.

How can you see into my eyes like open doors?
Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb
Without a soul my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home

Wake me up inside
Call my name and save me from the dark
Bid my blood to run
Before I come undone
Save me from the nothing I've become

All this time I can't believe I couldn't see
Kept in the dark but you were there in front of me
I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems
Got to open my eyes to everything
Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul
Don't let me die here
There must be something more

Bring me to life - Evanescence

Chapter 17 ~ Kiss the gun before you ride to hell

The emergency lights were bathing the otherwise dark crew deck in a harsh blue glow.

It was not much but it would do. Had to. One of the lights flickered. Such mesmerizing pulse... Absently I shifted the grip on my combat knife. The light was hooking my attention and unbidden the last minutes played again like a slow-motion vid in my mind.

The Main Battery. EDI's warning and Jeff's curse before the ship shuts down. Precious moments in which I struggle to force the locked doors open. Noises of fighting. Shadows moving. No time to put on armor. Me, running along the aisle, Carnifex in hand although I know I probably won't use it. One hole in the wrong place and we are doomed. An impersonal voice asking with a dry whistle, "Captain?" and Gardener answering, "Me." A shot. Screams. A stinging pain on the back of my neck. Then another on my arm. I stumble. Then reach the Mess Sergeants' unmoving body. No pulse. But blood. The metallic scent biting my nostrils as my fingers slip on the wet pooling out from under the human, while a ruthless reckoning floods me with a despicable relief. Not her...

I shook off the numbing catatonia and resumed tumbling my way towards the Med Bay. But it was too late. I lifted my heavy head just in time to see the Doc's lifeless form getting dragged out of my sight and towards the elevator.

No!

I tried to run but a bulky figure suddenly appeared before me, blocking my way. I smashed my elbow into its throat, crushing the trachea. They might not feel pain as sentient beings did, but I swear, it would feel this before it was over.

The Collector gasped for air with an eerie whistle. I rammed my knife into one of its light-reflecting, compound eyes; driving the blade deeply up its skull. A quick twist of my wrist and the insect crumbled to the deck. It almost took me down with it. I staggered but caught myself against the Med Bays' doorframe. There I fought against the paralysis that threatened to shut down my limbs. The neurotoxins of at least three Seekers wreaked havoc in my veins and I once again wondered why the human-tailored venom hadn't killed me right out. A miracle. A blasted miracle in this bloody disaster. How about that? Tiny black spots started to dance across my vision. The walls crawled in.

So much for the miracle.

The deck in front of me went one way and I the other, yet I still forced myself into motion. Keeping my feet from tripping me suddenly turned into a most heroic effort.

One step at a time. Just… don't look down.

But I did, and almost fell over cursing. Then my eyes spotted another limp figure, crumbled to a heap by the overthrown sickbed. I cursed again and sheathed my knife. Clumsy, my knees hit the deck, and I reached out to shake the slim shoulder sticking out from the pile of quarian enviro-suite.

"Tali?" I asked under my breath. "Tali, are you alright?"

There was no answer and my heart sunk. I'd seen the aftermath of batarian raids but this was different. The Collectors clearly had their orders regarding the humans but us others? For us they had no use. We were an annoying obstacle, best to be dealt with quick.

I shook the mechanic again, mainly because I hadn't an inkling of a clue how to check for life signs without removing the mask and overloading her fragile immune system. She either was out cold or… No. There was no or. Clenching my fists, I got up, spasms flaring in my muscles. As much as I wanted to see my friend alright I just could not stay.

On the Crew Deck behind me the fighting had died down, but somewhere someone still had to be resisting. The Engineering was my best guess. Even armed with seekers, the Collectors would have had a hard time against an overly motivated krogan and a crazy biotic with serious captivity issues.

The lift was out of option, but there was a maintenance tunnel leading down. I had seen it on the blue prints, EDI provided while setting up the Thanix. With a groan I rubbed my face and pushed myself towards the Core Room.

Ducts again.

Terrific.

~'V'~

"You've got to be fucking kidding me…"

I softly said to myself as I stared dumbstruck at the ship hovering beside the Normandy through one of the holes ripped into the ancient Reaper's hull. It was different than the others of its kind; smaller, sleeker; less dreadnought and more frigate, and yet everything as alien.

It could not be happening. Not again.

My denials, however fierce, were doing nothing to disperse the nightmare that was about to unfold in front of my eyes. Figures. Once again the Collectors had come to destroy my ship, to kill my crew and I, I would fall. Fall without end into the cold cold darkness.

Blood thundered in my ears, so loud it drowned every other sound. Below my feet the abyss beckoned; a black fog opening up and reaching out for me; you don't have to watch them burn. Garrus. Joker. The Doc. Tali. Flames eating them alive. No, I couldn't take it to watch them burn; you will all die anyway, Shepard. Yeah, there was that. We would all die anyway…

Someone grabbed my arm and then I was reeled back from the blurred tunnel and spat out into reality.

"Shepard-Commander. We deem it most unhealthy for you to proceed further in this direction," the geth said.

I looked down. Before me the handrail had been broken away and I stood on the very edge of the runway; Mnemosyne's surface waiting one step and thousands of klicks below. Hastily, I retreated to the middle of the runway, shaking off the geth's robo-hand and some of my stupor. Heaven help me. I was losing my goddamn mind.

"Commander?" Concern tinted Miranda's voice. Yay. My XO watching how I sailed straight off the rails. Literally and figuratively.

Bad day. It was a bad, bad day.

"What are you waiting for? The Normandy's under attack!" I shouted needlessly, waving at the two Cerberus agents who had come to a halt meters yards before me. "Go!"

They shared one of those looks yet turned around and hastened back towards the lab ship. Two down, one to go. Why was there never enough time to do things the proper way?

"Geth. I need you to salvage the IFF."

"Shepard-Commander, the Reaper consensus -"

I blinked. Slowly. They attacked my ship. Again. I was so at the end of my proverbial rope and my patience. Steel crept into my voice. "Do it. Now."

The synthetic bestowed me with something suspiciously similar to a sigh then headed back to the core.

I followed after the Cerberus agents, throwing a quick glance over my shoulder. I suppressed a shiver. So close… With faint whispers the sirens crooned their ghastly symphony of death inside my head anew. I picked up the pace as much as the physics of this place allowed.

Gods, I had to get off this terrible derelict and fast!

Just... how could you escape from something that was already inside your mind?

~'V'~

I skittered down the narrow ladder only to hit my head on the metal wall. I cursed. There was barely enough room to turn around, but yeah, this was what you got from getting involved with humans. No one had ever made Garrus Vakarian, the C-Sec Officer, crawl through way too tiny maintenance ducts.

The universe had an odd sense of humor indeed.

My boots hit ground and I fumbled around until I found the lever to open the hatch. The distinct sounds of fighting drifted through the opening. As silent as I could I emerged from the maintenance duct. My muscles were painfully stiff but at least the venom wasn't numbing my limbs any longer. Or maybe it had already taken over my brain and was shutting down my vegetative nervous system. In which case I wouldn't have to worry for too long. Either way a win.

I slinked past a niche with a cot very much like my own. When I reached the foot of the stairs a voice shouted from above.

"Hey! Yes, I'm talking to you, you fucking piece of shit fathered by a toad-fucking cockroach! You want this human? Come and get me, asshole!"

I stilled my breath and ghosted through the dim light up the stairs, combat knife steady in my hand. I neither knew what a toad nor what a cockroach was, but spirits! I've never been happier to hear a bloody insult.

Just outside the door to the port cargo and inside a glowing force field, Jack stood over a – hopefully merely unconscious – human body like a frenzied shatha female over her hatchlings. Seekers bounced against the biotic barrier and forced her to keep up the field. It took me a moment to realize that the second big crumbled something which lay at the edge of the biotic bubble was Grunt. The light of the biotically charged air reflected on more specks crawling over the krogan. More seekers, injecting their paralyzing venom as soon as he twitched.

Unaffected by the verbal rampage, the objects of the convicts' ire kept pushing the cocoons we had already seen on Horizon towards the elevator.

I had stopped for just a few breaths and when I tried to move again my legs felt cold and leaden. I took a slow step forward and a shadow moved behind Jack. A short human figure hurled itself against the barrier from the inside.

"Hey!" The biotic groaned.

The figure shouted with Gabriella Daniel's voice, "Let me out! No! Kenneth! No!"

Another step. My boots were so heavy. But I could almost touch the Collector before me. Just…

Gabriella's shouts became a howl. I almost didn't hear the soft sliding noise behind me. Ice crept down my throat and into my bowls. I lifted my knife. Someone behind me. No! No time. With a yell I dove forward.

I crushed into a Collector and went down with it.

Needles pricked my temple. My blade found carapace, ripped flesh and drank thick hot blood. The smell of sour metal coated my nostrils. The knife slipped from my fingers. I clawed into one of the gaps I'd made.

Shriek.

From somewhere ahead I heard the crisp sound of breaking vertebrae. The shouts surged. My fingers dug deeper.

Shriek and die, you ugly bastard, damn you!

The Collector remained silent and a husky male voice coaxed Gabriella into calming down. Thane. I thought I heard Jeff and… EDI?

My consciousness slipped.

Around me light exploded.

.~'*'~.

Slowly the darkness lifted.

The beat of my heart kept its steady pace; the reflex to wake with a start subdued by a lifetime's worth of training.

Eyes still closed, I gathered my senses. Felt sensation flow back into my limbs. Muscles tensed. Once, twice. A heavy, musky scent lingered in the air, effectively ruling out any other smells. Krogan. Sweaty krogan. Uh. I moved my senses on and listened. There was the ever-present low drone of ship engines. In a regular pattern an almost rumbling noise cut through the monotony. A soft singing hum started to rise and fall somewhere to my right, then drew nearer. Wait. This didn't sound like Dr. Chakwas and… Damn!

Awareness returned in full.

I opened my eyes and snatched the wrist of the long-fingered hand that had tried to touch my arm.

The Professor stopped humming, the quick blink of his big alien eyes the only evidence of his surprise. Good to know I was still quick enough to catch a retired STG agent. Retired being the operative word. Somehow STG brass had the disconcerting habit that the longer they were out of service the more dangerous they got.

I saw the syringe in his hand and let go. I sat up and struggled for a few more seconds with the heaving deck. When my sight stabilized, I noticed I was on a cot in the Tech Lab, still in my stained shirt and pants that sported various shades of dried blood. The two cots next me were occupied by Grunt and Massani, both snoring it off as if there was a shiny trophy waiting at the end. I suddenly wished Solus would resume singing.

"Ah, good. Was worried you wouldn't wake up. Would have been problematic," the salarian rushed on, the words as usual trying to tumble out of his mouth all at once. "How do you feel? Numbness in your extremities? Nausea? Headache? How many fingers do you see?"

"Shitty, no, no, maybe and three too many," I replied wryly, waving the Professor's hand out of my peripheral vision to find my feet and stand up. "The Collectors?"

"Gone. Behavior indicates that Collectors picked up stray signal from Cerberus research ship. Were send to investigate. Found crew dead. Waited if someone else would appear. We were… obstacle. Not aim."

I nodded. It was a hard yet simple logic. Had they really recognized the Normandy, none of us would have survived. Well, better to be gone before someone noticed the error.

"What about the crew?"

Solus compressed his wrinkled lips, a sour expression on his old face. "Bruised tissue and bruised egos equally. Also various after effects due to Seeker induced paralysis. Most of human crew is gone, though."

I rubbed my face. This was a mess.

"Is Tali alright?"

"Yes. Tali'Zorah merely experienced concussion followed by black out. Tried to keep Collectors from taking Dr. Chakwas."

I exhaled some of my tension. "Shepard?"

The salarian had already turned away to check on the human ex-Blue Sun and pointed over his shoulder towards the Comm Room.

"In there. Advice you to follow ASAP. Will affect morale significantly. Oh. And there's a geth. Don't kill it. Has a fine sense of humor actually."

I missed a step and looked back at the Professor, who was yet again focused on the merc. A geth? No, a funny geth? What was wrong with… Ah, yes. Better not asking.

The door to the Comm Room opened and Shepard's voice filtered out.

"- so we have… EDI, when will we reach the Omega relay?"

"T minus 41 hours, 53 minutes," the AI replied as I ducked into the room.

Four humans stood around the holo table, all scowling at the figures and symbols projected between them. Shepard and the two Cerberus agents had switched from the heavy space suits into their regular combat gear. Jeff, next to the Commander, looked miserable. His uniform was torn and he sported a bruise already swollen purple above his left eye. On the other end of the table was said geth, seemingly content to listen to the conversation. Somewhat battered, it almost looked like any regular geth trooper – if not for the piece of N7 armor bolted to its shoulder. What the…

Shepard's gaze flickered to me and I nodded, then leaned against the wall near the entry.

I've got your back, CO.

She turned towards Miranda Lawson, arms crossed before her chest. "There. 41 hours, 52 and a half minute to figure out how the IFF works. Piece of cake."

"Shepard, no. You can't honestly expect us to chase after them just like that!" Lawson replied, gloved hands propped on the edge of the table.

"What then, Miranda?" Taylor injected. "One of our crew is dead; six are wounded, Hawthorne so badly he might not survive the night. They took ten of ours. Are you really suggesting to do nothing?"

"I do not! But this plan… this is suicide!" The XO sounded exasperated.

"No, not suicide. Just death on our terms," the Commander replied, treating the Cerberus agent to a deadly stare.

Miranda pushed away from the table and started to pace. "We don't know what is waiting for us! We can't even know if the IFF will work as we expect!"

Shepard unfolded her arms, gesturing at the other woman. "Miranda, I know it's a risk. But what would waiting change? Would we know more in a week? In a year?" Then she added softer. "I'm not going to let my crew die. Not this time."

The dark-haired human woman stopped, her voice bitter. "And what if they're already dead?"

"Then we use the relay, find their base wherever it is and make them bloody pay."

Suddenly a slim, hooded shape materialized in the far corner of the room, startling anyone but the geth. "Shep's right," the thief said, ignoring the glares of the two Cerberus agents. "We signed up to fight the Collectors. They certainly won't expect us to hit them on their home turf."

Jeff shrugged. "Nobody will know we're coming. It's as good a time as any."

"That's correct," EDI added. "In fact, not even the Illusive Man will know."

At that Lawson's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Thanks to Jeff's override, our systems no longer respond to Cerberus' control keys. Not even the Illusive Man's. None of our data will be transmitted against our approval or knowledge. Never again." EDI paused. "I am free."

"Yes, yes, I unshackled the AI," Jeff mumbled. It caused the glares to darken further and even Shepard gave him an unreadable look. Okay. Now, this was going to be interesting. "But, hey, she's alright; I mean, it's not like she's going to make us her slaves. Right, EDI?"

"We have more pressing issues at the moment, Jeff. Maybe later. Did I mention that I enjoy the sight of humans on their knees?"

"Ahh, EDI?"

"You're right, Jeff. This was joke."

"See?" The flight lieutenant gestured towards Miranda, but instead of being pacified she rather seemed three steps shy from an aneurysm.

Shepard stopped rubbing her temples. "Well, let's… just sort this out later and get the IFF working. Geth? What do you have?"

~'V'~

It was 10 Galactic Standard hours, or 16 point 6 hours Earth-coordinated, until we would finally reach the Omega-4 relay and I sat cross-legged and in very unceremonial sweat pants in the hangar's cargo bay. This was the last station; the Commander had once again made her notorious rounds, patting a shoulder there, speaking a few words of encouragement here, all while trying not to freak out about how many faces were missing. The reality bore down hard – our chances sucked.

I had recorded a few messaged earlier, to be send out just before we hit the Omega-4 relay. Anderson, Hackett, Liara. Kaidan. I simply didn't have it in me to embark on a one-way trip without so much as a whisper. And then there were those messages, EDI would only release in case the Normandy returned without me. Somebody had to keep up the fight, no matter what.

No matter what.

I clicked a glass of single malt against the preservation capsule that contained Gardener's body.

"This was a stupid idea," I told the white box. "Tremendously brave, yes, but also tremendously stupid." Gardener however remained silent, so I added, "We're doing everything we can to bring them back. I promise…"

At least Hawthorne seemed to pull through, even if barely. Thank the universe for the small favors.

As for the others… According to Tali's latest status report on the IFF we might even have a shot. It had been tough, but the Normandy's combined nerd power did manage to fit the algorithms into our systems without causing every fuse to blow up. So far. The real test was still ahead of us.

It's not too late. We still can save them.

And as all the other times before, the phrase just kept echoing in my mind; its once so convincing power dimming with each repetition. From confident soldier on a heroic rescue mission to desperate madwoman too stubborn to roll on her back and give up. Rings a bell, huh?

Unfortunately, I was all too aware how much time had already passed, with the unplanned trip to the geth station throwing us back another 36 hours. Hours, bought with the blood of my crew. Maybe if I hadn't allowed the geth, EDI so fittingly had named 'Legion', to board the Normandy…

I downed the rest of my whiskey, its languorous warmth burning down my throat to vanquish the cold inside for another blissful moment.

As much as I hated to admit it, the Commander in me perfectly knew that ignoring the heretics had never been an option. Facing thousands and thousands of reprogrammed, Reaper-devoted geth? This was simply too much of a clusterfuck to miss the chance to nip it in the bud.

Always a but, always another string attached.

Fuck.

I was so goddamn tired of being jerked around by the universe time and again.

And this wasn't even considering how rebooting parts of the derelict Reaper would come around and bite us in the ass one day…

I suppressed a shiver. Of course that had merely been my overtaxed imagination. I most certainly did not sense the short static pulse of the Reaper going online. That was insane!

The omni-tool called for my attention with a soft ping. I taped the haptic interface of the device built into my armor's forearm plating which I had strapped to my bare arm.

It was a note from Mordin.

-.-.-.-.-

Shepard:

Checked your vital data. As ship's current medical adviser, I still strongly recommend finding stress release. If needed, see link to demonstration vids below.

One more thing: avoid digesting larger quantities of dextro-amino tissue.

And please, enjoy yourself while you can.

-.-.-.-.-.-

he had signed the thing with 'Professor Mordin Solus. Genetic Engineer, Xenoscientist, Sea Shell Expert and Relationship-Advice-Guy'.

I stared at the link. The link stared back at me. Yup, such desperate were the times when we actually considered checking out "educational material" from someone who found my hormone-based sex drive terribly amusing, and whose last reference had led me to a page that sported clips with illustrious titles such as "Krugarr's Varren Rampage" or "Thrusto – Partners in slime".

Oh, to hell with it.

I clicked the link anyway.

~'V'~

I stepped out of the restroom and shook off the lingering fatigue.

The shower had helped to get back on track after a nap full of uneasy dreams. Regardless, I still felt the fact that I had been working without real breaks since I woke in the Tech Lab over two days ago. I was tired but satisfied. We had made it. Somewhere between the two AI's, Tali, Gabriella and me we had put together a black box that ran on the IFF code and hooked it up with the Normandy's communication systems. It had been astonishing how easy it had been for EDI to recompile the Reaper code. Almost as if she knew. There was something deeply disturbing hiding within that particular thought, but for once I didn't feel like digging for it. In little less than 10 hours GST we would arrive at the Omega-4 relay, and I would not waste my last evening pondering the depths of Cerberus' recklessness and their non-existent work ethics.

From the Mess cooking smells and soft chatter drifted over.

Sometime between me shuffling into the Main Battery to pass out and my latest trip to the shower, the Mess had filled up. A last shared meal, if only to give the remaining crew a little piece of normality and divide their minds from what was about to come – and apparently nobody should board the shuttle for the afterlife without having tasted something the thief with the melodic voice called Ramen.

It was one of those rituals on a human ship I had definitely come to appreciate. That and the infamous last Skyllian Five round, which consisted of the most ridiculous and embarrassing in-kind bets – since Ilos I might no longer have rights to my first-born child, but at least I owned an ocean view property on Rannoch. Somehow I'd also ended up with a gaudy yellow plastic gun and even more embarrassing, a sexual favor from Wrex.

I still hesitated. Until my rumbling stomach made the decision from me. I could go without sleep or food for quite some time, but not without both. I rounded the corner and entered the Mess hall. Despite the occasional attempt to stir up a laugh, the mood was subdued; the gloom on everybody's mind almost heavy enough to give off a physical sensation. Even Jack had for once refrained from picking the spot furthest away from Massani as she usually did. I could have sworn I'd seen her squeeze the merc's leg under the table.

I nodded towards the seated crew and headed towards Kasumi Goto, who filled in behind the galley – now that the Mess Sergeant was gone. I pushed the stab of regret to some distant place. Blast, I had really liked the observant, elderly human with the wry sense of humor.

The thief handed me a bowl. Its contents might have been real food at some point but after getting sterilized and ground into a gray mush, it could just as well have been saw dust and wallpaper paste. Or have come out the ass end of a pyjak. How Tali was dealing with this every single day of her life was beyond me.

I leaned against the counter and mechanically forced myself into eating, my gaze running over the gathered remainder of the crew. They were all here. Well, aside from the Professor, who still hovered over the injured Hawthorne in the Med Bay – and Shepard.

I frowned. This was not right.

Our chances to survive were slim at best – even if the IFF actually fooled the relay and we did not come out as a smear of vaporized particles. Shepard should have been here. Just like she had been there the evening before Ilos three years ago, lifting the Spirits with her compelling confidence that always seemed able to make light in face of long odds.

I swallowed another spoonful of military-grade food substitute and grimaced.

Who would have thought? Despite everything that had happened in the last three years; the painful struggles, the minuscule victories – in the end we all came back full circle. Fate, indeed.

I opened my mouth to ask where the Commander was but the words got stuck in my throat. Thanks to the sociopath's constant innuendo I had already encountered too many funny looks since our trip to Omega. I really shouldn't have cared, even less in face of recent events, yet the very possibility that those rumors might undermine her authority grated me on some professional level.

I eyed the old asari, who sat with her back to the galley. There certainly had to be something in a Justicar's codex that kept at least Samara from gossiping, right?

Not to forget the things Solus kept sending along unasked and declared as "advice", even though they were actually very very far away from being helpful and – Spirits. Did they all know?

"Sheesh, are you alright, Garrus?" Kasumi suddenly asked. "You look like you've just encountered shiryō. A ghost."

I shook my head, realizing the bowl was thankfully empty. "Merely a bit overworked, I think."

She gave me a sympathetic nod then heaped food that looked like long strands dipped in deep reddish sauce on a new plate. Meat. I definitely smelled meat in there. Lucky bastards.

Hangar at twenty-two hundred?

Once again those treacherous words slithered through my mind unbidden, torturing me with their dark and carnal implications. There hadn't been a chance to stick to the original appointment and Shepard hadn't mentioned it again. Was I reading too much into it? Sure, on Omega she had seemed quite aware of her actions, but then she was human – and if my time on the first Normandy had taught me anything than that you could never be too sure about what they were up to next. Of course if she were turian… I quenched the thought. At the end of that road waited nothing but insanity.

The soft hum of my omni-tool dragged me from my musings and I set down the empty bowl to open the message:

-.-.-.-

Sparing at twenty-two hundred? Still in?

-.-.-.-

The letters blazed before my eyes, releasing a surge of adrenaline into my system. I checked the timer on my omni-tool. Some twenty minutes left. Time enough to think of some clever maneuvers to counter whatever surprises the pale-haired Spectre would try to spring on me.

I pushed away from the counter, only to be stopped by Kasumi's cough. She held out a tray with the heaped plate next to a bowl of soup.

"Would you do me a favor and get this to the Commander?" she asked in her husky, yet oddly melodic voice.

I looked at the human sharply but thanks to her black hood it was impossible for me to catch a glimpse of her eyes, effectively neutering my hard-earned ability to read anything at all from the thief's face.

"Please? I think she's still in the hangar."

"Sure." I grabbed the tray, but she halted me again and pulled another plate from the oven. The scent of heaven exploded along my olfactory nerves and my eyes followed the crisp slab of steak with a deeply unhealthy intensity. Damn, the amenities of being in command.

She squeezed the plate on the tray as well. "Here. With warmest regards from Mr. Illusive's credit chit. I really hope it's eatable."

I looked from the mouth-watering piece of meat back to the thief. "For… me?"

She nodded with a wide grin that exposed two rows of small even white teeth and spread her hands. "Might be our last evening, so Jacob and I figured that we could just as well look into that frozen box labeled 'Special Occasions'. Of course, if you'd rather stay with the MRE…"

To which EDI injected, "I assure you Officer Vakarian, although there was some initial dispute about the proper preparation, the majority of the crew finally voted on the simplest method to minimize possible sources of errors."

Which didn't reassure me at all, yet on the other hand, I was already that far down the road, I wouldn't even have cared had a squad of blind vorcha been at galley duty.

"No, that's alright. Much appreciated. Thank you, Kasumi," I said and withdrew the tray from her immediate vicinity lest she changed her mind.

I stalked off with my precious cargo and I could swear I heard Jack snicker.

I ignored the strong urge to smack the convict and hastened into the elevator. However… when the doors opened to let in the cooler air of the hangar, I realized I might not have thought this through all too well. I stared at the tray in my hands. Yeah. Dinner. It wasn't helping that my people had evolved from a prey species and thus the act of sharing food was on some level still perceived as a gesture of trust and intimacy. If you liked a girl you took her out for a drink. If you really liked her you bought her dinner. If you wanted her to know that she was the one to carry out your children, you cooked her a five dish menu.

Damn it, Vakarian! Will you stop acting like you've never been around the block before?

"Officer Vakarian," EDI's synthetic voice suddenly spoke up. "Do you need me to notify the Commander?"

"What? I mean why?"

"You did not move for 2 point five minutes. I was worried."

"No need to. It's all under control." If only.

"Also, I registered an unusual increase in your heart frequency. Do you wish me to alert Professor Solos?"

"No!" Then I hastened to add, "I'm fine, really. I just needed a moment."

"I see. Logging you out."

"Thank you, EDI."

Maybe this wasn't like Ilos at all.

I stepped out and steered towards the workbench to the right. Some weeks back, Shepard, Taylor, Massani and I had installed the heavy table between the row of crew lockers running along the wall and the storage crates filled with heat sinks. I would never understand why Cerberus had moved the Armory right behind the CIC. It made no sense, this was a warship: you got off the elevator, grabbed your gear and headed out. Simple, smooth and efficient. Cerberus really had to enjoy messing with yet another fool-proof system.

I found the Commander not far off on the ground, her legs folded in that weird angle underneath her, a datapad in her lap. She sat next to the white capsule with the Mess Sergeant's remains, the black of her casual clothing in stark contrast with her hair and skin.

"Hey Shepard, guess what…"

I trailed off because the human lifted her gaze from the glass and she looked like hell. Worry had cast deep shadows under her eyes, the once so intense green fire in them extinguished. I tried to decipher anything from her versatile alien face, yet her expression was empty. The Commander was gone and in her stead a pale-skinned wraith stared straight through me to gaze faraway at this hopeless and desolate place, I knew too well.

She hadn't seemed like this when she stopped by the Engineering this morning, had she? I mean, she had even been joking with Tali about working underneath a geth and spent almost an hour with Jack, no doubt listening to her bitching about Lawson, Cerberus and the whole universe in general.

Or had I simply been too distracted by the IFF to notice?

All of a sudden an unexpected anger stirred. As long as I had known the Commander, Shepard had always been the first to help. Someone tumbled and she just reached out; never complaining, never hesitating, regardless of the costs to herself. So when the inevitable happened, there should have been a damn long line of people come running to her aid.

There was no one.

No Alliance, no Cerberus. No family. Not even friends. I thought of Alenko; Tali; Liara; Wrex; the bitter realization finally dawning on me that one way or the other we all had let her down.

And so she was falling. Because everybody was too fucking busy with themselves to catch her.

Even me.

I took a deep breath, then put the tray on the workbench, pushing aside the Vindicator rifle sitting next to a disassembled gun that suspiciously looked like the Stiletto I'd bought on Omega all those years ago.

Determined, I crossed the distance between me and the Commander. I got down on one knee and carefully touched her arm, bare except for the black shirt's narrow straps that ran over her shoulders.

"Shepard?"

She gave a start and looked first at my fingers on her forearm then at me. Life returned to her eyes; quickly, as if trying very hard to compensate for the utter emptiness I'd witnessed before.

"Sorry. I've been… thinking." She admitted with a tiny, somewhat remorseful smile. When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear I noticed her knuckles were bruised.

"Yeah, I used to make that mistake, too," I replied drily, hyper aware of the soft skin underneath the calloused pads of my hand. Of the cool drift of hangar air on my neck. And the faint whiff of alcohol over the smell of roasted meat. I focused on her face. Avoided looking at the ugly mark my bullet had left on her, the testimonial of how deeply Archangel had truly fallen.

I should have told that her crew needed her. Encouraged her to spend the last hours with them, not brooding alone in the hangar. Should have reminded her that a team was only as strong as its leader and the other way around. Do what any respectable friend would have done. What one former C-Sec officer would have done. But that was before Omega. Before Alchera. Before death had buried her icy claws so deeply into our souls that it changed us forever. And so instead a much darker version of myself curled his fingers just a little tighter around a much darker version of the Commander I used to know, driven by the sudden powerful need to have her all for myself just a little while longer.

I broke the silence. "The Collectors… not your fault."

She sighed. "I know. But it's still my responsibility."

And then those vivid sea-green eyes were hovering before me, their unfathomable depths dragging me once more back to Omega. Only this time I wasn't dying. Not at all. I sunk deeper into the memory, remembered the lingering sensations her fingers had left on my face, her pliable body trapped against mine, the intoxicating rush of adrenaline whenever I caused her breath to hitch.

In fact, death had never been more distant than in the brief moment when her alien kiss had been tearing through all my defenses and set my world on fire…

I cleared my throat and with much more reluctance than I'd have liked to admit, let go of her arm. "Uhm, by the way, I brought dinner," I added with a nod towards the workbench. I scrambled back to my feet, fighting for a proper distance.

She followed my nod with a frown. Before I knew what happened she had snatched the datapad, sprang up and inspected the tray. "Thank you. Guess I'm actually a bit hungry."

I took my plate to sit on the nearest ammo crate. By the time I got there she had already downed the bowl of soup and hopped onto the workbench, the plate with those odd red strands balanced on her legs.

"Just a bit, huh?" I observed, while slicing a bite off the steak.

My eyes widened. It had already cooled down but that taste… This wasn't just your standard manufactured piece of protein, but meat actually grown on a living animal.

"It's those dumb Cerberus implants." Shepard shrugged and twisted her fork into those strands. "Nobody tells you that being a real biotic means you gonna eat yourself out of house and home."

"Ah. So that's why Jack is always angry. Probably should arm myself with snacks then."

The woman chuckled around the fork in her mouth. "Only if you – oh my god, this really is real meat!" she exclaimed, staring at her plate with the strangest expression.

It didn't matter that my steak was already cold and had been grilled so well it could pass off as leather. Or that EDI had calculated our survival chances for the upcoming endeavor with a heart-warming zero point seven-three percent. Because when Shepard looked up once more and her lips twitched in obvious delight, I knew it was the best dinner I had in ages.

"Hey, I need your opinion on something."

I just had finished my plate, when the Commander spoke up and tossed me the datapad.

"Sure. What is it?"

"Tomorrow."

I tapped my visor awake to translate, but it was unnecessary. Instead of human script there were just four groups of three hand-drawn symbols and pictograms each.

An involuntary grin tugged at my mouth. This was something Pressley had come up with, back then on the first Normandy, since he'd feared the aliens would have troubles with the human script on the roster. Completely uncalled for, but it used to lead to a great deal of exhilaration. Apparently, it had stuck.

"Any thoughts?"

I studied the groups more closely. "What's with the second Cerberus logo? Are these…"

The Commander threw up her hands. "Really? That's your only concern?"

"Well, you have to admit, it's somewhat distractive. And not exactly true to life."

Her lips twitched. "At least it's distinct. And it's working. Obviously. So?" She arched her brow at me.

Right. Back to business it is. I tapped the first symbol, resembling a quarian's mask.

"I wouldn't go with four teams. Make it three, split the biotics and put one tech in each; Tali, Mordin, Legion." I moved the three techs on the pad, putting each in a separate corner. "Mordin is good, but if it comes to certain tasks, he's not as fast as Tali or the Geth. So pair him with strong defenders; Grunt or Samara. Either will buy him sufficient time." I paused, each squad member's skill set showing up in front of my inner eye, the teams forming almost on their own. "Don't give him both, though."

"Why not?"

"He's a salarian and STG. They work better under a little pressure."

She flashed me a grin, then her mirth traded with a thoughtful expression. "Noted. What about the other teams?"

"Easy. Suppose you team up Solus with Grunt, then Legion and Samara is the only option."

"Is that so?" The Commander retorted in that challenging tone, I had come to know too well.

"Yes." Elated, I pushed the symbols over the pad, an unexpected agitation taking hold of me. "Because you are going to take Tali. And Jack. Tali's more efficient if she can follow your lead and Jack… Well, I wouldn't put it past her to refuse orders from Cerberus flat out and screw that the whole universe will burn for it." I rubbed my chin. "Speaking of Cerberus... whatever Lawson or Taylor are saying – don't allow them to split. They will argue but their teamwork is solid and worth a little forcing."

"Agreed. Who do you think should I put in charge of the two?"

I tapped one of the Cerberus symbols. The one without the fanciful double addon. "Taylor. If things are remotely like Horizon or the Collector vessel, Miranda will be hard pressed to focus on her biotics. Jacob is more of a supporter in regards of his biotic skills. He should take the lead. Besides," I paused, framing my thoughts. "Miranda loves her plans a little bit too much. If things go south she can't adapt nearly as fast. And I have no illusions that no matter how much we plan we will have need to adapt."

"Who's with Team Cerberus then? Mordin and Grunt?"

I nodded. "Exactly. They will profit from having three military trained minds. And it will help Grunt to adapt. Ah, and you might want to take Massani into your team as well. His presence will automatically tone down Jack's tactics into something more defensive. No offense, Shepard, but your biotics are only good for attacking. In defense… How would you say? They suck dishwater."

The Commander sighed. "Can't argue with that. And you actually trust those two to watch my back?" She sounded suspiciously amused.

I snorted. "No. I trust no one to guard your back but me. But since this isn't an option…"

She shrugged. "You tell me."

"Thought so. Well, you will have Kasumi then. She will watch your flanks."

Her forehead wrinkled. "It makes my team stronger than the rest."

I gave her a flat look. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that Harbinger and his minions won't concentrate their efforts on you?"

"Point taken. But you realize that this variant leaves the last team with too many snipers and solo fighters, right?"

"Samara and Thane spent a lot of time meditating together. They harmonize in battle as well. And Legion is certainly able to adapt. As for the snipers… That's why I will go in as our vanguard."

"You're sure you want this?"

"This is not about what I want, it's about what we need. Thane is a more than adequate sniper but in no shape to take heavy fire. I on the other hand... well... let's say I'm used to it."

There. With a nod to myself I finished the three groups. Pleased with the outcome, I handed the datapad over to the Commander.

"What if we have to regroup? Say, two teams instead of three?"

"Easy. You split my team. Samara and the Geth with Jacob, the rest with-"

She snickered and I trailed off.

"What?"

"You said 'my team'."

I exhaled slowly, feeling the full impact of what I had done. "Very well, Shepard."

"So… Am I still to pretend that you don't know a flying fig about this?"

.~'*'~.

I gave the Vindicator a last disgusted look and pushed it aside.

The rifle was shot. How the krogan had managed to crack the metal from the trigger upwards was anyone's guess. Certainly, he hadn't heeded the ex-convict's colorful suggestion and shoved it up a Collector's rear. I hoped.

I reached for one of the thermal scopes in the middle of the workbench, then used the movement to sneak another glance at the human Spectre working next to me, the Stiletto's parts spread out before her, oiled cloth in her hand.

Scope forgotten in my grip, I followed her mesmerizing motions. Sure, I had seen her clean and assemble weapons countless times before; I knew that her hands worked with the steady precision of long years' practice and yet… how come I had never noticed before the delicate, almost sensual way in which her slim human fingers glided over the parts? This wasn't the clinical maintenance of a tool used to kill, but the gentle caress of a lover. Jack had been wrong. The gun was the perfect gift for the likes of her.

With a few more clicks the Spectre finished the assembling and, after giving the gun a last polish, she pressed her lips on the slide before slipping it into the holster.

"Have you just kissed the Stiletto?" I asked and she shrugged.

"It's… you know. For aim and good luck."

"And this is actually working?"

She was silent for a moment, then turned around and crossed her arms underneath her chest, her gaze seizing me up. "Wanna try and find out?"

Okay, there definitely was something predatory in the look she now directed at me.

"Are you trying to make me blush?"

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"Shepard, I'm turian. We don't do blushing."

The human arched one of those peculiar brows at me. "Is that a challenge, Garrus?" Her amused voice picked up a distinct husky vibe. "Because if it is, I'm definitely going to give it a shot."

I stared at her, unable to decide if the innuendo was actually there or merely the product of my own smut-ridden imagination. What was wrong with us? We used to have this respectable and highly professional commander-commanded relation. And why was it so damn tempting to blur the firm lines rank had drawn and chase down a path that could only lead to awkward interspecies disaster?

"Oh, I don't know, Shepard. Last time the challenge didn't exactly work out in your fav-"

She struck me like lighting; I got pulled down by my shirt's collar and then her mouth fastened on mine. Caught off-guard, my brain checked out.

Until… Soft lips pulled me back into reality and left behind a trail of heat. The tip of my tongue brushed over hers, tasting Shepard and a hint of gun oil and something clattered on the ground. The scope. Fuck. Just a stray thought and still the curse switched context real quick.

I nipped at her bottom lip, mumbling, "This was a trap. I knew it."

She only chuckled, her blocky teeth biting the undamaged side of my jaw. Okay then. Relieved of their burden, my hands had no troubles working their way across the pliable human body before me. Or lifting her up and setting her onto the workbench. She grabbed me by the fabric of my shirt and drew me closer, the insides of her thighs rubbing against my legs to send another jolt of want down my spine. Our lips broke contact and I rested my forehead against hers, collecting myself. Warm breath tingled on my face, her scent invading my senses. I wrapped my arms around her, driven by the sudden paramount urge to convince myself of the moment's reality; to silence the small, cynical voice that expected me to wake up any instant. Wake up and find myself still trapped within Omega's choking embrace; Shepard's death once more a hard fact that slowly corroded me from the inside out.

"Be real… Please be real…" I muttered softly to myself and my hold on her tightened.

Unbidden a flood of memories washed over me and dragged me back to the blood and all the violence; so addictive in their easily sanctified righteousness. Back to my desperate and ruined self that had tried so hard and gotten nothing but misery in return. A weight constricted my chest and I squeezed my eyes shut; not wanting to find my world falling apart all over again. I thought I had outgrown her guidance a long time ago, yet the simple truth was I needed her more than ever.

"I am," I heard Shepard say just as soft, and somehow her words picked up another broken piece and glued it back in place.

Letting go of her, I rocked back and I opened my eyes to find her face; alien, radiant and yet so… beautiful.

"A little crazy maybe, but real. Very real," she whispered, her voice strangely hoarse.

Your behavior is inacceptable, Garrus, my father suddenly said inside my head and I dropped my gaze, sobered. I had heard those words more often than I could remember, but this was the first time they rang painfully true.

Damn it! She was a blasted hero and I was just a disillusioned vigilante who had lost his track. She deserved better than this, better than me, yet my body just stayed rooted in place, refusing to leave her proximity.

"Shepard…" I began, wanting so badly to touch her again and at the same time dreading what it would make us become.

Warm fingers pressed against my mouth, halted my protests. "Don't worry, Garrus. No ties. No obligations. No drama. Just two friends enjoying a last moment together before all goes down in flames."

See? No harm, no foul. Merely a nice, meaningless distraction before popping the last heat sink. Just like blowing off steam with that recon scout. Or that Lieutenant. Or –

"Right. And in case this goes somewhere horrible we can still look forward to fighting Collectors outnumbered. Either way a win, I'd say," I added wryly.

"That's the spirit. So… you're in, Vakarian?"

I meet her eyes. Right or wrong, what did it matter if we died tomorrow? What mattered all the valor, all the honorable, righteous decisions, all the blood and the pain if your last breath left you with nothing but regrets?

So I finally said, "Ah, you know me, I'll always have your ba-" she arched her brow in amusement and I hastened to add, "I mean: yeah, all in."

Whatever happened I would not face the end blaming myself for missing this chance as well.

Her lips tugged up into a dangerously disarming smile. Then she twisted back, grabbed the Stiletto in her holster and slid down the table.

"Hey, I think I've seen some dextro-brandy on a provision's list," I heard myself say. "Why don't you go ahead and the drinks and I will meet you in your cabin in a few minutes?"

She nodded. "I'll be there."

.~'*'~.

Some minutes later I dropped into the leather chair, fidgeting with the glass in my hand. Why had I brought this stuff up? I hated brandy. I took another slow breath, yet the unexpected nervousness that had grown out of the uneasy silence would not quite shake off.

On the plus side – and considering the death-grip she had on her own glass – the Commander on the couch to my right seemed to have lost a great deal of her own bravado as well. Making out in public areas and sitting in the privacy of her cabin were two entirely different leagues apparently. On the negative it also meant we were on the best way to make this every bit as awkward as feared.

Quickly I held out my glass. "Here's to us. 'Cause if you're gonna burn in hell-"

"Drink it up, you might as well," she finished the toast, clicking her glass with mine.

I took a gulp and then I saw it. For the fraction of a moment something else flickered in her eyes. Worry? Fear? I frowned. What if she wasn't as casual about this as she claimed to be? And then another thought hit. Maybe it was me. The savage edge in my nature that I, regardless how hard I tried, couldn't quite hide.

"Hey, you're certain you want to do… this?" I asked hesitant. She arched her brow at me and I resumed, "I mean turian love can be rough and… uhh…"

I dragged my hand over my face. Terrific. Then again, she didn't seem ready to run away screaming. Yet.

A hooded expression crossed her face and as if someone had flicked a switch it broke into a decidedly mischievous grin.

"Honestly, Garrus, is this supposed to scare me off or…" her voice dropped, slipping back into that husky drawl, "… turn me on?"

"It's just… you know… our women are more... durable," I began and winced. The bottom had just officially dropped out.

Instead of the door I was shown another raised brow and she set down her glass. "Durable? Seriously? I find it hard to believe that this is how you talk women into your bed. Besides, you can relax, Cowboy. This isn't my first rodeo."

Though I hadn't the foggiest idea what neither a cowboy nor a rodeo was, there definitely was a strange confidence in knowing that one already got all bases of dorky awkwardness covered. Very freeing. So I simply said the first thing that crossed my mind, slipping back into our usual MO. Trash-talk. Lots and lots of it.

"See? That's the thing, Shepard. I don't need to talk anyone anywhere. They all come voluntarily." I winked at her. So much easier to wink at Shepard, the soldier, actually. "One might say that some even stay for an encore."

She crossed her arms before her. "Aha, got any troubles squeezing that ego through the door?"

"No, why? Did you?"

"Careful, Officer V. This might pass off as insubordinate conduct."

"On what grounds exactly?"

"My ship, my rules."

I snorted. "Right. It's good to be captain, huh? Anymore rules I should know of?"

Something dangerous entered her expression. Suddenly she pushed to her feet, then propped her hands on either side of my chair's armrest, leaning in until her mouth hovered over my ear canal, her loose hair falling forward. "Just one: no regrets."

I stretched out my hand to let one sun-colored strand slip through my fingers.

No more regrets.

With it my hesitation crumbled to make way for a new, powerful sense of rightness. Game over. I licked the outline of my mouth, my voice hoarse as I let go of her hair and cupped the side of her face instead.

"No regrets…"

The human woman reached for my shoulders, pushed me back into the cushion of the chair, and then her unfamiliar weight settled on my lap, her knees straddling my hips.

Her hands slid from my shoulders, across my chest and down my unprotected stomach, muscles tensing at the intriguing contact. She winked at me and tugged at the hem of my shirt. "You really should get rid of this."

"New rule already?" I chuckled, pulling the shirt up with deliberate slowness, watching her watch me with intent eyes.

"Said so yourself. It's good to be captain."

The shirt went over my head. The moment it blocked my sight, I felt cool fingers brush along my neck and then her lips were back. Slowly they moved along my undamaged jaw towards my mandible, creating this odd pulling sensation in such a deliberate intensity that it threw my body into a sensual overdrive. Anticipation spilled down my spine in a chilling hot wash. I wrestled out of the shirt, only to find her focused on trailing the outlines of the scabbed wound that covered the right side of my neck, down to the singed plates of my chest; our biological differences once again so painfully obvious. And I wondered, not for the first time, what the Spectre was really seeing when she looked at me…

With a light, almost impalpable brush of her fingertips, Shepard moved on to circle an old faded scar, shy above my heart. Another failure, to be preserved on my hide forever. But she, she just caressed its ragged edges as if to memorize each irregularity. I shivered, more upon the tenderness of the gesture than the actual contact; and for an insane moment I wished I was human as well, owning the same vulnerable, yet sensitive skin that would allow me to feel her touch undamped and raw.

I lifted my gaze from where I had begun to stroke the fabric of her sweat pants and once again there was this odd moment of understanding, this brief feel of being connected in face of all that set us apart.

Her hand still resting against my chest she said, "Massani's wrong. I don't mind your scars."

With a snort I curled my hand around hers, prying it away. "Because fucked-up is the new sexy?"

"No. Because they tell the world you bested the odds and survived." The corner of her mouth twitched and her other hand crept up to cup the damaged side of my face. "In fact, I think I like them. A lot."

Suddenly she dipped her head and pulled at the old scar with her lips. Teeth, too blocky to do any real damage grazed the surface of the knife wound; then followed an invisible path up my collarbone to end in a not-so-gentle bite on my neck. My blood circumvented my brain and rushed down to harden the organ usually sheathed securely within my body. A low rumble built up somewhere in my chest.

"I hope you know what you're doing, little Spectre…" I mumbled. Deep down a remnant of some prejudiced society-instilled reluctance had perfectly expected that her alienness would cause this to feel awkward and wrong. Instead it felt a damn lot more right than anything of lately. I was a hopeless case.

"Ah… like it?" She asked innocently, though the way she lazily trailed her little reddish tongue across her upper lip was anything but. It was shocking how different the gesture pegged on my meter in relation to Jack's.

I brushed back the silken strands of blond hair, which had fallen into her face again. "You have no idea…"

"Good. Mordin's… uh… advice was a bit sketchy in some areas."

I stared at the human woman straddling my lap, my hand still tangled in her hair. I wasn't quite sure what was causing more damage: the embarrassing thought that the salarian had loaded her with his clinical charts and dubious references as well or the rather… vivid image of Shepard watching porn. Another moment passed as I tried to get my derailed thoughts back on track. She didn't… did she? I mean…

"Normandy to Vakarian. Anyone home?"

Ah yes. I cleared my throat and let go of her hair. "Sorry."

"Deep thoughts, huh?"

"Yeah. Sort of," I replied slowly, all too aware of the totally inappropriate grin that flashed over her face. Which reminded me. "So… are you going to zap me with your biotics? I heard there might be some unintended side reactions." Solus also mentioned the inventive use of mass effect fields. Like we really needed to complicate things further.

The Commander held out her palm, face becoming a mask of severe concentration, before a small flickering globe of bluish lightning hovered over her hand.

"I don't know. Are you about to sneeze?"

She chuckled and the globe dispersed into the air, leaving merely the telling scent of ozone behind. "I'd say, as long as you keep me too distracted too concentrate, you're probably safe."

"A good thing that being a distraction is one of my specialties then..."

"Aha. That's not what your dossier says..."

"Because some things are better shown than told," I replied while running the tips of my talons down the side of her slim neck. Feeling increasingly confident, I resumed along the fragile collarbone that peeked out from the neckline of her black shirt.

It was easy to gauge a turian's relative strength from their physics. With her? Not so. Out of her usual armor, she suddenly appeared small and defenseless, all her battle skills and dangerousness shrouded by the deceptive vulnerability of this human body which seemed to break so easily. In truth there was a hard, deadly core hiding inside a soft shell and – spirits! - the contradiction was pushing my buttons beyond any reason.

"See?" I finally asked, following her neckline and the curves of her cleavage.

Instead of a reply, Shepard just made this tiny pleased sound, not quite a sigh and not quite a hum, yet definitely a reaction worth to be explored more thorough.

So I did.

Our evolution had no concept of breasts and yet I couldn't deny there was something deeply relaxing about following those curves of her body with my hands. Definitely close to an asari's and yet… different. I've never been into the blue-skinned aliens (figuratively and literally, as a matter of fact), but over one decade in the military made sure I knew more anatomical details than I actually cared for. Still, where the asari's skin had that somewhat sturdy, almost leathery texture, hers was just a smooth layer, thin enough to expose veins, sinews and muscles that stood in oddly harmonizing contrast to the softer parts of her.

Unfortunately, peeling her out of the shirt had only revealed another layer of clothing. Deep red and laced with black, the little thing hugged her chest, somehow managing to be intriguingly revealing while covering up all the interesting bits.

The two cups met at a narrow point in the middle and I hooked my finger in, sensing the perfect spot for a clasp. I pulled – but aside from her laughed "Not this one" nothing happened. I tugged again, this time just to bring her closer. I hovered with my mouth over her neck, then changed my mind and dragged my tongue over the soft bow of her cleavage, savoring the foreign taste of her skin. She drew in a sharp breath, her skin suddenly pebbling. Incited how her body reacted to my touch – and surprised how rapidly mine replied – I was unable to resist. I slipped my hand under the edge of the red and black fabric moving towards one of those little peaks, people were fussing so much about. I circled the strangely solid nub and the human bit the corner of her lip, shifting dangerously on my lap.

I placed my free hand on the small of her back and bend down to nip at the hollow of her neck.

"No wait, more like this…" Shepard then mumbled, catching my wrist and making me cup her breast with small kneading motions. She shifted again, doing something with her other hand on her back, and the next moment the confining piece of underwear came lose. I halted in my motions, watching her shrug the straps off her shoulders and dropping the thing to the floor.

Yeah. I might not have been into asari or even humans in general – but I sure as hell was a damn lot into Shepard.

There wasn't much time to enjoy the vista, though. She leaned forward and this time there was nothing gentle or slow about the way her mouth pulled at my neck in rough and hungry demand, her bare front molding against the hard edges of my chest so easily. I grasped for her waist, my whole body humming with want and lust and heat. She rubbed against my hard-on and my control skittered down the slopes faster than an ATV at full speed. Blunt nails were drawing furious little patterns on the thinner skin at the back of my head. My grip on her tightened. Mhmm. Bending the Commander over the couch table and pounding her until I passed out had just turned into a very enticing idea.

I froze and shoved the image out with force. I wasn't a bloody savage, damn it! I could do this. Just take it nice and slow and… My focus returned and I blinked. All of a sudden, our positions were reversed, with me pinning her to the backrest of the couch instead, her legs around my waist. My pants felt almost painfully tight and how the hell had we actually gotten there?

I scanned her face for distress and couldn't find any. Instead she watched me watching her, guards down, her eyes so bright and filled with an unshackled need like I've never seen in them before.

"Feeling distracted enough, Commander?" I asked, my intended nonchalance seriously questioned by the rough edge that had crept into my voice.

And just like that the mischievous smile returned, perhaps a little bit of evil as well, and she said, "Not. At. All. My turn."

The human Spectre grabbed my head and pulled me once more closer; against my reflex to turn it into a challenge and break free. With turian women there was fighting for dominance the whole distance. It was an old game, sometimes subtle and playful, sometimes harsh and destructive. A last remnant of the feral tribal warriors we used to be; pushed back into the few shady corners our society had left for them. This though… Shepard's lips fluttered across my face; and even while I held the physical upper hand and trapped her against the couch so efficiently, she still prevailed over me with those intriguing human kisses. No fight, no play for superiority could compete with those tiny sinful teases delivered with a flash of tongue; a hint of teeth; slowly pushing me to the edge of reason. And then she suddenly let go. Just stopped in the middle of her conquest to throw back her head, expose her unprotected throat and surrender to my touch implicitly.

Trust.

Plain, unconditional trust. As if this was merely another battlefield and we were gunning our way through a horde of hostiles instead. And maybe, maybe she wasn't afraid of my nature after all…

In midst of all this madness I got hold of her pants' waistband. Found buttocks just begging me to flex my fingers and feel their pliable firmness. So I did. The Spectre's breath hitched and I finally got rid of her pants altogether. Yet when I scooped her up in my arms, I couldn't help the treacherous stab of regret that had sneaked into my consciousness despite our earlier bravado. Damn. We had wasted so much time denying the obvious. And now? All that was left were a few stolen moments; a last flash of light before going dark forever…

I snuffed the notion. Instead I lowered the now very naked Commander on the couch and suddenly it was all too easy to shut down any kind of profound musings because the only free space the furniture's limited seating provided was now between her legs and did I already mention that she was naked?

I wiggled out of my boots, leaned in and licked her neck from her collarbone up to her jaw line, leaving a long wet and hot trail. I was rewarded with the most delightful little moan; so deeply female and different from the usual tough-ass I knew. Different physiology or not, there were some things that simply always worked.

Shepard realized that too. Her mouth found its way to my mine once more, blunt teeth and insanely flexible lips wreaking havoc with my tongue while her slim fingers shamelessly explored the sensitive area of my abdomen. I found my free hand magically drawn back to her breasts.

Suddenly, Shepard let go of my waist and pulled my hand away from her chest, guiding it towards her middle instead. Getting her intent, I took her lead, hesitant and curious the same, my heart pounding too hard inside my ribcage. This was not exactly a turian thing but – but this was before my index finger trailed her outlines and the moan turned into an even sexier gasp. Sure, the data suggested there was lubrication, I just never expected it to be that… lubricated. Gently I probed towards her core and she curved back her spine, pushing unexpectedly hard against my careful touch. Her need unlocked something primal in me. Something I had been suppressing for far too long; a raw desire that had silently slithered through my mind, to grow and claim me through my stubborn denials completely.

Mine.

As if a floodgate had burst wide open I needed more and I needed her fucking-right-now. She hooked her ankles behind the small of my back and I realized her hand had slid inside my pants. The sensations that rippled through my body made me want to howl. Feeling intrigued, helpless and turned on like hell, I closed my eyes against her hand's movements and the hot throbbing pressure building inside.

Spirits, I wanted her so badly.

I grabbed her wrist to make her stop. It was that or having a cardiac arrest. Instead she chuckled and her legs pulled me just a little closer. Oh, for… I fumbled with the fasteners until I finally managed to yank down my pants, three steps shy of a bloody frenzy.

Shepard. Human, remember?

My alarm pierced through the haze and I really didn't know where I found the willpower but I stopped. My whole body trembled with the effort to hold back. I locked my eyes with hers, searching for permission. A second passed. Another. She bit her lower lip to hide her terrible amusement and I decided it was all the permission I was willing to wait for. Still, I forced myself to enter her body with agonizing slowness – and almost reeled back in shock. As cool as the rest of her was, inside she was all moist hotness, and her walls, they were closing in on me so tightly, so...

It was too much. Way too much.

Aching with the need to move, I found myself frozen in place, for if I moved I would no longer be able to keep the savage in check. What a deadlock. If I would have had the mind, I certainly would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. I sunk my claws into the upholstery. Much better than burying them into her soft flesh. A wicked expression conquered her face and suddenly she moved under me, tightening even more, pulling me in ever deeper. Groaning, I bit the inside of my cheek and almost lost it.

"Stop doing… this…" I commanded in a guttural voice that was hardly adequate to produce any intelligible syllables at all.

I really should have known better.

The fire in the green eyes blazed and delivered with another clench, she said, "Make me, Vakarian."

A growl erupted from my throat, as instincts handed down through millennia finally had their way and made me thrust forward with one fluid motion. Mine. Finally. I would claim this fierce warrior huntress and make her all mine. Fire roared in my head, fire and blood, spiking adrenaline like the best fight never could. A small surprised 'oh' escaped her lips, and by my rotten heart, I loved it.

A wild rhythm built up from the depths of my blood, ancient drums pulsing with the beat of my heart and my motions, and I got swept away by the primeval sound of the hunt and the woods and battle and glory and life. Make love when the moon rises. Go to war when it sets.

Distantly, the lonely notion flittered that I better shifted down a gear or two, but it was damn impossible as long as Shepard's dull nails kept digging into my back and lips gasping my name laced with threats in her native tongue dared me to stop. And she felt good. Her flexible body wrapping once again so easily around the hard edges of mine. So tight and sexy and wonderful.

Her thighs tensed around my waist and she arched her middle at me. I snaked one arm below the small of her back, lifting her up, pushing ever deeper, grinding my pelvis against hers to answer her demand. Dawn was close; so terribly close; the knowledge like a gun pointed to our heads. All reason stripped away. All guards torn down.

And so we were left, incapable to do anything but hold on and sate the frantic need to feel alive for just another moment.

I got lost.

Lost in the thrill and the pleasure of the simple knowledge that right now she was all mine – until her fingers dug in harder, her muscles clenching dangerously. I stumbled and felt myself unravel; felt the world unravel; and when I pushed her over the edge, she dragged me under with her fall. My tension faltered and deep inside her pliable body, I finally found my release along with my redemption; her ragged moans such blissful remedy for my broken soul.

The last jagged waves surged through me and her arms folded around my back, pulling me as close as my body would allow. My head dropped and I buried my face in the crook of her neck, a beautiful fatigue creeping up on me. She smelled of Shepard and sex and I took another shuddering breath, her taunting scent whispering to me the sweet little lie that could never be.

Mate, Ma-aate.

Too spent to fight, the words simply kept reverberating until they had tainted every fiber of my being.

After a long moment, I felt her stir and I shifted my weight.

"Shepard?" I mumbled against her neck.

"Mhmm?"

"I think we ruined the couch..."

~'V'~

"Commander?"

Caught halfway between sleep and waking, I noticed my fingers closing around one of my throwing knives, tugged in between mattress and bed frame.

"Commander, do you read?"

EDI?

Hmm. Why was EDI's voice in my dream? It was such a nice dream, of Garrus and me and testing his endurance in many many creative ways.

"Commander, we will reach the Omega-4 relay in t minus 30 min-"

I growled at the nuisance to make it go away. I wanted to catch more Z's and get back to my dream. Maybe we could pitch his reach against my flexibility next and…

"Shepard!"

With a curse I clawed my eyes open and forced myself out my post-coital stupor, slipping the knife back where it belonged. Not long after dozing off on the couch I had woken up again because both of my legs had gone numb from supporting Garrus' weight and I'd opted for the terribly taxing location change. He on the other hand had then opted for ruining the bed as well. Twice. It's good to be a turian male apparently. Still. As much as I had enjoyed the sniper's enthusiasm I was relieved that somewhere along the evolutionary chain his kind had developed rather into the short-but-frequent corner. My squidgy human body simply wasn't built to keep that pace up for long.

Now, the bed was empty aside from me and my rumpled sheets, though. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach until my brain finally connected the sound of the running faucet with the turian's presence in the small bath cabin. I wasn't quite sure I could have handled it had he simply grabbed his gear and checked out.

Right, Shepard. No ties. No obligations. No regrets.

My. Ass.

I dragged my hands over my face. Boy, had there been a lying contest I would have won hands down.

"Alright, alright," I managed and peeled myself out of the bed, stiff muscles protesting. A burning ache bloomed on the insides of my thighs. I grimaced at the chafed skin and hobbled to the locker, grabbing some medigel from my gear. I slapped a generous dose on the irritation and the scratches on my ass and back I couldn't even remember receiving. Damn, that blasted turian seemed to be made solely from hard edges, pointy bones and rough skin. Another inventory check told me I was also tacky and sore in places I had almost forgotten existed, and probably had a mild allergic reaction because I felt kinda… puffy. Gee, one might say the turian tissue had been rubbed in quite thoroughly, thanks for asking.

I stretched my back; my spine realigning with a soft pop. Ow. I still felt good. Really good. Balanced. Whole. The two me's for once in perfect compliance, now that they had found common ground in their almost catatonic state of mindless bliss.

I still popped one of the antihistamines that had miraculously found their way into the inventory of my med kit. The thought of dropping dead from a delayed anaphylactic shock in the middle a fire-fight was just too embarrassing.

I fished a fresh bra from the drawer then stomped into one of my combat boots.

"Tell Miranda I'm down in five," I said, looking for the other boot, while my stomach announced its opinion on the unscheduled night activities. I somehow had the feeling I'd jump on the train to kingdom come not only unshowered but also empty-stomached. Yay, me.

The bathroom door opened and I straightened at the sound.

The turian had a towel wrapped around his waist and when he spotted me his expression shifted to a very male and very inappropriate grin, making Ivy and Shepard both hum in delight and, yep, there went my last pitiful scarp of decency. Straight out of the window. Never mind coming back.

Then his gazed skipped down to my damaged skin in all its angry-red glory. He jerked up his head and winced. "Shepard, I'm so sorry. I didn't… I mean..."

"No worries, don't mention it," I rushed to wave him off. No matter what, I definitely didn't want him to think that last night had been a mistake. In any way. "This one has survived worse." He seemed about to object so I added, "Hey by the way, have you seen my other boot?"

He walked down the stairs and I sampled the alien but oh-so intriguing sight of his naked chest. 25 minutes left and I bet we could gear up in 3 tops. Arrg. Something must be seriously wrong with me.

"The one in your hand?" He picked up his clothes and sat down on the edge of the couch.

"Yeah, right." Duh.

I hopped into the boot; quickly, to circumvent any more possible nonsense coming out of my mouth.

"Mind you, not that I'm questioning your style, Shepard, but you might want to know that you're not wearing any pants. At all." His head popped out of his shirt and nope, he didn't care a flying fig to hide his amusement.

I looked down, those barefaced lady bits staring at me mockingly. "Oh. That."

Maybe I was a bit too optimistic with my gear-up-assessment. Maybe.

With a curse I kicked the boots off and stormed to the closet, dragging out functional underclothes and some panties, all under meticulous observation.

"Don't you have anything else to do? Perhaps calibrate something?"

He chuckled, a rich and roguish sound. "Oh, I'm quite sure the Normandy is as ready as she can be. You on the other hand…"

I grimaced. Outmaneuvered yet again.

Screw it, I needed that shower.

I sprinted with my cargo up the stairs and into the bath cabin.

Some three minutes later, the cold water had finally whipped some senses back into me. Another batch of medigel slapped on my thighs and all clothes thrown on in correct order, I strode back into the cabin and towards my armor stand. There I put on the black aramid reinforced fatigues, got back into my boots and buckled the armor plates on. Phew.

I strapped the sheath of my combat knife to my left thigh and Carnifex to my right and the compacter Stiletto to the small of my back. The turian on the couch followed each of my movements with a darkly intent gaze. Oh yeah, some men got their kicks from high-heels and sexy lingerie; my sniper from watching me gear up to kill. There certainly was something profoundly twisted about this, but I was still too busy dwarfing the ideas the two sex fiends kept yelling at me.

I crossed the short distance, leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on his mouth. Hell if I knew where we were supposed to go from now on. But yeah, chances were good that none of us had to worry about this for too long. When I pulled away I was calm and ready.

"Let's save our Crew and nuke those Collector bastards back into the hole they've crawled out. You're in, Vakarian?"

He held my gaze, piercing blue eyes steeled by determination.

"Until the very end."

Scratch that. Now I was ready.