Update notes: Polish and transitions. Lots of tenacious research to straighten out the timelines
All new dialogs between Shep and Anderson.

All the thoughts
All the fears
All the blood, sweat and tears
Through scrub I raced
to seek a place to bear

Abrupt from the solar sphere down
something pushed me to the ground
A breathtaking sight
I realized
I can arise

For the little girl inside
new steps to take
Her visions awake
New days have come
The fatal frost flown
I'm in re-creation
My re-creation

Midnattsol – My re-creation

Chapter 19 ~ The things we left behind

I turned my face towards the late morning sun, allowing the first warming rays to seep into my skin.

Spring had come lately this year to Vancouver. Or so I'd been told. With so much time of my life spent in space or in foreign solar systems, it had always seemed rather pointless to give the passing of the seasons much notice. But, as the saying went, there probably was a first time for everything.

A pleasant breeze stirred and brought me the scent of the sea. I inhaled. If freedom had a smell it certainly would be something like the salty winds of the ocean. I opened my eyes. Above the open sky beckoned in perfectly blue infinity.

I could have punched the happy day in the face.

Heaving a sigh, I left the balcony and entered the small 15 by 15 feet room that had been my cell in anything but name for the last two months. Sure, as far as cells went it could have been much much worse; yet a prison was a prison, regardless if the meals were plenty, the beds soft and they called my blocked extranet access "protective measures".

I just couldn't help the feeling that despite going into custody voluntarily, I was thoroughly trapped. In the groom-at-a-shotgun-wedding kind of way.

I dropped to the floor and did another round of push-ups. It was that or starting to pace again and there is nothing, absolutely nothing that makes you feel more like a caged animal than pacing.

Two months; and with each wasted day, the pressing feel of urgency grew worse. two months in which the Reapers inexorably closed in on us. Two months and no hearing, no commission, no nothing. As if the Alliance actually believed they simply had to ignore me just long enough and everything would go away. Worse, not even Admiral Hackett and Anderson pulling strings had changed much. The headquarters of the Alliance Navy on Arcturus Station, or the Citadel were apparently an even longer distance away from Vancouver and its political misery than I'd feared.

Great. Just fucking great. And so my brilliant plan to use the time in custody as a chance to persuade the brass had backfired in my face in a most spectacular way.

Sweat soaked my gray tank top, but my Cerberus-enhanced body merely kept working with the steady, unyielding efficiency of a machine. I growled at the floor in front of me. There were those times when nothing short of spitting fire would do.

After another eternity my muscles finally faltered. Rolling on my back, I brushed damp hair that had grown past my shoulders, out of my face and stared at the room's white ceiling. Enjoyed the brief blankness of mind that came with my physical exhaustion and pushed worries to a distant place.

Still laying on my back, I stretched. The dog tags slid from my cleavage and jiggled softly on their chain. 'To remind me that I belonged, no matter what' Anderson's attached note had said when I received them shortly after arriving in Vancouver. Y'know, since the old ones had died with me on Alchera; no more than a pitiful deformed lump, Miranda had to cut out my charred chest.

My fingers brushed over the shiny and spotless metal, and a very familiar feeling of hollowness clashed over me. I remembered too well the times when their weight would have been a reassuring comfort. Now they only seemed to drag me deeper, a cruel reminder that things no longer were what they used to be. Inevitably, my thoughts drifted to the note tucked inside a box with personal belongings that sat in the locker near the door.

Kaidan was in Vancouver too. He had tried to see me, but the investigation committee deemed private visitors – along with any outside communication – too much of a security risk considering the circumstances. Risk, my ass. I was convinced they just found it terribly amusing to watch how I slowly lost my freaking mind.

Somehow the Sentinel still had managed to make one of the guards slip me the note.

It said he was sorry about Horizon.

That my death killed something crucial in him and he hadn't known how to deal with my sudden return.

That he missed me and the friendship we had.

That despite all his faults he never stopped loving me…

I shoved the brief stab of nostalgia away. Kaidan was wrong. Someone had been brought back by Cerberus, but it wasn't the woman he'd been forced to watch getting spaced and die.

I kept glaring at the room's ceiling, until I realized I once again had started to count the little squares in the ventilation grid. Arrg. This place was driving me nuts and there were only so many reruns of Blasto or Bullet Train one could stomach before seriously considering defenestration.

During my first week I had naïvely believed the worst would be the confinement. Boy, was I wrong. It was the isolation and the long long hours between the too few supervised trips to the gym, the Mess or the shooting range. Hours, in which I was very alone with all the funny things inside my head – and I was a creative soul.

And sleep? Sleep brought no escape either.

Lazarus had made damn sure that my dreams were already a disturbing mess, but since the Collector base… Despite the exertion my skin turned cold. The first night after we'd fled the base had truly been the worst. After that… I was not quite sure if time or distance had been the deciding factor, but the terror had gradually lessened. I would still wake up some nights in a corner, clutching whatever passed off as a weapon, while imagining myself trapped in a cocoon and hearing Harbinger's voice whisper in my head over and over again…

I forced my white-knuckled fists open, then counted from twenty backwards. These weren't just nightmares. It was a royal fuck-up that had a big fat PTSD smeared all over it.

Or worse.

Yah, I probably needed to get my head examined – only the moment this would hit the records I could wave goodbye to any credibility I might still have with Alliance brass.

Sometimes I dreamed of Garrus.

One would have thought that those dreams at least left me with a distinct ache and a head full of smut, but nooo. Instead I woke from them feeling deprived and heartsore. Me, who had worked all her life to avoid becoming emotionally tied to anyone. Peachy.

And how the hell could I possibly miss him that much, anyway?

It was ridiculous. It had been just one night. No promises, no ties, no nothing. For all I knew he could have already found someone else. Someone closer to home; without all the complicated baggage.

I didn't even know if he was alright. If he was still alive…

You really should have kissed him goodbye.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

Godfuckingdammit.

Never thought the communication block would screw with me that bad. It wasn't just the turian. I hadn't heard from anyone since entering Vancouver's space port on that icy February day. I hated to admit it but the new Normandy and her team full of suicidal lunatics had grown to me through the rough ride. It felt like betrayal to the SR-1 and her Crew, which should have been the true and only Normandy.

However, when our ways had parted on Omega, just a few hours after we escaped from the Collector base, I had been forced to realize that their absence suddenly left the Normandy an emptier place. And even more so, my heart. Uhg. This newfound sentimentality was nothing but trouble.

In the end, we all perfectly knew that fighting the Collectors had only been the beginning. I needed them off the ship, needed especially the aliens to throw in whatever influence they had with their people to prepare the galaxy for the arrival of the Reapers.

Which was why I had packed my skeleton crew consisting of Joker, the Doc, Daniels and Donnelly as well as the five surviving Crewmen and headed for Omega's relay without delay. Boy, was I sick of flying Cerberus colors… Besides, there was still this trifle about the Illusive Maniac to consider. I got the, uhm, sneaking suspicion that bombing the Collector station into a black hole on top of running off with the ship, the crew and one of his best agents had finally damaged something permanently in him.

So I contacted Anderson, telling him I was coming home.

Only… instead of getting spat out in the Sol system some five minutes later, I got patched through to Fleet Admiral Hackett. Had I only known how deeply in the crapper this "personal favor" would get me in the end...

Which brings me straight to my current predicament: one mass relay blown up, three hundred thousand batarians dead and four billion screaming for my head on a pike.

Yup, you might say it had been one of those days.

I rubbed my temples.

Damn, Shep. Three hundred thousand…

Fuck me. Taking lives came with my job description, alright. But usually there was some honest combat involved. This though… I shoved the nauseating feeling back where it crawled out. I couldn't afford the guilt. Not now.

Besides, I didn't even have a choice. The destruction of the Alpha relay had been the only way to keep the Reapers from pouring into every system at once. Sure, Hackett believed me, but the rest? As it was the Alliance leadership still had troubles wrapping their heads around the fact that the Reapers posed any threat at all.

And the Council? Even if they for once actually saw the need as Anderson claimed, they'd buried it underneath a ton of political BS. And when they realized the Alliance wouldn't hand me over to their jurisdiction they dropped me faster than Sha'ira lifts her skirt. But hey, they certainly were going to restore my Spectre status for a second time.

Naturally the batarians weren't helping either. Just waiting for a chance to get back at the Council races in general and humanity in particular, the four-eyed aliens grabbed their torches and pitchforks and unleashed a diplomatic shitstorm of such biblical proportions, I was surprised that the Alliance hadn't by now silently shipped my lily-white ass off to Khar'shan and be done with it.

On the plus side, no one had court-martialed me or stripped me of my rank so far. On the negative, I was grounded for the time being, and everybody with a say simply refused to talk to me. Sure, no judge, no judgment, but with the Reaper invasion hanging over all our heads like an especially deadly sword –

A knock on the door made me finally jump up. Brushing back my hair, I straightened with a frown. Two seconds later a familiar figure entered the room and I smiled, a big weight lifting off my mind.

"Anderson! What are you doing here? I thought you were back at the Citadel?" I shook my mentor's hand. The other held a liquor bottle, he quickly tried to hide behind his back. It looked like scotch.

"You know how it is; you're out of the game for too long and everybody gets delusions of grandeur."

Yeah. Totally agreed on that one. "How did you get past the no-visitor order?" I asked, noticing that outside the door my guard was conveniently looking the other way.

"I'm here to give a testimony on your case, so officially I'm working. Besides, the head of the investigation committee is owing me favor."

"I see. And the Council? I can hardly believe they let you off the hook."

He snorted. "Oh, they are happy. They have Udina to bug now."

I grimaced. Udina. Right.

Anderson shrugged. "Frankly, I'm glad I could get rid of the job. I'm simply not made for charity galas and election campaigns. Udina is good at it. And he was after that position for years."

Of course he was. Plus, his understanding level was jammed permanently on zero, so he could excel at being a complete dickhead. We hadn't gotten along too well. My already laughable chances at getting back that Spectre status were just waving me goodbye from the shuttle to never-ever.

"Anyway, I've got good news and bad. The bad news was decided just this morning – you have a first hearing on your case."

My eyes narrowed. "I can't see why this is bad?"

"It's in four weeks from now."

I exhaled slowly. Another month wasted. Crap-fucking-tastic. "And the good one?"

"I heard the cafeteria just made fresh cheesecake."

"Aha. Cheesecake. Yay?"

"Have you any idea how hard it is to find decent cake on the Citadel? I hadn't had a good one for months." He took in my bemused expression. "You really don't have a clue what date we have today, do you?" He asked, presenting me the scotch. It even had a big red bow tied around the bottle neck.

"Uhh..."

"Look at the card."

I fished for the paper tag that was tied to the ribbon.

On the front it said 'Congratulations' in bright blue glitter letters. On the back it read in Anderson's neat script:

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Thank you for 14 years of unrelenting service.

I'm proud of you.

A.

.-.-.-.-.-.-

Fourteen years… Huh. Had it already been this long since I stormed into their recruiting office, demanding to be taken in? It certainly felt like less, but then again I had a hard time keeping tabs on anniversaries. Or holidays. I mean seriously. What kind of person spends Valentine's Day infiltrating a batarian gulag?

"Happy birthday, Shepard."

I looked up, blinking rapidly to force away the sting in my eyes.

Pathetic, Shepard. Just… pathetic.

"Thank you… Just give me a minute to change, okay?"

.~'*'~.

Anderson was right.

The New York cheesecake was so fresh, it was still warm. It also was to-die-for delicious; creamy, sweet and sour and came with a toping of fresh raspberries. And my big mug of coffee went perfectly with it. I could almost pretend that it was my real birthday and not some crap date Anderson had made up to fill in the sad blanks on an application form.

The small cafeteria was next to empty, most of the base's personnel already on their way to lunch. My obligatory escort had retreated half a dozen paces towards the entrance, giving us some privacy. I liked Bob. He was never in a hurry to herd me back to my room. Plus, we somehow always ended up taking the long route. The one which led past the snack machine that hosted the only edible energy bars at this compound. Oh goodie. Being under arrest certainly made you appreciate the small things in life.

I took another blissful bite and leaned back in the plastic chair, warming my hands on the mug. The Captain was already at his second plate. I felt myself smile; the first genuine smile in many weeks. It was nice to share a moment of culinary delight with someone.

"Tell me, Anderson. What's the news on the streets?"

There were many other things I would have like to asked, but not here. Empty as the cafeteria seemed, the walls had ears everywhere.

"Let's see. I visited the drydocks this morning. The SR-2's retrofit is coming along nicely. It's incredible how Cerberus expanded on the original design. Makes you wonder how many other surprises they have up their sleeves."

I took a sip of my coffee. "Definitely too many. But as a good friend once told me: always plan for the worst – that way you have the small chance to get pleasantly surprised."

Anderson dug into his cheesecake with a chuckle. "Wise words."

"Hey… uhm, they got anyone assigned to her yet?"

"Not that I know of. So far Vancouver command is not touching the subject with a ten foot pole."

"Yah. They do that not-touching thing a lot. What about my Crew?"

"All former Cerberus personnel is currently detained at the Citadel. Karin was acquitted and is working now at R&D for Hackett. Joker is still in custody as well, but as it is they're going to drop the charges. I understood he's helping with the retrofit. Seems like the ship's VI is giving our engineers quite some troubles."

I shrugged, all deadpan innocence. "The Illusive Man likes to make things interesting for us." I turned back to the my cake. Gods, I hated lying to him. "Did you by chance… hear from anyone else?" My squad? My friends?

"Lt. Alenko has requested transfer to Vancouver."

"Yeah. He tried to visit me some weeks back…" I trailed off, waiting for Anderson to tell me more.

He didn't.

Depressed, I scraped up the last crumbs of the cookie crust with my fork. "So… you're staying for the hearing?"

With a sigh, the Captain leaned back in his chair. "I'm afraid I can't, Shepard. I've got an urgent… personal matter to attend to. I need to leave for the Citadel tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? That's quite the detour for such a short stay. I'm sure the Board would have accepted your testimony even if you hadn't come here personally."

"I know. I still wanted to visit in person. I might end up being... indisposed for some time."

"I understand."

Our gazes met. Translation: he might not survive this personal matter of his. Dammit, Anderson.

"I'm glad you came."

"Anytime. Another coffee?" he asked and I downed the rest and handed him the mug.

"Yes please. Thank you, Captain. For everything."

He nodded with a smile and got up. From two tables behind Anderson, a marine looked up from his datapad to muster me. Something about him tickled my memory. My gaze brushed over him briefly, then I moved on to study the cafeteria's window display.

Probably Latin origin; tattooed and built like a boxer, with focus on strength but still owning this dangerous suppleness that promised speed and quick reflexes. Broken nose that hadn't healed up quite the way it should have. Hard, yet intelligent, dark eyes. Solid grunt-material with the ambitions to climb and fight for a place high up the commando chain.

Yep, I'd definitely seen him before. He was exactly the type of man, I would have in another life seriously considered to mess around with for a night or two. But yeah. In another life. The one that had no turian vigilantes in it. Where not everybody watched me with unease, suspicion or open disgust.

The life where I was still one of them.

The tags below my Alliance standard fatigues seemed searing hot against my skin. Nothing but a brand new copy of the real deal. Just like me.

The man was still watching me, a dark frown drawing a furrow on his forehead. That frown. I remembered now. Vigo? Vago? Anyway, he was the soldier guarding me on our flight back to Vancouver. Though guarding was probably not the right term. I got my debrief with Hackett, the Normandy was confiscated by an Alliance Team and I was tossed without ceremony into the small holding cell at the back of the hangar – where I dropped face-first into the hard field cot and watched my body shut down. I had escaped a batarian gulag, had been sedated with who knows what weird crap, fought through dozens of indoctrinated guards, had resisted the consuming lure of a Reaper artefact, and almost got stranded on an asteroid about to collide with a Mass Relay – all within course of three days. Heck, a corpse wouldn't have needed any less surveillance.

I stared back until he looked away and left. We hadn't changed two words back then, but man, that one had issues with me the size of the Mariner Valley.

It grated me, but on some profound level I understood. We Alliance Navy Marines were a superstitious lot and who would have blamed us? Competing and fighting every day in a violent universe for resources with alien species that were smarter, stronger or simply technologically superior? None of the rank and file had bought the PR fairytale of Commander Shepard, first human Spectre, and miraculous-against-all-odds-survivor of the destruction of the SSV Normandy. No one with an iota of physical understanding would have. One did not survive getting spaced. Period. Hell, I couldn't even show off some scars to ease those who actually wanted to believe.

No, to the soldiers out there Shepard was dead. She had died an honorable DIA, saving as many of her crew as she could; had gotten a fine memorial and even a plate on the Wall Of Our Fallen Heroes, here in Vancouver. I had seen it for myself. Apparently nobody had made the effort to scratch out my name so far.

Many averted their gaze when passing me by. To them I could only be an imposter. Or something that wasn't by any means supposed to exist. Funny, but until Vancouver I hadn't truly understood how crucial the ease had been with which the Normandy crew had acted around me – and how fundamentally important for my sanity.

Elbows prodded on the table I caught my head between my hands. Damn... I wished Ashley was here, telling me that this was all okay, because it was the Will of God the Almighty to send his little messed-up angel back.

Uhg. That scotch wouldn't survive for long.

"Everything alright, Shepard?" Anderson suddenly asked, handing me a fresh coffee.

"Sure, thank you." I took a sip from the mug.

It tasted like ashes.

~V~

Hospitals were no fun. Not at all.

They were no fun if you had to fight your way through them, and unsurprisingly they were even less fun if they marked the final destination of a beloved one's life.

"Who is this?" A low female voice asked and I stepped into the sunlit room, closing the door behind me.

The bed was empty, so I walked towards the open glass door, leading to a small patio. Two comfortable armchairs had been placed there, just the perfect spot to overlook one of the countless lush Sur'Keshian valleys that stretched out before us.

"Hey Mom," I began hesitantly. "It's… uhh, me. Garrus, I mean…" I trailed off.

Despite being tall, the woman in the chair looked way too small and fragile to be my mother and yet… her eyes snapped open and a sharp, shockingly blue gaze fastened on me, belying all the traces the Corpalis syndrome had left on her body. Under the stare I suddenly felt once again like the little kid that got scolded for trying to sell his baby sister to the neighbors for meat pies.

"Don't you think I have forgotten about you, Garrus Vakarian," the haggard woman said with an astonishing firm voice and worked herself out of the cushions with my help, the unusual casual pants and shirt looking odd on her. She took a moment to find her balance – and then she slapped me so hard, I almost expected something to break in my jaw. "By the Spirits! What in the name of Valluvia took you so long?"

I rubbed my cheek, the harsh sting equally physical and emotional. "I'm so sorry, it's been –" I began and stopped. Regardless what perfect reasons I thought I'd had, looking at her withering body they suddenly all felt shallow.

"Oh, spare me," my mother said, yanking me close, and nudged her forehead against mine, her fingers brushing over the undamaged side of my face. Then softer. "I'm glad you're here, my son."

"Me too," I muttered, embracing her boney shoulders, and holding her for just another moment, breathing in her scent that always reminded me of home. With a final tiny squeeze I let go. She looked at me and the stern expression broke. We sat down and I moved my chair a little closer to her.

"Your face…"

"Ah. It's a long and not exactly glamorous story. Maybe later. Hey, it's nice here," I said evasively.

My mother disclosed her opinion with a very mundane snort. "That's one way to put it. Do you see the apartments there?" She nodded towards the complex that sprawled out to our left. "Full of hopeless cases like me. They think if you can only stare at a jungle the whole day long, dying just won't bother you at all. Salarians. Hah! Say, how's Selene? About time you bring a capable girl –" She frowned at her own words. "No. That's not…"

"Mom. We broke up over ten years ago."

"I'm sorry. Sometimes I…" She waved it off. "Never mind." Then lowered her voice. "I'm glad you ditched her. If you ask me, those Cabals are not quite right in the head."

All too true, unfortunately. "How do you feel? I mean, really."

My mother sighed. "What do you want me to say? That on some days I have troubles remembering where I am? That with each seizure I lose another chunk of my life? That I can recall giving birth to you but not to your sister? That I can remember meeting your father but not bonding him?"

The last made her voice falter. However freely our people went about with their relationships, once they did commit themselves it was an all serious business. Having lost that memory must be killing her.

I reached out for her. "Mom, please… You shouldn't be so upset. It's not good fo–" She jerked her hand away with a sharp gesture.

"Don't you take that patronizing tone with me, Garrus! Not upset?! You sound just like your father! You know what he also doesn't want? To listen. Because I don't want to die like this! Reduced to a sack of breathing, drooling flesh, sitting in a puddle of my own piss, because I neither remember my blasted name nor how to control my bowels!" She forceful exhaled. Then added softer. "The physical decline is a nightmare, but you have no idea how it is to watch the memories fade; bit by bit, day by day, wondering what will be ripped away next, until I've finally lost everything I ever loved…"

She bit back a cry and it broke my heart. This time, she let me take her hand and so we sat, watching the green of the forest stir in the winds, both pretending her faint sobs weren't there.

Finally she took a calming breath. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to… I shouldn't waste our time with drama and feeling sorry for myself. So… Will you tell me the long and not exactly glamorous story about what my only son has been up to that it ended with him missing half of his face?"

I sighed. "If you insist…"

"Oh, I do."

"Yeah. Of course," I said slowly and leaned back in my chair, wrecking my brain for an answer that didn't contain countless dead people, me running havoc on Omega, Collectors or the imminent invasion of all-powerful AIs coming to obliterate us all. Ah yes, and maybe Shepard wasn't a suitable topic either. Was the Spectre alright? There hadn't been word from her in a while and no, I didn't like it at all that instead I had caught a rumor through the old channels about the Hegemony putting an obscene amount on some human's head right after the mysterious destruction of the Bahak relay…

"Spirits, Garrus," my mother suddenly said into the silence. "I lived with sixty years of C-Sec reports; at my table at day and in my bed at night. I think I can handle whatever you're going to say. Besides," she added wryly, "Chances are good that I've forgotten most of it in the morning anyway."

I looked up at her.

Maybe it was the sarcasm that could not quite hide the deep bitterness behind her words. The frustration that distorted the subtle subharmonics of her voice.

Maybe it was the fear I saw in her eyes.

I took a breath and told her everything. Saren. Sovereign. Omega. The Normandy. Well, almost everything. Some specifics are simply not meant for a mother's ears. When I finished with the destruction of the Collector base, she was regarding me with a calm thoughtful gaze, nodding with the kind of parental approval I had struggled my whole life to earn from my father and never succeeded.

It made me feel all the guiltier for having avoided my visit for so long.

Then she said, "You know, you have to tell your father…"

"I suppose..."

"Fedorian also needs to hear this."

I suppressed the urge to strangle the air in front of me. "I know. I spoke to Sol this morning. She and Dad will be here by tomorrow evening."

She nodded again. "Don't worry, you'll do the right thing. You always have."

I snorted. "You do know this is me sitting here and not Solana, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Just because your father can't wrap his mind around the fact that you are not like him, it doesn't mean we're not proud of you."

I shrugged. What else was there to say? It was a conflict so old, I'd numbed myself against its sting a long time ago.

Suddenly my mother's expression became treacherously smug. "Alright, Garrus. All that talk about war and honor and fighting against evil machines is very nice and inspiring, but when will there be grandchildren?"

I groaned and slapped my hands over my face.

"Aha. So you do have a girl," she detected. "Come on, tell me about her."

"She's… uhm… a soldier. And a damn good one." I mumbled against my palm. I was going to hell for this. Straight, no detour.

"Ah, of course she is. Your father is going to have a seizure."

I put down my hands. "He doesn't honestly still believe I'm going to settle for one of the Primarch's daughters?"

"They're special."

"Special? They're pretty much unable to find their way out of a paper bag."

My mother snickered. "Your father just dislikes to be proven wrong – especially if he is wrong… So, how serious is this?"

"I…" I had no answer. I wasn't sure if there could even be an answer. "I don't know. Spirits, I don't even know what's it supposed to be. It's complicated."

"The good things in our life always are, Garrus. Let you know they're something worth fighting for."

"I'm not sure if this is a fight we even can win…"

"Then let me reframe my question: does this woman make you happy?"

"Yeah… yes she does. But this isn't the point."

"No?"

"No. It's… She's… different from me in such a fundamental way, and in the same breath she understands me like no one else. How it feels like to be out there day by day just to fight another war. The weight of those lives depending on your actions. To try so hard and still lose it all…" I straightened in my seat, defiance hardening my tone. "The point is, around her I'm finally myself again. I feel stronger. Faster. And then I find her looking at me with this genuine look of appreciation and I know from the deepest depths of my heart she's making me not only a better soldier but also a better person."

"And what about her? Does she feel the same way about you?"

"I think. Maybe. Damn, I'm not sure."

"How can you not be sure? No girl worth her spurs would –"

I suppressed the reflex to flinch but something still must have given me away. My mother stopped mid-sentence and regarded me sharply for very long and very uncomfortable moment. "I… see."

I didn't reply. What was there to say?

She sighed. "Different, huh? I guess there isn't much point in asking for her clan then."

"No." Not much point in asking for grandchildren either.

"Well… Then maybe you better find out how she feels before it's too late, yes?"

I looked at her stunned.

She leaned forward and gave my hand a squeeze. "Garrus. You are my child; above all I want you to be happy. If she's the one… so be it. And a human Commander can hardly be worse than one of Fedorian's dimwits, right?"

"Commander and Spectre…"

Another sigh. "Yah. Let's better not mention that bit of information to your father. And stop looking at me like that…" My mother stretched out an arm and her fingers brushed over my scarred cheek. "This woman, she saved your life; and for that she'll have my gratitude forever." Suddenly her expression shifted to something dangerous. "But if she is breaking your heart, by the Spirits, I swear I'm coming after her personally and snap her scrawny neck. Tell her that."

I chuckled. "Will do. Any more words of advice?"

"Yes. Next time you see her, you take her somewhere nice. Dancing. And dinner. You tell her how you feel and then you're going to ring her bells until she knows you really mean it."

I rolled my eyes. My mother to a tee. Needless to say that my adolescence was filled with many embarrassing episodes.

"You want me to tell her that, too?"

"Of course. How else will she know I approve?"

We talked until late into the night, about the past and the future and all those small and big things that had always felt ill-timed before. We laughed and argued; and it was so much more than just a life time of maternal advice crammed into a few hours. It was a farewell, both of us perfectly aware that we might not see each other again.

So when I returned to Cipritine with my father one week later, I left behind two things: My guilt and my Carnifex hidden beneath a pile of colorful scarfs in my mother's night stand.

~V~

The blast of the explosion sent me airborne.

Hands clasped over my hurting ears, I tried to cushion my fall. It wasn't working too well and I got slammed shoulder first against the floor. Pain shot up my arm. With a groan, I curled into a ball, debris raining down on me.

It was day 192 of my custody and they were here. Heaven have mercy with us.

I coughed. Forced my lungs to work. My ears were ringing. My vision blurred.

Move!

I pushed through the rubble on all fours, my palms cut on shards of glass; pushed on and towards where the window wall and a row of raised speaker's desks had been. I squinted my watering eyes. Now there was just a huge hole, ruins, dust and tiny flames licking on everything they could consume. Was this the same room I've been standing before Vancouver's Admiral Board just a few seconds ago?

I crawled towards a slim female hand that stuck out from under a piece of wall. I squeezed the hand and it did not stir. I yanked at the debris with all my strength and it did not budge. I hastened over to where Admiral Mikhailovich lay sprawled on his back, his eyes open wide. I shook his shoulder and he did not move.

Goddammit!

It was hard, but I resisted the urge to kick his dead body, yelling "I fucking told you so!"

Instead I looked up and from underneath my mussed up hair I saw Hell.

Like a mat black terror the gigantic Reaper descended on the apartment block just across the street, its tentacles shearing through the four storied building as if it was made of paper. Red glowed and then the laser tore into a fleeing frigate. Soundless, the ship turned into a ball of fire. My brain told me that it must have made at least some sound but all I could hear was this beep shrilling in midst muffled silence. I sunk back to my knees, the cuts in my palms bleeding on my pants. The Reaper turned towards an office tower and I felt like screaming.

Someone grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me up.

It was Anderson.

The Captain – no, the Admiral – had returned just a few days ago as it became clear that the committee would finally clear me.

Too late.

A long bloody gash ran down the side of his head. He spoke, rapidly, but I couldn't hear the words. I pointed at my ears and shook my head. His eyes widened. Then he started running, dragging me behind by the arm. I looked back over my shoulder. And stared into the Reaper's red eye.

We burst out of the doors and into a hall. Behind us the conference room went up in flames. We ran through the deserted hall towards the maintenance stair case. Painfully slow my hearing returned. Anderson tossed me a gun. Against the thing outside it could just as well been a toothpick. I immediately felt better, though; the comforting cool steel as familiar as shaking hands with an old friend I hadn't seen for far too long. We hastened down the stairs. One level. Two. Three. Until a lone marine stormed up from below.

"Turn around! The way down is blocked!" The dark haired Latino shouted up to us.

"Lieutenant Vega, good to see you alive," Anderson replied when the marine caught up with us. "Report."

The man straightened, and to my surprise, acknowledged me with a polite nod.

"Sir, half of the building has collapsed. The stairs are impassable."

I exhaled slowly. I had survived so much. I would not die trapped beneath a hundred tons of steel and concrete. "There has to be another way! Which level is this, four?" Vega nodded and I turned to Anderson. "We need to get back to the east wing and my room. From the balcony left of mine it's only a short drop to the roof terrace below. Maybe we can find a way down over the neighboring building." Guess the hours of pondering my little prison break fantasies were coming in handy after all.

"I know a route that should be free," Vega said. "Follow me."

.~'*'~.

Vancouver had gone all bedlam on us.

Ceaseless the unmistakable drone of the Reapers' main cannon echoed through the urban canyons. Left and right buildings crumbled. Citizens screamed. Alliance vessels zig-zagged in the sky. Soldiers fought with fire, steel and dark energy. And wherever I looked, people died.

Husks swarmed the street in sickening numbers. As if destroying the Collector Base hadn't even left a dent on their numbers.

The spaceport was not far from our current position. If we could make it to the Normandy… I gunned down another one of those bulky four-eyed things and kept running after Vega and Anderson, skirting rubble, corpses and stray bullets. Oh yeah, with the Hegemony in disarray, the Reapers apparently had no troubles at all to harvest the remaining batarian worlds to bolster their ranks.

We reached the harbor. The spaceport was just on the other side of it. We ran along the docks, a row of sailers mooring and gently rocking against each other with the waves of the sea. Just beyond the harbor mouth, Vancouver's huge aircraft carrier was burning, thick plumes of smoke billowing over the vessel.

Anderson yelled into his radio then gestured towards an empty runway that branched deeper into the harbor. We thundered over the wooden planks. The runway ended and we skittered to a halt.

"The Normandy had to leave the port. But a shuttle's coming," Anderson said quickly. "It will pick the two of you up and bring you to the ship."

"Sir? What about you?" I asked over the ugly noise of war coming in from all sides.

"I'm staying. God help us, but with Arcturus gone somebody has to stay and organize our forces! You take the Normandy. Bring the Council in. Bring whoever you can get a hold on in. Whoever owes humankind even the slightest favor!"

"Anderson…" A Kodiak drew near, u-turning before the runway's end while opening the hatches. The maneuver smelled suspiciously like Joker.

He grabbed my shoulder. "Good luck out there. You will do well, Shepard. Now go!"

The man, who had been almost like father to me, gave me a small smile and a push, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Aye, Sir."

"You too, Vega."

"But, Admiral!"

"Go! This is an order!"

The marine in tow, I sprinted the short distance to the shuttle. Once inside, I turned, saluting to Anderson in farewell. The hatch closed and the Kodiak lifted off. Next to me Vega cursed in Spanish and scowled at the hatch.

Through the small window I watched the lone figure of the former Captain becoming smaller and smaller as the destruction wrought by the Reapers became more and more obvious. And inexplicably there was this tiny but fierce irrational part of me that didn't want to go. It wanted me to stay and defend the homeworld that had never really been a home to me with blazing guns against the alien invaders.

You can't do anything for them here… You can do everything out there…

Out there where Liara was, assimilating the Shadow Broker's resources. Where Wrex was, rallying the krogans. Where Tali was, warning the Migrant Fleet. Where Garrus was...

"Ma'am?" an unfamiliar voice suddenly sounded from the pilot seat. "Lieutenant Steve Cortez. On behalf of Flight Lieutenant Moreau I inform you that the Normandy SR-2 is reporting for duty."