Events of the chapter: the Hierarchy encounters trouble in New Aeris; Kaidan expects company, but receives a surprise visitor; Garrus and Shepard see each other for the first time in a while

Author's notes: Okaaaay, well that took a while! Thanks for hanging in there! The hardest part was writing dialogue between three people with hidden intentions/feelings. The rest was definitely easier. The next chapter is more than half done, so hopefully won't take me as long this time :)

PART II
Chapter 3: Of Invasives and Interlopers

1 year, 5 mo. after the end of the Reaper War
New Aeris, Palaven

"Spirits, it's hot today." Laren squinted as he stared out across the open plain, surveying the land for the personnel carrier due to return for its shift change. He panted under his breather mask; the morning sun was already unbearable and the air was clogged with more particulate than usual. The bleak landscape only added to the misery. The arid plains surrounding New Aeris were brown, its meager river was brown, its plants were brown, even the sky was brown. The second largest city in Palaven's northern hemisphere had become a drab, impotent wasteland in the wake of the Reapers' destruction.

"I don't know how anyone keeps anything clean here," Quidros groused. He had been doing his best to keep his gun in good, working order, but the fine dust permeating every crevice negated his attempts.

Garrus' two most trusted sergeants were waiting for their orders at the Hierarchy's temporary base, just outside New Aeris. Military brass had wanted them closer, but gaining a foothold in the city center was proving difficult. It had only been a few days since most of the troops arrived, and the rebels had shown a surprising aptitude for urban tactics, making intelligent use of the city's radial design and strategically controlling the flow of supplies through the underground service tunnels that ran under the commercial areas. They knew Hierarchy coverage would be scant— either scattered in too broad an area, or too fragmented to handle any sizeable disturbance.

New Aeris was one of many cities where the Hierarchy was meeting increased resistance. Power and water shortages continued to plague the majority of the planet, while surviving colonies had been reduced to near antediluvian conditions. But the unrest in New Aeris had reached a fever pitch, with small-time government officials and bureaucrats being held hostage for more resources. Its citizens had more means than most to stage such a stunt, but the rarity of their privilege had been lost on them.

"I don't know what the Primarch expects us to do without hastatim units," said Quidros. "This is insanity. No one's gonna listen to a gang of soldiers who won't use their guns." Quidros finished installing the new scope on his rifle and replaced the magazine, clicking it into place before holding it up into the air to show Laren. "What are we carrying these damn things around for then?"

"Will killing anyone change anything? Change how they feel? There isn't enough energy to run basic filtering equipment. And the air here is worse. They must be angry when they think about Cirpitine," Laren replied.

"Don't tell me you're siding with these assholes, Laren," hissed Quidros.

"No, I didn't mean to imply that. I'm only offering a different perspective."

Quidros wiped off the stock of his rifle and threw the cloth down to the crate he had been sitting on. "Fuck that. Bunch of entitled brats, these New Aerians. Expecting everyone to cater to their whims. They seem to think they're the only ones suffering."

"You're not entirely wrong, Sergeant. But we're not going to win them over by insulting them," said Garrus as he strode into the open shelter.

While Cirpritine had been the seat of the Hierarchy—a government town, staid and guarded—New Aeris was where the young, the cosmopolitan, and the free-thinkers of Palaven resided. Where those who wanted to stretch the stiff boots of conservative meritocracy went to see and be seen. Garrus never cared for New Aeris, not as much as his sister did, but he did have to admire their reputation for going against the grain, as fruitless and aimless as it was.

"We want as little violence as possible. More dead turians is the last thing this planet needs," Garrus reminded his men.

Forgive us, sir," Laren said as he watched Garrus walk in.

Garrus gave Laren a quick nod, then addressed his other sergeant. "Quidros, I need you back at the safe camp as soon as possible. Major Paetrus negotiated a surrender—the faction holed up at the old university is willing to leave. Make sure the transfer goes smoothly. And we still need to cover east of the Libraxum Ward too." He handed Quidros a datapad containing all the information they had collected so far. "The Major needs to attend to his son in Cipritine, so you'll need to oversee the next round of door to door visits."

"Yes, sir." Quidros holstered his rifle on his back and saluted before leaving.

Laren spoke to Garrus. "Still hasn't gotten any better then, sir?"

"No, I'm afraid not. The boy's taken a turn for the worse. It's been six months—Major Paetrus is afraid this might be his last visit home."

"The eezo load of that debris must have been off the charts."

Garrus shook his head. "The kid is only five, couldn't have known any better."

"Spirits….far too young." Laren's mandibles went slack under his mask as he lowered his head.

"You remember being that age? Hell, I'd pick up any old thing as long as I could play 'war' with it."

The hurried shuffle of boots approached the shelter. Short-winded, Corporal Malion rushed in, his mask fogged up from his heavy breathing. "General Vakarian, sir!" he saluted. "There's been an incident in the Outer Philos area. One of our personnel carriers was attacked with an improvised device. There are at least ten casualties."

Garrus snarled, his mouth plates flared into a tense grimace. "Damn it! We can't afford to lose headcount. Dead?"

"None, fortunately, sir."

"Thank goodness for that. Where's the medical unit right now? Still near the city center?"

"Yes, sir. They're sending a small detachment to Outer Philos. They're on their way now," the corporal reported.

"Good. Thank you Corporal Malion."

Corporal Malion saluted and exited the shelter.

Taking a deep breath, Garrus turned to Laren. "Looks like we're headed to Outer Philos."

Vancouver, Earth

The door swished open. Shepard was standing in the hallway, her upper body a single, rigid line—head and back leaned flat against the wall, arms drawn down with her hands woven together in a loose cradle. She twiddled her thumbs as Kaidan stood in the doorway watching her. She looked back in silence. He knit his brow in response, wondering what thoughts could be coursing through her mind.

"Heeeey, Kaidan…."

"Hey, Shepard."

"Wow, look at you—freshly gelled hair, crisp, button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up halfway—and well groomed five o'clock shadow. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a hot date." Shepard peeled herself away from the wall and shuffled to the door. "You didn't do that for me, did you? 'Cause I'm taken, pal."

"Har har, very funny." Kaidan stepped aside. "Come on in."

"Thanks for having me over. I didn't know where else to go today. The media are all over my prefab." The door closed behind her. Hands clasped behind her back, she scanned the main room as she walked in. "Not big on furniture, huh?"

"It's a start. Who needs a lot of furniture when there isn't anything to go with it?"

"True." Shepard swept a few fingertips over the dusty leaves of an ivy plant. Its vines trailed down from a floating shelf and choked the stalks of the rubber tree below it. "Never took you for a houseplant kind of guy."

"Uh, I'm not. Those are my mom's. She likes the apartment to have a bit of 'life', as she puts it." Returning to the kitchen counter, Kaidan picked up a knife and resumed slicing the onions he had begun preparing. "I'm just cooking a quick dinner, make yourself at home."

Shepard followed him into the kitchen and poked around, then picked up a squat, red onion resting near the cutting board. "Where did you get these onions?" she asked, bringing the bulb to her nose and taking a deep sniff. "These are an heirloom variety."

Kaidan raised an eyebrow. He could hardly tell the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber, let alone different onions. "How do you even know that?"

"We used to grow these on my parent's farm." Shepard palmed the onion, squeezing lightly as her gaze went blank.

"They're from our building's greenhouse. New buildings have a growing area on the roof, sometimes the top floor too. Easy access."

"Oh that's handy. Can't rely on food supply, why not grow your own?"

Kaidan motioned for Shepard to take a seat at the kitchen table. She hadn't given him much notice before she showed up at the apartment; a few minutes before she arrived he had been tossing things into cupboards and drawers in a desperate attempt to appear tidy. Outside of showering and sleeping, he wasn't spending much time at home, and his mom—an outgoing and industrious woman—didn't care much for staying in. He'd be traveling soon anyway, then she could do whatever she wanted with the place.

Tears dangled at the corners of Kaidan's eyes as he finished slicing the onions. He dabbed at the pads of his under eyes with the back of his hand. "My god, they're relentless, the press. You know there were a couple of reporters at the rehab facility this morning? Guess they didn't get the memo about you moving."

"Eh, serves them right."

"So.…you wanna talk about it?" He set the knife down with a clap.

"No, not really." Shepard shoved a hand through her thick hair and squeezed the roots between her fingers. "But you're not going to give me a choice, are you?"

"Have you talked to Garrus yet? Does he know?"

"No."

"And when did you plan on telling him?" Kaidan lifted his chopping board and slid the onions into an awaiting pan. He blessed them with a generous rain of salt, rubbing his pinched fingers together high over the cooktop. A fine trail of bubbles appeared as he spread the sizzling onions around the pan.

"Umm….never?"

Spatula still in hand, he crossed his arms and glared at Shepard—a paternal mannerism with echoes of his father. If his dad could see him now, Kaidan was sure he'd be laughing.

"Ok, I don't mean that. It's just...he's got enough on his mind right now. He's still mourning his dad. Actually, I'm not sure he ever started."

Kaidan turned back to his cooking and stirred the onions, which had started to go limp in the hot pan. "Mmm… I know that feeling all too well."

How long had it taken him to acknowledge that his own father was dead? There was a tempting succor in the label of MIA—the thin hope he would see him again when the war was over. It wasn't until he'd known his mother was safe that he accepted the likely reality.

"And his mom…well, you've heard what's been happening. She's getting worse."

Kaidan shook his head. "I don't imagine being a general is doing any wonders for his stress either." He understood that part all too well too.

"Nope, it isn't."

"Still, Shepard. You know he wouldn't like it if you didn't tell him. I know I wouldn't." He stirred the onions one more time, then reached for a pot that hung on the adjacent wall.

"Well, that's a foregone conclusion."

After filling the pot with water, Kaidan placed it on the other heating element. "You want something to drink? I don't have a lot—water, tea….some homemade hard cider my mom brought home."

Shepard grimaced. "Ugh, no thank you. Water for me. I've had enough drinking to last me the rest of the year."

He filled a glass and set it down next to her, then seated himself in the opposite chair. "So, you wanna talk about it?"

Hesitant, she held her lips tight to the rim of the glass, the water kissing the crest of her upper lip. She took several tentative sips before speaking. "Well, for one, the press has it all wrong. I wasn't accusing anyone of anything. I just kind of…freaked out."

"You never had a problem around batarians before, though. I mean, other than Balak. And a few others."

"A few others, huh?" She scratched a fingernail on the table as she stared down at her hand. "I wouldn't say that."

"So what was different this time?"

"I don't know….I…I…" Shepard inhaled hard and held her breath for a moment. "Got scared? I wasn't really thinking. My body…reacted. It was like autopilot—like I wasn't even there."

Big red flag. He had seen Shepard like this before. At the tail end of the war, when the pressure of shouldering crucial decisions had begun to take its toll, and she was plagued by nightmares of the dead. Back then, she had swallowed her grief and did what she needed to to see the end. Now? Now didn't make sense. The war was over. There was no immediate danger, and no one had been asking much of anything from her.

"That doesn't sound good."

"Probably not."

"What are going to do now? Shouldn't you see someone?"

Shepard shrugged again.

Kaidan laid both hands on the table and leaned forward. "I'm worried about you, Circe."

"Not the words I wanted to hear right now."

Shepard's protestation dangled dead in the air. Kaidan dragged a hand down his face and rested it over his mouth, eyes locked with hers as she bit her bottom lip and gazed back. He had never seen her green eyes so gray and listless, yet they brimmed with fear and self doubt. Had Garrus really missed it? No, that's the wrong way to look at it. Shepard had been doing her best to keep everyone at arm's length; the immense buffer of physical distance gave her an easy excuse to keep doing it, even to Garrus. The gutsy commander Kaidan had loved so well was now a coward in the face of her own troubles.

Their silent standoff was interrupted by a ping at the door. Kaidan glimpsed over his shoulder towards the small foyer, then let out a long exhale. As he stood up, he ran a hand down the front of his shirt, pressing down the wrinkles that had formed.

Shepard furrowed her brow. Arcing back in her chair—neck scrunched, head dipping—she followed Kaidan's figure to the front door. The door slid open to reveal a shapely woman in red.

"Hello, Kaidan. Nice to see you again," Miranda said coolly. Sheathed in a simple boatneck dress and nude pumps, she met his eyes with her usual confidence.

"Come on in, Miranda." Kaidan tried to maintain a neutral expression. His dilated eyes, however, betrayed his best efforts at composure. In the few moments it took to cross the threshold, he had drunk in her sultry features: her beguiling, closed-lip smile, her keen blue eyes and dark lashes, and most of all, the sinuous line of her body—how the fabric of her dress hugged along each of her curves before coming to a taper halfway down her calves. Admiration for her intellect aside, there was no ignoring her in that dress.

Entering the foyer, she held a clutch bag in front of her, her slender fingers clasped over its flap. "Are you ready to go? The reservation is for eight o'clock. I made sure to request a seat by the window."

"Sorry, there's been a bit of a…bump. I tried to call, but you didn't answer."

"You did?" Miranda glanced down at her omnitool.

Shepard spoke from her seat at the table. "Hey, Miri…."

Startled, Miranda looked up and craned her head toward the kitchen."Commander Shepard?"

Shepard offered an awkward finger wave.

"Yeah, sorry…she called me on short notice. The media are in front of her place right now." Kaidan ran his hand over the back of his head. He hadn't thought it through before he said yes, as if he had said it upon instinct. Looking back now, it was probably the wrong thing to do.

"Oh, I see," replied Miranda.

Shepard pushed away from the table and crossed to the foyer. Furtively eyeing Miranda up and down, she placed a hand over her chest in apology. "I'm—I'm sorry, Miranda. I didn't know you two were going out. Otherwise—"

"Oh…no. No, um, we were only going for a quick dinner, to discuss some work. Nothing special." Her dark hair, set in fresh, loose curls, cascaded in waves over her shoulder as she tossed it back. "Don't worry, Commander, your safety takes priority."

"Listen, no need to lie to me. I think I know a bit of 'how's your father' when I see it," Shepard teased, waggling an eyebrow.

Kaidan's entire face went hot. It was enough that his ex-girlfriend had shown up practically unannounced. Now her former second-in-command was standing in his foyer—stunning and flustered—likely furious their first real date had been spoiled by the woman whose life she helped save twice.

The muscles around Shepard's eyes tightened as the pair stood glued to the floor. She raised her eyebrows at them, sputtering through closed lips, then broke out into rising laughter. "Wait, really? I wasn't being serious!"

Kaidan avoided Shepard's gaze. He had developed an abrupt but intense fascination for the ceiling in the corner of the room. Miranda, who seemed to have gained a similar appreciation for the floor, also averted her eyes.

"Wait, how long has this been….a thing?" she asked, her finger waving back and forth between the two of them. "What happened with Dr. Paulsen?"

"Shepard, really!" blurted Miranda. She shoved some errant strands of hair away from her face.

Kaidan was sure he had heard wrong. Wasn't Dr. Paulsen the doctor who had attended to Shepard aboard the Osaka? "Wait, what? Who?"

"Nevermind." Preserving her restrained demeanor, Miranda clenched her teeth and burned two eye-sized holes through Shepard's skull.

"Oh crap—sorry…" Shepard recanted, trying to restrain her laughter.

"Um…okay, then." Kaidan shook his head. "Moving on."

Involuntary giggles bubbled their way out as Shepard failed to stifle her giddiness. "Sorry, sorry—I'll be good." Shepard clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away.

Miranda blazed another set of holes into Shepard's skull, this time at the back of her head.

"Since we've had a change in plans, I thought I'd make dinner, just for today. Is that okay with you?" Kaidan asked Miranda.

"Ah, that's what that…smell…is."

Kaidan sniffed at the air. "Ah crap, the onions are burning!" Scuttling to the kitchen, he muttered under his breath, then hurriedly turned the heat down and gave the onions a quick stir. He had been caught up in his conversation with Shepard and had forgotten all about the onions. They might have to make do with 'well charred' instead of 'beautifully caramelized'.

Shepard had seated herself at the table again. "This isn't going to be another steak debacle, is it Kaidan?"

"Steak debacle?" asked Miranda, who was peering over Kaidan's shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the chef's blunder.

Kaidan pointed his spatula at Shepard. "Hey, as I recall, you liked my steak. I believe you used the phrase 'I'm impressed'." He turned the heat up on the pot of water.

Shepard squinted. "Mmmm, that's not what I remember…."

Miranda glanced at Shepard with a scrunched brow as she pulled a chair out from the table and joined her.

"Oh—after we busted that harpy, Maya Brooks, Kaidan invited himself into Anderson's kitchen. He made me the 'food of his people'." Shepard made exaggerated finger quotes for emphasis. " I assumed he meant a tourtière, or like, poutine. No, he made me a plain steak."

"You're forgetting the bacon. And the beer. No self respecting Canadian is going to make a steak and leave out the beer," Kaidan quipped.

"The beer was the best part!"

"Well, tonight we're skipping the meat and going vegan."

"Vegan? Damn Alenko, you sure know how to ruin a mood."

"Look, I figure if the meal involves anything that used to move you might trash the place. Ya know, like you did at Ryuusei's."

"Hey! Low blow!"

A hearty chuckle rattled from Kaidan's chest, his broad smile crinkling the skin around his eyes. He missed laughing with Shepard like this—throwing barbs and quips, making friendly dunks like it was a game of biotiball. They were usually at his expense, but he got his payback once in a while.

His smile dropped as he snuck a look at Miranda. She seemed agitated, but then again, he couldn't be sure. Nearly a year of working with her, and he still hadn't cracked the code of her facial expressions. Not that they weren't different, more that so many were similar. A study in Mirandaisms meant paying careful attention to every muscle in her face. Shepard's face, on the other hand, was like warm rubber. It stretched in every which way, especially when she was feeling playful or angry. And when she tried to hide things, she rarely hid them well.

"Ah, sorry Miranda. Don't mean to keep you waiting on food. Let me get the pasta in." Kaidan pulled a package of pasta down from the cupboard and grabbed the only lemon from a wide bowl on the counter.

"Of course, Kaidan, take your time. A good meal should never be rushed."

How does she always find the right thing to say? Kaidan got back to cooking while the ladies chatted.

"So, Shepard—how was the rest of your trip?" Miranda asked, folding her hands on the table.

"Oh don't tease me, Miranda. If anyone would know, it's you."

"Well I've heard from everyone else. I'm asking you."

"F-fiiiiine?" Shepard answered in a lilting tone.

"You know, I can recommend some trustworthy mental health professionals in the area—psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists that would suit your particular set of symptoms. A trauma specialist, perhaps? Just say the word."

"Of course you have a list ready…"

"I can't vouch for them personally, but their reputations are impeccable."

"Uh huh. I'll—I'll let you know."

Kaidan stirred the onions one more time before letting them finish. "Ok, shouldn't be much longer."

Skeptical, Shepard took a long whiff. "Hey, that's smelling better already."

"I look forward to it," said Miranda. She raised her eyes to catch Kaidan watching her from the kitchen, his hands occupied with cooking but his attention elsewhere. "May I help you, Mr. Alenko?"

Kaidan smirked. "Uh, no ma'am. Just admiring the scenery."

Shepard rolled her eyes as she bent over in her seat and pretended to gag.

"Come on, Shepard. That kind of thing never bothered you before," said Kaidan.

"Yeah, not when it was directed at me. Hearing it about other people is different. In front of me no less!" Her wide eyes and wild gestures dripped with exaggeration.

Kaidan laughed, happy to see that Shepard could still find the humor in things, even when she was at her lowest. Miranda, however, did not seem as amused by her sarcasm.

New Aeris, Palaven

Garrus tapped on the dim lamp that hung from the top of his tent. Miserable lighting for a miserable situation. He supposed it was some form of irony that the energy shortage angering New Aerians was also affecting the turian sent to deal with the situation. If the city's spirit was drumming up sympathy, he hoped he'd appeased it enough to gain its favor.

Garrus set his terminal down on a folding table, then lowered himself onto the tensed fabric of his cot, sinking as he relaxed his weight into it. His leg shook as he turned the terminal on. He checked the power indicator: twenty-five percent. That would be be good enough for what he needed. He checked the time. Fifteen minutes late. Damn. He tapped on the communication suite.

Shepard's impish face appeared, staring somewhere beyond her terminal, unaware that her video was live. Garrus didn't say a word. He wanted to sit in silence with her, if only for a little while. Crossing an ankle over his knee, he leaned forward toward the screen and perched an elbow on the edge of the table. He watched as she preened herself—mussing her bangs, straightening them out again, smoothing her eyebrows with a finger. The familiar habits he had seen her perform so many times before were a salve for his careworn psyche, a morning invocation for a brighter day ahead. It had now become an indulgence to find comfort in the mundane.

His talon traced the arced path above her eye. When she had stopped fidgeting, he switched his video on and waited for her to notice him. He mouthed her name. Oblivious to his presence, she flicked at her omnitool, scrolling through what appeared to be an unremitting list of unread messages.

"Circe," he spoke softly, his tongue curling as best as it could around the hissing consonants of her name.

She furrowed her brow and cocked her head, listening for the mysterious sound. Garrus repeated her name, elongating the second 'C' like a snake issuing a caution signal.

Peering up from her omnitool, Shepard jerked back and threw her hand up at the screen, the feet of her chair squeaking across the floor. "Oh my god, Garrus, don't do that! You scared the living crap out of me!"

Garrus feigned ignorance. "I did what, now?"

"You scared the living crap out of me!"

"Sounds unpleasant."

Shepard's eyes retreated into the backs of their sockets as she first pulled her mouth down into a mock frown. "You…."

"Hi."

"Hi." Her fingers wiggled in that funny little wave as the frown cracked into a grin.

Garrus thought it was a little creepy that humans and asari had so many fingers, but they were Shepard's fingers, and he loved them just the same. "Miss me yet?" he asked, half smug.

"Oh I've missed you, Garrus."

"I miss you too, Shepard."

"You look awful."

"I feel pretty awful." Garrus yawned, his mouth opening so wide that the muscles in his jaw began to seize. He snatched at the joint above his mandible and massaged it with his knuckles. "Sorry I'm a bit late, it was hard to get up today."

"No, sorry to wake you so early. I know it's not the best time."

"It's alright, there's not really a good time anyway." Checking the time again, he remembered it was deep into the night on Earth. "It must be late there."

Shepard turned to peek at the dark sky, the small window behind her perfectly framing the waning moon. She shrugged. "You know me, a night owl."

"A what?"

"Um, it's a kind of bird. An Earth animal that sleeps in the day and is awake at night."

"Got it. Sorry, I think you explained this to me before. My mind's not all here right now." Garrus yawned again, this time trying to keep his mouth closed.

"Is there something going on? Other than being tired?"

Garrus sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Where to start? I've lost ten perfectly healthy troops to injury—their personnel carrier got caught in an IED. Don't know when we can get replacements. And the vehicle, the vehicle is nothing but burnt scrap now. Spirits, I'm not looking forward to filing that report—we're short enough on equipment as it is. Procurement will set their fangs on me." He ran a hand over his forehead and continued along the length of his crest. "These New Aerians have learned a thing or two, I'll tell you that. Can't say it's going to get them what they want. The Hierarchy won't let them."

"Yeah, of course not. Then what's to stop people elsewhere from doing the same?"

"You get it. Oh, and our medical unit is burned out, short-staffed as hell. It's been that way since the war, really. But I don't know how much longer they can go on like this. And at the rate we're training up, there won't be enough new blood to replace any losses."

"Damn. No wonder you're tired." Putting her elbow on the table, Shepard leaned her cheek into her fist and knit her brow as she gazed at Garrus. "What about your family? How's your Mom? Solana?"

"Heh, not sure I want to get into that. We'll be here all morning."

"That bad, huh?"

"More or less the same. I just don't have the energy." The cot creaked as Garrus shifted his weight. Sitting on a cot for any length of time wasn't the most comfortable thing.

Shepard pressed her lips together, sighing quietly through her nose.

A cozy bed caught Garrus' eye. Fluffy pillows and a soft mattress sounded amazing right now—even better if Shepard was sharing them. He dipped his head toward the screen and lowered his voice, subvocals purring. "Hey, your new place looks nice. And that bed of yours looks roomy enough for two."

"Actually…I'm at Kaidan's."

Garrus waved his mandibles. "Kaidan's? What are you doing there?"

"Got reporters waiting at my prefab like a bunch of vultures." Shepard paused. "Sorry, vultures—they're birds too. Scavengers."

What is it with humans and birds?

"Anyway, I asked him if I could hang here for the night." She tugged at her ear. "Although, he didn't tell me he was having company…"

"Company?"

Shepard raised her eyebrows high. "Guess who came over looking like a trillion credits…"

"Umm, Aish Ashland?"

"Nope." Smirking, her eyes went wide as she revealed the mystery guest. "A one Miss Miranda Lawson."

"Waaaiit, Kaidan and Miranda? Those two…?"

"Mmmhmm."

Garrus chuckled. "Well damn. If you'd have told me three years ago that Alliance 'good boy' Alenko and the Cerberus ice queen were doing some private sparring, I'd have said you'd had one too many shots of horosk."

Shepard laughed. "Uh huh. It's weird."

"Weird for them, or weird for you?"

"Both?" Her face contorted into a twisted smile.

"Fair enough."

Shepard's smile faded as Garrus' blinked back at her, his expression turning pensive. As strange and surprising as this gossip was, he wasn't going to let her distract him.

"So, are we going to talk about it?"

"About what?" Shepard leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and furrowing her brow.

Garrus remained silent, waiting patiently for her to realize what he knew.

"That," he said.

Knotting her arms together even tighter, she hesitated. "Ah. That."

"Yes, that. What the hell happened? That looked like a nasty fall you took on the stage."

"Figures you saw it…" she muttered.

"We still get the news out here. I might be busy, but I have alerts setup."

"You stalking me, Vakarian?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Mmm, is it stalking when your girlfriend is one of the most famous people in the galaxy?"

Shepard let out a soft snort.

"Well? Out with it already, Shepard."

She looked away, her eyes darting down as she slowly released her arms. "I…I think I had a panic attack," she said in a soft voice, almost in a whisper.

She said it. The words came out of her mouth. It was a relief to hear her say the words. "You did."

"I did."

Mandibles tightened, Garrus began, "I've been thinking for a while now—before I came back to Palaven. Since that night you woke up screaming. I…I know you won't want to hear this. But you need to hear it." He paused, taking a moment before he said the hard part. "You can't fight this thing on your own. There's no urgent mission, no one who desperately needs you to be Commander Shepard right now. It's time to just be Circe—Circe who lets other people help her."

Shepard's face crumpled into a bitter scowl. "God, not you too. How about a 'Cheer up, honey, I know you can!' ?" she mocked in a chirpy, exaggerated voice.

"And that would work, would it?"

"Couldn't hurt." Shepard held her hands up toward the ceiling, shrugging. "Look, what is someone else going to do about it? I've had Alliance mandated therapy before. They just want to talk about all the fucked up things I've ever seen or done, and blah blah blahbitty blah. Like talking about that crap makes it any better. Screw that. I've done fine on my own. I didn't become 'Hero of the Galaxy' by whining about all my fucking problems."

Garrus knew she was being sarcastic about the last part. She hated being called 'Hero of the Galaxy'. But he didn't like how she seemed to be using it like a shield.

Shepard jutted her chin out. "What about you, Garrus? Aren't you hiding in your work? You haven't talked about your dad once since you left Earth."

Straight for the weak spot, huh, Shepard? Scarier than Shepard's biotics or prowess on the battlefield was the way she could use words to slice right through someone—clean, precise cuts that targeted their rawest vulnerabilities.

Garrus' subvocals rumbled low. "That's different, and you know it."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is. I don't have the choice. We're trying to rebuild colonies, an entire homeworld." Garrus was growing agitated, but he recognized that Shepard was deflecting. He reminded himself not to get sucked into her vortex. "Besides, we're not talking about me. We're talking about your very public panic attack."

"What else do you want me to say?" she scoffed. "Listen, I know you're only looking out for me. You always have. But I don't need you to. These—these are the cards I've been dealt. I've done this more times than you can imagine. You, you have enough of your own problems without adding me to the mix."

There were only two times Garrus had ever felt the urge to shout at Shepard: the first was when she had advised him to let Sidonis go, and the second was when she had forced him to board the Normandy on the last day of the war. This would be the third.

"Yeah, I do have problems. Lots of 'em. But ignoring yours isn't going to make mine better. It is what it is, Circe. You can't make my life easier by suffering alone. I'll worry with or without your permission."

Shepard put her hands over her eyes and winced. "Goddamn it, Garrus."

"Face it, darling, you're stuck with me."

"Shit. I guess I am." She removed her hands and gave a wry smile.

Victory.

Garrus smiled back, his plates and mandibles relaxing again. "When are you meeting Hackett?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"Let me know how it goes?"

Shepard nodded, "Yep. I will."

"Now, promise me you'll get some help? Because Solana and Primarch Victus will be furious if I have to drag my ass back to Earth."

"I'll do what I have to, love. Promise."

Author's comment: I don't usually have anything to say after the fact, but I just had to point out how much Miranda really just loves to STAB and BURN people with her eyes in my fic. It makes me laugh. That is all!

Song: "Radio Cure" - Wilco
Cheer up, honey, I hope you can / There is something wrong with me / My mind is filled with silvery stars / Honey, kisses, clouds of fog / Shoulders shrugging off / Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable