the scene at some point. Muttered something about muzzles and cleaning his rifle. Not what you think, pervo.

Of course, it wasn't really their fault, but the lack of sleep the past days had frayed my nerves and was slowly driving me to the edge of reason. I snatched up the steaming mug of coffee in front of me. Its soothing effect lasted for three seconds flat.

To top it, recruiting the warlord Okeer for our mission had turned out… unfortunate. Instead of a centuries-old krogan I had a dead warlord, a megalomaniac merc leader – guess what? Also dead – and a tank with a genetic experiment that would give a boner to any idiot harboring racial purity fantasies. About krogans.

This time everything will go smoothly, I thought as if to conjure it into happening through the mere power of my will. It's a frigging pickup; we go in, take the prisoner and get out. Simple. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

I was still dwelling on my little daydream about plans that actually went according to plan, when Garrus suddenly appeared in the doorway to the Comm Room. He was wearing black track pants and a blue longsleeve of turian cut. I smiled, glad that we had the mind to get the location and the codes to a storage room where he kept spare equipment before leaving Omega behind. The last thing you needed after waking up was realizing you owned shit – first-hand experience, here.

Dr. Chakwas had replaced the bandages covering Garrus' face with some adhesive compresses and fixed his right jaw bone with an orthotic – in gray, to blend a least somewhat with his skin. Still, it didn't make his injuries look less grave – quite the contrary. Now it exposed that the left side of his face down to the mandibles was dark with bruises and heavily tattered; the tattooed blue clan markings, that crossed the bridge of his flat nose in a one inch wide band to curve symmetrically along his cheekbone and down to the jaw, ruptured beyond recognition. It must hurt like hell.

What's another scarred soul in a battle that's already lost...?

I shooed the bleak thought away, shaking my fist at it for added effect.

I waved a hand in greeting, and oh wonder – it also caused Lawson and Massani to fall silent in favor of introducing the mercenary to the turian sniper.

"Hey, you're up already? Sure the Doc will approve?" I asked forced cheerfully.

"I don't think she can blame me, hyped up on painkillers as I am. And I felt like moving. I swear if I was confined to that damn bed any longer I'd have blown a fuse," the sniper replied and walked over to the table to stand across from me.

"I know what you mean. And the psychedelic pattern of the blanket is just the little red cherry on top of it…"

The turian snickered, then grimaced. "Oww. Stop making me laugh, my face is barely holding together as it is. You know, she refuses to hand me a mirror – this can't be a good sign."

"Yeah, it –" I bit my lip to prevent any facial derailments. "It might be visible."

Uh-huh, understatement of the century. But look who was talking.

Something still must have given me away since Garrus sighed overly dramatically. "And here I was led to believe that women like scars…"

From his corner, Massani barked out hoarse laugh, further sabotaging my shot for diplomacy. "Like hell they do. They like'em so much that they point their bloody guns at you and make you pay upfront."

"C'mon, Garrus," Joker suddenly stated matter-of-factly through the radio. "You've always been dead ugly, just slap some face paint on it and, whoop-de-do, no one would even notice."

"Ouch. Now you've hurt my feelings, Jeff. My face had always been my asset."

I looked up and gave the camera and my flight lieutenant a hard stare. "I warned you, Joker. Stop spying over the surv system!"

"It's not spying! It's security check!"

"One question," Garrus started, leaning towards me and whispering in a way that was clearly meant to be carried across the room. "What do you think will happen if the XO learns that Jeff taps into the footage from the women's shower…"

"What?" Lawson exclaimed in indignation to Massani's unholy delight – no scratch that; the merc was roaring with laughter.

"That's not quite right Mr. Vakarian," EDI injected suddenly. "Mr. Moreau was simply testing the functionality of the surveillance system. It was purely coincidental that the shower was in use at that time. Also it was Officer Lawson only at the first check, at the second and third it was used by Yeoman Chambers and-"

"Hey Computer," Joker hissed. "Will you shut up? How many times do I have to-"

The connection broke and a very indignant Miranda was glaring about with an intensity only bloody murder could satisfy. It made me almost feel sorry for my little perverted flight lieutenant. Almost.

I directed an appeasing gesture at my XO. "I swear he's harmless."

She crossed her arms before her chest and tossed her perfect wave of hair. "With all due respect, but your definition of harmless differs from normal by a fair margin."

Yep, I walked straight into that one. No need for the turian to almost fall over snickering, though.

I shrugged. "Comes with the job description." I turned towards Garrus. "By the way, you and your assets are always welcome to run forwardmost into neck-breaking endeavors with me. There's excellent catering and you even get paid for your efforts."

"Wait. Since when do we get paid?" Garrus asked.

I conspiratorially lowered my voice. "Since there are people, who actually consider it insane to risk their asses for free."

"Really? What's wrong with them?"

His good mandible twitched and I, too, couldn't help the small chuckle escaping me. All of a sudden, the prospects of getting KIAed again looked much less bleak than just a few minutes ago.

Massani harrumphed. " You –" He pointed first at the turian then at me. "Are out of your bloody minds! Cerberus ain't paying me enough to endure two of your kind."

I shrugged. "See?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. Really, the woman possessed less humor than a geth commando. "Commander, if we've settled everything then?"

"Alright," I said. "Why don't you just go ahead, prepare whatever needs preparing, and I'll catch up with you in the Hangar shortly. And tell Jacob to gear up some heavies. Oh, and a few of those new flashbangs."

She nodded and left, Massani hot on her heels. "Wait-a-minute, Lawson. Have I already told you that the Purgatory was initially –"

The door closed behind the merc. Garrus' shoulders slumped slightly, his hands resting on the table. He seemed weary to the bones and inevitably my thoughts wandered back to the cold bleakness I had sensed from him the other evening. Today he merely looked about with the kind of expression you got when life had finally hammered out all niceties from you.

"Hey… You're really okay?" I inquired hesitantly, bereft of any smart comments.

On impulse, my hand darted forward to enfold his. The back of his hand was warmer than I had expected; his skin somewhat rough. Callused, like my hands used to be. Our eyes met, and something… shifted. I could swear… For an instant and quickly suppressed, there had been this feral light in his gaze. A light snuffing out all coldness; so hypnotizing, drawing me like a moth to a flickering candle flame and making me feel… Suddenly, we both blinked and the moment passed.

What the…?

"A little worse for wear, but I think I'll manage, Shepard."

I smiled and released his hand quickly, while fighting the puzzlement in my head. "Yeah, we always do, don't we?"

~V~

"Turn right… Okay. Now left. More. I can't believe this is all… ahh, better."

A stab of pain jolted through me, as Dr. Chakwas took my head in both hands and twisted it even a little more to the left. The beginnings of scar tissue that ran down my neck protested angrily against the movement. It was as amazing as it was unsettling how fast the wounds had started to heal up in this short time.

"I almost believe you do this on purpose." I said and rubbed my neck. Surprisingly, those sessions of torture did seem to help. I could turn my head much easier, and my neck felt less stiff. The Doctor was confident that I would regain at least 90% agility. I wasn't that optimistic, but as long as I was still able to hold a gun I wasn't going to complain. At least not much. There was still this trifle of a completely disfigured face to deal with.

"Garrus, I've sworn an oath to uphold life and abate pain," she said and wrinkled her forehead. Then she took a jar out of one of the numerous cabinets and started to apply a cooling ointment onto my shoulder with her slim fingers.

"Aha. So this is no payback for ignoring your order at 'faking sleep as soon as Shepard tricks herself into the Med Bay'?"

"Of course not; don't be irrational!" she said in an utterly pleasant tone, as if I wouldn't notice that the pressure on my skin had risen.

I endured silently. Perhaps that was my fate. Enduring overly violent women until the end of my days.

"How did you and Jeff end up with Cerberus?" I asked, glad about anything that might diverted the Doctor's attention away from the fact that she was still a little mad at me.

"After the attack… Well, unfortunately the Normandy's black box was destroyed and the Alliance didn't believe our story. Nine witnesses and they believed none. I dedicated the best years of my life to them and in the end they almost court-martialed us for losing the ship. Anyway, perhaps ten or eleven months after I received a message with an offer. Cerberus was never mentioned, I first learned about it when I met one of their operatives. I declined. Then they told me about the Normandy SR-2 and that they already contracted Jeff. I still hesitated. They offered more money, and I grew even more suspicious. Finally they put me into a room and the Illusive Man on hologram. Of course there was never a word of 'Lazarus' or 'Shepard' but there were implications... I hardly could leave the Commander alone in the middle of Cerberus. "

I nodded. "It was a good choice. I would have done the same."

A cryptic smile crossed her face. Then she resumed, "As for Jeff… Frankly, I think the fact that they offered him a pilot seat was all the convincing he needed." She gave me a stern look. "Oh, don't make that face. Flying is Jeff's life. The Alliance had him grounded and it devastated him. With his medical record and the charge of negligently losing their prestige project? They would have never given him another ship and everyone knew it."

"Still it's Cerberus." I muttered. "I say we better watch our sixes with them. I can't believe that Shepard puts up with this so placid."

"Placid?" Dr. Chakwas halted in her motions and regarded me. "I wouldn't be so sure. She might have arranged herself with the situation, yes, but aside from this? Can we even imagine what traces the resurrection left on her body? On her mind?"

I mulled it over. On the surface she seemed to be the same mouthy Commander as ever, but below her all her toughness was something… different. An unusual nervousness, a new haunted edge.

"She has changed, hasn't she?"

The Doctor was silent for a moment. "There is… darkness in all of us, Garrus. Feelings, thoughts and actions we hide even from our closest friends. And sometimes these things are rendered bare against our will. You of all people should know that..."

I gave a minuscule start, but she simply resumed bandaging my shoulder as if she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

"There, as good as new," she said pleased and fixed the last part of gauze.

"If this is ill-timed, I'll be back later," a soft, female voice suddenly announced.

"No it's alright," I said and pulled my shirt back over my head.

The speaker was a young red-headed human woman, which was certainly considered pretty among her kind. As far as I was versed to judge these things. Something about her made the soldier in me wary, though. All her features emanated an air of utter innocence, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that betrayed a sharp mind. Not as innocent as it seemed, then.

You see, you always have to watch for the eyes. Except when dealing with hanar, in that case you better keep track of their numerous squidgy tentacles. Gestures, postures, in fact, all body language, could easily be trained to obscure the motives, but the eyes, they always gave them away. It was one of the first and rather painful lessons I learned when I entered the military. Never ever dismiss an opponent just because the body looked weak. That girl had bashed me up quite soundly. I, hmm, had gotten the better of her in the end, but that was a different story.

"I'm Kelly Chambers," she said in an almost singing way, "the Normandy's yeoman and responsible for monitoring the mental state of the crew."

"Shrink?" The word was out before I could stop myself.

"Yes, well, we actually do prefer the term 'psychological counselor'. So…" She typed something into her datapad. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to answer a few questions."

She had adopted something which should have probably passed off as a stern face, but utterly failed to inflict any obedience on me. And I was a turian, breed and raised to follow even the most ridiculous orders.

"Sure," I said carefully and stilled my features into impassiveness. You never knew, some humans were astonishingly good at reading turian expressions and I already got my daily dose of angry female. No need to push my luck any further.

Suddenly the stern mask broke and she grinned at me in a very mischievous way. "I'm going to judge your combat readiness on this, Officer Vakarian, so if you're going to lie, you better do it convincingly."

~V~

"What exactly do you expect to gain from this little show, Kuril?" I shouted over the gunfire from my hiding spot behind a wooden crate. "Money? Power? Miranda in a sexy stripper outfit?"

"Hey, I heard that one!" Mentioned Cerberus agent huffed from her cover behind me and I shot her an apologetic smile over my shoulder. Don't judge, this time I had really tried to do things the Lawson way, with precautions, careful preparations and all, and look what it had gotten me: a cabin feverish prison warden with the conviction that taking me hostage was a real smart idea.

"Cut it, Shepard, your dirty little tricks won't help you," Kuril, the warden of the Purgatory, shouted back. "Open your eyes, you're never going to make it off my ship. Outnumbered. Surrounded. But tell you what? If you drop your weapons now, I promise you won't be damaged too much before you wander into your personal cryo cell. Deal?"

Sure. And this sea-side property on Rakhana is quite the steal, right?

A good thing I always made sure to bring a few extra aces to the game.

"Taylor, now!"

Quickly I averted my eyes, and the flashbang exploded in the air somewhere ahead of me. I used the diversion to switch my cover. Right in time, for moments later, one of Kuril's heavies pulverized my crate into splinters. So far we had managed to pin the warden with six of his guards in one of the cryo areas, but a look behind me revealed that we might better hurry up. On that, he was unfortunately right. Releasing most of the convicts at once had started out as quite a clever diversion, but now the guards had recovered from their initial shock and were pushing them back. And then they would come for us.

A boom shook the area behind me. I spared a glance back, only to see… havoc. In every sense of the word. A huge ragged hole, that hadn't been there a moment ago, was gaping in the right wall, spewing out a bald, slim figure in cargo pants and a wildly patterned shirt. The young woman saw the guards, and even from my position some forty meters away I could see how her expression contorted into hatred. Skin stretched over nothing but sheer hate. On a second glance it wasn't a shirt but dozens of tattoos crawling over almost every visible centimeter of her body.

"WHO GETS FUCKED NOW!"

Most didn't even have time to scream. Her arms flashed blue and then an enormous Shockwave raced towards them; slamming the guards against the opposite wall, crushing bones and flesh in clouds of red. The remaining convicts tried to flee. She turned her head and sent another blast after the scattering men, creating a passage through the left wall.

"I'LL KILL YOU ALL!" she screeched and ran after the convicts who tried to flee through the new opening.

Great. And in case you're wondering: yep, this was our 'package'. Murphy fucking hated me.

Inspired by the impressive performance, I half-heartedly tried to summon my own biotics, expecting to find nothing but a trickle. The grip I had on myself right now was too strong for anything else. Despite all the years of training the Alliance had inflicted on me, there was this one 'flaw' they could have neither beaten nor coaxed out of me. As common knowledge asserted, in order to access full biotic strength, one had to assume an inner serenity, a distinct equilibrium of mind, body and soul.

When it came to me, common knowledge was apparently as helpful as boobs on a YMIR mech.

The sole way to unleash my potential was to shred my current equilibrium and drive me beyond any reason and control until there was nothing left even remotely remembering serenity. Or sanity. Unfortunately, raging in madness across the battlefield was out of my options. Not now, not ever.

In this light, it astonished me all the more to find it rather easy to tap the additional branches of my nerve system and feel the prickle that fueled all those tiny eezo nodules that had grown through my body even before I was born and… Oh no. The only logical explanation featured Cerberus messing around my brain with overly powerful and equally unpredictable neuro-implants. Fuck me. I had no time for this drama. Closing my lids, I focused on the prickle. Imagined feeding more of my body's energy into it. The prickle grew stronger. A faint crackle in the air. The smell of lightning, as the oxygen around me got ionized and turned into ozone. The primal tug of raw power, running through my body. I opened my eyes to find my left hand covered in blue lights, flashing and sizzling with all the ire I never allowed myself to feel.

A little deranged grin crept into my face.

Kuril was in for yet another surprise.

~V~

After an hour of being questioned by the Yeoman and another of debating with the Mess Sergeant about the finer points in turian cuisine, I was stowing the contents of the two crates, retrieved from Omega, into the Main Battery's lockers. It wasn't much, but it would do. Most importantly, I had spare parts to give my severely damaged armor at least a quick fix. I rummaged through the first crate for something else useful, but aside from a battered Predator, which was more sorry excuse than serious weapon, a few clips, and various additions for my Mantis, it didn't procured anything truly enlightening.

Call me sentimental, but I really regretted that I had been forced to leave my rifle behind. And not just because the Mantis was Devlon Industries' direct successor to the Striker model, which had been my choice of weapon since I had been recruited into recon all those years ago. When you spend so much time with a weapon that saved your ass more often than you could count, well, then you inevitably did develop more than just a few emotional ties to it.

At least something good had come from the interrogation: Chambers had attested me no mental restraints in order to serve in operational missions. And this despite I had hedged some of her more personal questions, of which I was not entirely sure she hadn't just made them up on the spot to prod me. Or satisfy her disconcerting curiosity about me. At one point, I had thought the Yeoman would call me out, but surprisingly, she had said nothing. Probably she rather believed me puzzled, then suspecting a lie. And what kind of absurd routine question was "Do you hear voices in your head," anyway?

However pretty she seems, she's no match on Shepard.

I gave a start, barely catching the spare scope before it dropped to the floor. Just like before in the Comm Room, this most strange notion had simply slipped in and caught me off guard.

Don't be absurd. That's your Commander, your alien Commander.

Indeed, this was ridiculous. Friendship or not, she was above all my commanding officer and you just did not qualify them in those terms. Gains nothing but a lot of trouble. Besides, humans were odd, too soft, too frail and had way too many fingers. Perhaps my near death had derailed my wits worse than I thought and this was some kind of PTSD aftermath. Ah. Must have been the meds.

I nodded to myself and inspected the second crate. Right on top sat a pair of old C-Sec cuffs. In contrast to what one might believe those had actually seen their intended purpose. Next curled the chain with my ID tags. I had taken them off the day I arrived on Omega. Better for my family to mourn a son missing without a trace, than the unpleasant certainty that he had fallen in his very own guerilla war in midst of the galaxy's worst scum. I pulled the darkened silver chain free and put it around my neck, then let the rhombic tags vanish underneath my shirt. Their familiar weight rested coolly against my skin. I expected… I don't know. That all suddenly returned to normal, maybe? Well, it didn't. As it was I couldn't even be certain if it was really Garrus Vakarian who they salvaged from Omega. I dropped the tags back into the crate. Archangel definitely had no right to them.

I shifted shirts and pants and found some of the prizes and badges I earned during my service. Another dead weight, yet they reminded me of those days of old – not necessarily better, but certainly easier days. I spotted the medal of valor they gave me for this mission on Invictus, where I was able to pull out my squad, despite two cracked rips and five bullets in my body. After Omega though… the thing was nothing but utter mockery.

I finally dug to the bottom of the crate and found a grey, tool-sized plastic box sitting there. Right. I had totally forgotten about this one. As I reached for the box, I heard the doors open and turned to face the visitor.

It was Taylor, carrying a metal suitcase. So, they were back from the Purgatory. The trip had taken suspiciously long and the general attitude of the Cerberus agent reeked of trouble.

"Let me guess: getting the convict didn't go quite as expected."

"No it didn't. And by the way, the convict's a maniacal, foul-mouthed, ever-pissed woman, if someone's gonna ask you," the Cerberus agent replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Really? There are others?"

It cracked up the stoic face of the dark-skinned soldier and he gave a short laugh. "Not that I know. Anyway, the Purgatory won't be into service anytime soon, if ever again. Guess, from the way things got handled there, that's probably for the good; but man, that place literally got blown to pieces."

He stopped and waited, clearly expecting some reaction from me.

I shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

"What?" He actually looked a little aghast, but it was hard to tell with humans and their million-and-one facial expressions.

"Believe me, before you knew it you will consider every mission without any major release of toxic materials or ambushes by weird and deadly things a tremendous success."

Ah, definitely aghast.

"The Illusive Man send us a ton of intel but I never… You've really met the Thorian on Feros, didn't you? Our man at ExoGeni reported that there's nothing left but a hole in the ground."

"Well. In our defense, it tried very hard to eat us."

He shook his head. "And here I thought I knew what I signed in for."

"Never mind, Officer Taylor, we all made that error at first."

"Rachni, Thorian, Geth and now Collectors… the files really didn't lie. Anyway, I heard Kelly and the Doctor suit you fit enough for duty. I thought you might want to have this –" He handed me the suitcase.

I sat it on the table near the door, snapping the lids open. It contained… my Mantis? Bloody hell. The rifle was partly disassembled and spotless clean.

I looked at Taylor in surprise. "I admit, that's unexpected."

"Thank the Commander. She took it back to ship. I just made sure it's fully operative. I, ah, took the liberty to fix the trigger; small wonder it made it that long. I hope you don't mind?"

"Absolutely not." We both knew I would disassemble her completely anyway. "Thank you. And again for cleaning her up."

"Anytime, Officer Vakarian." Taylor replied and shook my offered hand. I've been around humans long enough to pick up enough of their customs to avoid appearing like an uncouth savage.

"Her?" Shepard's highly amused voice drifted from the door to us. She had switched her armor with some crew uniform and was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed before her. "That's rot, Garrus, everybody knows guns are male."

"I beg to differ, my Commander," I said and patted the Mantis' barrel, "they are exactly like women. Care for them well and they'll loyally follow you to end of the universe. But woe you neglect them. They'll twist against you in your hands faster than you can blink. Preferably, in the middle of a battle – just by principal."

Taylor nodded and we exchanged a look of this certain wordless understanding only another male could share. Of course, Shepard wouldn't give in that easily, not even when outnumbered. Ah, make that especially not when outnumbered.

"O'really?" she retorted, while arching one of those brows at me. "Isn't it rather so that they're the most solid and reliable bro a soldier can get, never complaining; fighting along your side, come hell or high-water, while you on the other hand only have to cater for their most primal needs?" She tried for one of those challenging stares, but the twitching of her lips' corners spoiled the effect greatly.

Amusing ourselves to no end, are we?

Before I could come up with my return, Jeff's voice interrupted through the intercom. "Commander, I have the Illusive Man on hold. He says he knows where the Collectors will attack next."

The three of us shared a grave look. And just like that reality had reared its ugly head.