Events of the chapter: During the first big snowfall of the season, Garrus visits Shepard for a short reprieve.

Author's note: This chapter was originally written around the holidays. I posted to AO3 but not FFN was still so awfully buggy. Now that's back to normal I feel safe posting here again :)

PART II
Chapter 14: Snowdrop or Sundew*

2 years after the end of the Reaper War
London, Earth

"Overbooked? But my seat has already been paid for—for this flight! How is that possible?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Because you were the last passenger to arrive, your seat was given to a standby customer. Unfortunately, we're not able to make any changes at this point." The service agent flashed Garrus the kind of plastic human smile that didn't touch his eyes. "But I can book you on our next available flight. How does that sound?"

"Which is when, exactly?"

"Mmm, let's see…" His twiggy fingers pecked at the interface. "First flight is tomorrow morning, 0700 ."

"Are you kidding me? I need to be in Vancouver tonight. I can't afford to wait until the morning." Garrus gripped the edge of the check-in counter. His talons would have gouged marks into the metal had he not been wearing gloves. It was enough that he'd missed his direct flight from the Citadel, but now he was getting the run around in London. There would be no point in going at all if he couldn't get back to the Interior by nightfall: he needed to leave for Palaven the day after tomorrow.

The agent's plasticky smile returned. "There's always private transport, sir. We can provide a discount code for use with several—"

"Fine. Give me the code. And I want my refund processed right away," he said brusquely. It had crossed his mind to use the 'do you know who I am?' card, but the agent didn't have any more influence over company policy than one of his grunts did over Hierarchy politics.

Garrus hung his head back and closed his eyes as the agent processed his refund. He could have slept where he stood. Weariness had eaten through his staunch, metallic carapace like rust, working its way through strata of toughened hide and sinew, and seeping deep into his hollow bones. The promise of seeing Shepard one last time before going home was the only thing that had kept him going through the day.

Contentious and plodding, the committee's last planning session had gone long. There wasn't much to report to the Primarch either. Though, in a major win, Garrus and Matriarch Deneya had successfully advanced the inclusion of a proposal to modify the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission, a baby step that Victus saw as crucial to addressing the lack of forces in Council Space. Shocked by the speed of Garrus' victory, he'd expressed his approval with one simple word: "Impressive." Garrus considered it a job well done; any more than a few words from the Primarch's mouth usually meant you'd fucked up.

Before leaving the departures area, Garrus checked his omnitool to make sure the discount code had gone through, then began his search for private transport. His eyes buzzed as he scanned the pricing list. Post-war travel was expensive enough, but independent operators were the worst. They charged whatever the hell they damned well pleased, because what option did you have when the big guys were regularly short on staff and flight craft? This trip would have to come out of his own personal expenses. There was no administrative approval process for visiting your long distance girlfriend, no matter who she was.

After finally finding someone to take him, Garrus shelled out most of his remaining credits. He'd have enough left for the trip back to Palaven and that was it. With more than an hour before the pilot arrived, he splayed out across the hard, ordered airport seats and did his best to catch a nap, draping his arm across his eyes like a weighted mask.

BC Interior, Earth

Shepard ate slowly. She rolled the small tomato around in her mouth—over her tongue, into her cheek, then over her tongue again and to the other side—before snapping her jaw shut, bursting it between her teeth, the bright zing of juice filling her mouth as she stared through the window. In the dark, a veil of powdery snow drifted through the air. It reminded her of sand tumbling through water. Like at Tumnis Creek, the creek at the far edge of her family's farm, where her bare feet dug up its shallow bed, and she watched the roiled sediment get carried downstream. It unsettled her stomach, this long-forgotten feeling, brought on by the slow alighting of snow on grass.

Before she could put a name to it, the muffled sound of a skycar approached the house. Shepard set her fork down and crossed to the window, where she could see the car's milky lights catching the glint of snowflakes in its beams. At this time of night, it had to be Garrus. She stalked to the entryway. Smoothing the back of her head, she snatched her parka from the rack, then draped the ratty coat over her bare shoulders—flimsy protection from the night's biting wind.

She stood in the threshold and gazed out into the dark. The lights of the porch only reached so far, but the soft crunch of snow carried through the air as someone came up the sloped, gravel driveway in long strides. Almost stepping out in only her socks, Shepard paused as a tall shadow appeared at the edge of the porch light. Garrus' face emerged, worn but smiling.

"Hey, you're back," she said cheerfully. When he came to the door, she threw her arms around him, and he nuzzled his nose into her the top of her snow-laden head without a word. A comforting warmth flushed through her; it was enough to hold back the chill coming in uninvited through the door. "Here, let me take that." She took the small travel bag from his hands and ushered him inside.

"Thanks," he replied. Garrus stomped his feet before entering the foyer, then removed his coat and boots and put them neatly in their places.

Shepard could hear the day's drawn-out pull in his voice, the slight tremor somewhere deep in his subvocals. He never had to say it. She heard it, she felt it, she saw it in his movements. It was an ability developed from intimate familiarity. Days of tugging off sweaty boots and greaves, of refilling omni-gel packs in suits, of double checking and triple checking heat sink counts, of studying floor plans and blueprints together, of running for their lives at the edges of the galaxy. Working together, side-by-side. Side-by-side: there was none of that anymore.

"Delays, I take it?" She set his bag down on the kitchen bar and grabbed at his wrist, leading him to the Alenkos' familiar leather chair.

"Spirits, that's not even half of it," he said, sinking deep into the seat. "But I'm not here to to grumble. I'm just happy to see you." He tilted his head back to look up at her as she stood behind the chair rubbing behind his mandibles. Reaching a hand up to her face, he closed his eyes, a rumble resounding through his throat, and he relaxed into her touch. "Ohh, that feels so good right now."

She smiled. It felt good to be caring for someone else for once. Not focusing on whatever thing her therapist said she needed to be mindful of that week. Not being the center of attention, or having someone wring their hands over what she'd said or done, or everyone worrying about her health. To give her attention to someone with no conditions or expectations.

"How have you been holding up here? Not going too stir crazy? Snow looks like it's really been coming down."

"Nah. I tried to squeeze in as many jobs as I could before the clouds rolled in. Mostly removing dead wood, spraying some of the trees. Oh, and I had lunch at Jillian's—she says hi, by the way. I even had a long nap in the afternoon." Shepard scoffed. "Can you imagine? The last time I had a real nap I was probably four."

"You? A nap? Spirits, I couldn't convince you to sleep even when you had to."

She stopped rubbing and stared out at the falling snow. "We were always chasing something, weren't we…" The unsettled feeling in her stomach rose up again, this time simmering up to her chest and biting at her lungs. She felt hungry for air.

"Even during lights out you kept a datapad. At one point, I thought about hiding them from you." Chuckling, he hoisted himself from the chair and stepped around to face her. "We all felt the pressure to push ourselves, just not the same as you. But I get it now, Shepard, I really do. I want you to know that." His eyes met hers, and he gripped her shoulders, tilting his head down as if to emphasize the importance of what he'd just said.

Still needing more air, Shepard drew a deep breath, but it didn't make much of a difference. She gazed back with a soft, close-lipped smile.

She didn't want this for Garrus. She always thought she'd be happy for him when he came into his own—and she was—but the price he paid was too steep: the pain, the weariness, the uncertainty. At least she never had to worry about a family who needed her. She'd been beholden to no one but the Alliance; Garrus still had a home and people waiting for him there.

While saving the galaxy had been complex and daunting and monumental—words that conjure images of heroes and survival—in many ways, rebuilding it was harder. Now, and for years to come, it would be a thankless, unenviable task, after which no one would remember a singular name in the same way they remembered 'Commander Shepard'. But what choice did he have, really? Who else would take up the mantle? Shepard knew she would do the same if she were in his place. As it stood, it was an experience she could not share with him, even if she wanted to.

Placing her hands on his waist, she asked, "Should we just head to bed? It's pretty late."

"I hate to say it, but I think I have to." He squeezed her shoulders and let his arms fall away. "Let me just put a few things away. It's not much, but I figured you were running out of dextro at home."

"Oh, I went shopping for you this morning," she replied.

"You did? You didn't have to do that, love." He'd already pulled one of the boxes from his bag, but he tucked it back in and zipped the bag shut again. "Ah well, something for the flight home, hmm?"

Home. Shepard grew sad at the word.

Outside, the snowfall had shifted from a steady shroud of white—light and gauzy like fine chiffon—to a curtain of plunging streaks, the flakes heavy with moisture. She watched for a moment as the snow hit the window and stuck to the glass. Reaching for the room controls, her other hand held Garrus' tightly, and she dimmed every light but the one at the door.

Shepard woke to find the skylight above her blotted out. She rubbed her eyes and rolled her head toward Garrus, but the space next to her in the bed was empty.

"Garrus?" Shepard croaked, the covers half hiding her face. There was no answer.

Turning her head the other way, she glimpsed the side yard through the picture window, but the sun was bleaching the snow to a blinding white, and it hurt her eyes to keep staring. Overnight, the floor had grown deep with drifts, and by early morning the storm petered out to a dusting, though they'd both been too fast asleep to notice.

Still groggy, she dragged herself out of bed and plodded down the hallway. The cold floor on her bare feet made her toes shrivel like they'd been frostbitten by the frozen ground.

"Hey, gorgeous. You slept well last night," he said from behind the cooktop, subvocals flitting high as he flipped a perfectly round pancake.

Shepard's eyes went wide. Since when did Garrus cook? And human dishes at that? "What's all this, then?"

"Breakfast." He tightened his awkward grip on the handle of the spatula. "Spirits only know how long it's going to be until we see each other again. It's going to be a busy six months. Thought I'd give us a nice send off before tomorrow."

The idea of another six months put a knot in her stomach. His six months and her six months had the potential to be wildly different in a bad way. Still, she wouldn't let that stop her from cherishing his thoughtful gesture. "I'm impressed. Even humans have a hard time cooking those evenly." She cocked an eyebrow. "When did you have time to learn how to cook?"

"Dancing wasn't the only thing I asked Vega to teach me. And there's this thing called the extranet too, don't know if you've heard of it."

The cheeky wave of his mandibles made her smile. "Smart-ass."

Garrus slid the spatula under the finished pancake and moved it onto a second plate. "Just give me a few minutes, I've got two more to finish. There's coffee ready, if you want."

Shepard poured herself a cup. Sipping her coffee and shuffling toward the bookshelves, she gazed out onto the scramble of white-topped branches in the orchard and the lake with its deep blues and grays and enameled reflections of the surrounding peaks. A memory stirred. Maybe it was her therapist's doing—the woman had made a nest in her head—or maybe it was nostalgia, but something long buried under the weight of the dead had resurrected itself.

"When was the first time you ever saw snow?"

"The first time I saw snow?" he called out over his shoulder as he ladled out more batter.

"I imagine you must have been an adult, or close to one, considering the climate in Cipritine."

"Mmm, I was probably sixteen, assigned to Datriux in the Trebia System. All rocks and ice." Garrus turned around. "Disembarking was a shock. I thought: surely this has to be some kind of test. Why else would they bring a band of gangly, naive recruits here? That or to teach us extreme cold survival." He snorted. "We didn't find out until we got to base that it was a last minute request from high up. A routine escort for some mining big-wigs. They just needed bodies, really."

"Aww, that's no fun." Shepard took a slow sip and let it bathe her tongue. Coffee always tasted better when someone else made it.

A crisp sizzle carried across the room. "What about you?"

"The first time I saw snow I was six, seven? Not very long after my biotics developed. It never snowed at our elevation, but farther out, in the mountains. It was about a four hour trip out from our farm. My dad, he grew up on Earth in a place that got plenty of snow. Buffalo—ever heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Heh, it was just a name to me too." Shepard crossed back to the kitchen and took a seat at the kitchen island. "Winter was his favorite season. He was so excited to take us, me and Damian. Made me a homemade sled and everything. He was usually pretty reserved, so seeing him like that really sticks out in my memory. I think he was trying to cheer me up, you know? I'd been really scared and upset on account of the biotics."

"And your mom?"

"My mom didn't go. She was like you, she hated the cold. With a passion, almost."

"Smart lady," Garrus said, punctuating his comment with a flick of the spatula.

"I remember pressing my face to the window of the car as I watched the flakes come down. I was glued there. I thought it was the most magical thing I'd ever seen. And when I stepped foot into it, it was like cold, fluffy sugar. I might have tried to eat it. I don't recall. Maybe I just dreamt that part."

The spatula scraped across the griddle as Garrus flipped the last pancake onto the plate. "They might not be made of sugar, but I've got some nice fluffy pancakes for eating," he said, drizzling on the syrup.

"And look at that, another first right here. A meal made by a turian general, just for me. I feel so important!" She grinned as he set the plate in front of her. "They look great."

"Let's hope they taste as good as they look," he said, sliding a fork and a knife next to her plate. "I can't exactly taste test."

Shepard didn't have to take a single bite to know they were delicious. If there was anyone she trusted to be meticulous and follow the recipe to a tee, it was Garrus.

"I'm sure they're fantastic," she replied. She a cut neat square from the stack and stabbed her fork through all three layers at once. "Cheers!"

"Hurry up, will you! It isn't going to be light out very long," Shepard belted over her shoulder.

A deep burning had set into her thighs, and she stopped to give them a quick rub just before the cresting the hill. After breakfast, they'd spent the rest of morning in bed, eager to make the most of what little time they had left. Maybe it was too much to be outside after all that, but it was a shame to let such a beautiful snowfall go to waste.

Garrus caught up a little as she scrambled up the steep hill with a sled creeping at her heels. "How do you live with such short daylight hours?" he huffed, finally reaching the top. "Seems depressing." His breath turned the air white, and he hung his hand on her shoulder. "Shepard, this is killing me. It's too damn cold to be out here. Do you want your boyfriend to die?"

She straightened the sled to face directly downhill. "After everything we've been through, you're going to let yourself get taken out by a snow hill and a kiddie sled?"

"Of course not. But if we crash into a tree, I'm holding you responsible."

"Relax!" she said, tugging the cuff of her glove over her sleeve. "You know I can steer."

Garrus eyed her with suspicion. "Can you…?"

"You'll be ok, I promise! And you've got me to keep you warm, haven't you?" Trying her best to turn on the sex appeal, she peered over her shoulder and pursed her lips.

"Wait a minute—this…this is like the time you tried to get me into the lake," he said. "Coaxing me with your feminine charm. I see what you're doing. You are trying to get me killed."

She dropped the act; she knew he was being facetious, of course, but had hoped he'd forgotten about the lake by now. She pretended not to hear him. "Now, you sit here," she commanded and patted the back of the sled.

"How am I supposed to sit?" Hesitant to climb in, Garrus placed his feet on either side and slowly lowered himself into the shallow bed. Halfway through the awkward squat, however, his center of gravity gave way, and his backside hit the hard bottom with a painful-looking whump. He winced. "I've got no cushion there, you know."

Shepard gestured to the end of the sled with her chin. Garrus had sat smack dab in the middle. Following her direction, he inched his bottom toward the back, his legs an awkward heap of sticks that went past the front of the sled.

"My legs won't fit—my spurs are in the way."

"Bend your legs, you silly goose."

As he worked to reposition himself, a sharp crack echoed somewhere past the clearing in the sparse stand of firs that flanked Jillian's storehouse. Shepard whipped her head toward the sound, but she didn't see anything worth noting—probably just a tree limb breaking from heavy snow.

"Ok G, I'm going to—" A low scrape pricked her ear. She turned back to see Garrus careening down the long hill, legs stiff and bouncing above the sled, screeching like an angry hawk.

"SHEPAAAAAARD!" he yelled with desperation, his voice shrinking away as he raced closer to the bottom.

Without warning, the sled veered to the right and struck an invisible mound. A spray of snow flew out; Garrus and the sled went airborne, both hanging in the air for what seemed like eons. He came back to Earth with a heavy thud, and by some miracle—or by sheer will—he'd managed to land upright, but was now turned around and going backwards, still hanging on for dear life. He eventually coasted to a stop at a line of snow-encrusted shrubs.

Shepard's mouth hung open. Did…did that actually just happen?

"Oh my god…ARE YOU OK?" she called out. She'd wanted to laugh but was too shocked for any sound to appear.

From the top of the hill, he appeared to be nothing more than a dark lump atop a sliver of red, sprinkled with a good helping of snow. He sat silent, frozen in the sled, and didn't move for the next ten seconds.

"GARRUS!"

Four big toes jerked out from a heap of snow. With his back to the slope, he stood up and gingerly tipped his head forward to clear it of powder. He growled something as he brushed himself off, but Shepard couldn't make it out from where she was.

"GARRUS! ARE YOU OK?"

He waved both arms in the air to show he was alright.

"CAN YOU BRING THE SLED BACK?" she shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth.

He turned around and waved again. "WHAT?"

"BRING THE SLED BACK!" she shouted louder. For a moment, Shepard wondered if that was asking too much, but if Garrus could survive a rocket to the face, he could certainly drag a sled up a hill after hurtling himself down it.

"YOU'RE KIDDING, RIGHT?"

"HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO GET DOWN?"

He planted his hands on hips as if mocking her. "HOW ABOUT WALKING?"

Crinkling her nose, she snorted and stifled a laugh. He was feeling alright, that was for sure. Garrus waved her off, then bent down to pick up the sled. The bright chirp of her omnitool had almost escaped her notice as watched him trudge to the base of the hill with the sled dragging behind him like dead weight. She glanced down to see who was calling.

"Miranda—what's going on?" She'd answered straight away.

"I have some news for you." Miranda's voice was clipped and hesitant.

The last time someone had news for Shepard, someone close to her had died. She tried not imagine the worst but quickly came to her senses when she remembered why Miranda must be calling. "The results?"

"Yes." There was a long pause.

Shepard flexed her fingers. They felt a bit numb, even inside the gloves, but she chalked it up to the cold. "Well don't leave me hanging. Is it good news or bad news?"

"A bit of a mixed bag, I'm afraid."

"Shit."

Miranda inhaled over the line. "Don't get your hopes up too high, but there's a chance—a minimal chance—that we may see some positive progress. It won't come without pain, however."

Garrus was nearly to the top. He was bounding up, his lanky legs sinking into the hillside as he held the sled above his head with both arms. Shepard would have to ask more questions later. She lowered her voice. "Listen, I can't talk right now. Can you send me a copy?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

"Call me if you have any questions."

"I will—bye."

Just as she'd hung up, Garrus crested the hill with the sled tucked under his arm. "That was as awful as I imagined it." He shook his head, but his smile betrayed him. "You know I love you, right?"

Shepard smiled back, her heart bubbling at his grudging affection. "I do."

"Good," he said, flinging the sled to the ground. He stomped on the reins to make sure it didn't slide back down. "Who was that just now?"

"Ah…that would be Miranda. Told her I couldn't talk right now. I'll call her back tomorrow." Hopeful that was the end of the question, she squinted, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. "Are you alright? That was some pretty impressive hang time you had back there…"

"Like I said, not a lot of cushion back there," he said, patting at his backside.

"Wanna try again? We'll go down together. I'll steer."

"Captain goes down with the ship?"

"Something like that." Doing her best to raise herself on her toes—not an easy task in snow boots—she gently pulled at his shoulders to give him a peck on the chin. "For good luck. And thanks…for coming," she said, gazing directly into his eyes. "I know it wasn't easy to get here."

He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek. "I'm glad I made it."

"Me too." Shepard took his hand before it dropped and gave it a long squeeze. She wasn't about to take his presence for granted.

"So, any particular instructions, captain?" he asked, straightening his back.

"Whatever you do, don't put your feet up. You can do that once I'm aboard and I give you the signal. Got it?"

"Yes sir," he said, mimicking a human salute.

Garrus nestled himself at the very back, and Shepard followed, wedging herself in the front between his legs. It was a tight fit. Despite being the longest model in the store, there was barely enough space for Garrus, let alone the two of them together. There would be little room for error with such a loaded bed; Shepard made sure to center herself for even steering. Scanning the incline, she made note of obstacles to avoid and raised her hand high.

"On my signal…"—her hand chopped through the air—"Engage!"

Per her instructions, Garrus brought his feet up and let gravity take over. The sled juddered at first, but soon they were accelerating, their combined weight launching them down the hill faster than Garrus' untimely solo run. Snow fanned into Shepard's face, making her sputter, but her sputters soon turned to squeals as Garrus laughed in her ear, and his knees bounced against her sides.

They were nearly at the bottom when an anomaly caught her attention—a boulder or large rock in disguise. She pushed her foot out to steer them out of harms way, but her boot went in deeper than expected, dragging through the snow and slowing them down at an angle. Thrusting her other foot out to right it, they came to a controlled stop several meters before the silver junipers.

"See! Told you I can steer!" she said proudly, and wiped the snow from her grinning face. "We we were close to hitting a bump back there but I dodged just in time."

"Never doubted you for a second," replied Garrus.

She leaned back into his keel, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"My feelings on snow may have thawed a little. That was…fun."

Shepard snorted. "Good. It's meant to be." As much as Garrus complained about the cold, she thought some fun might take his mind off everything, if only for a day. She was glad to know his accident hadn't soured him to the experience. At the very least, it was a memorable afternoon.

"One more time?" he asked.

"Are you serious?" She chortled, leaning forward to look back at him. "Alright, but I'm still driving."

"Fair. I trust you more than I trust myself right now anyway."

When Shepard stood up to step out of the sled, a blistering jolt zapped up her right leg. "Fffffffff…." She grimaced and lifted her foot, nearly toppling over as she tried to balance on the other leg. Garrus was quick to catch her.

"Circe, what's wrong?"

"Fuck! I think I hurt my ankle." She gripped Garrus' forearm and kept her foot hovering above the ground, the toe of her boot just grazing the snow. Now the pain was throbbing deep within her leg. "When I put my foot down to steer, it went in really deep. I must have rolled it. I can't stand."

"And you didn't feel that when it happened?" Garrus crouched down, placing one arm around her back and the other behind her knees.

"Ahhh, don't carry me like that!" she shouted before he'd had a chance to lift her up.

"No?"

"On your back."

"What, why?" he asked, still crouched awkwardly.

"I'm not a princess or a bride, I don't need to be carried over a threshold."

"Shepard, now's not the time. It'll be better for your ankle this way, less jostling."

"Fine…" she muttered.

She wrapped one arm around his neck—but only one—as he scooped her off the ground with care and stood up straight. She felt ridiculous having to be carried away like this; it was almost an indignity.

"What about the sled?" she asked, pointing.

"I'll come back for it later. Let's get you inside first."

As Garrus hiked back to the house through the thick snow, Shepard looked up to see his mandibles tucked tight to his jaw, his expression cold but determined. She wrapped her other arm around his neck and pressed her head down into the soft padding of his coat's shoulder. He'd been right. Her ankle was throbbing now, and any jerky movements would have made it feel worse. She'd meant it when she said she didn't want to be treated like a princess or a bride—she'd never wanted to be—but right now, in this moment, she felt like one, and it made her heart sing just a little.

Trekking through the snowy woods with his injured girlfriend in his arms was not how Garrus had pictured his afternoon going. He was glad, though, that he'd been there. Shepard being alone at the orchard worried him sometimes, and not just for the obvious reasons (was is it wise for someone struggling with her mental health to live this way?) but for practical purposes too. What if she got trapped by a piece of machinery? Who would be there to help? If she were dragged away by a hungry wild animal? A fire? A flood? An attack on the house?

Garrus looked down at her quiet, freckled face. She was not the least bit bothered that he was taking such big, ungainly steps as they traveled down the final slope towards the house. That was when he remembered: she was still Commander Shepard, the beleagured woman who'd survived—against all odds and common sense—everything the universe had thrown at her. And despite appearances, one of the most deadly soldiers he'd ever known. He was sure she could tackle any Earth animal barehanded and win. Why was he still so worried, then? Garrus scolded himself twice. First for being worried, then for forgetting who he was in his arms.

Much to Shepard's chagrin, he carried her over the threshold of the house and set her down on the settee without removing his boots. Snow from their coats and gloves tumbled onto the velvet seat and onto the floor.

"Crap, we're getting snow everywhere," she said, looking down at the Alenkos' pristine, vintage furniture.

"It's only water, Shepard. It's not going to stain anything." Garrus removed his gloves, then removed Shepard's first boot.

"Be careful."

"I know. Don't worry, I'll be gentle." He undid the buckles, being mindful not to move her foot too much, then held her calf as he pulled the tongue of the boot loose and eased the whole thing off in one slow motion.

"Smooth moves, handsome."

"I try," Garrus purred. He removed her sock and examined her foot and ankle. "How does that feel?"

"Not the best, but definitely not the worst pain I've been in."

He dreaded to think of the worst pain she'd been in. "Well, I don't think it's broken, at least."

"Me either. It's still pretty swollen though," said Shepard.

"Let's get some medigel on it. It'll take the edge off at least. Where do you keep it?"

"Umm, in the master bedroom, dresser, first drawer on the right."

"Be right back."

He strode to the bedroom and opened the drawer. The wide drawer was a mess of things—a cracked datapad, two old books, a host of mismatched socks, a knit scarf, a scattering of hair pins, an empty jar, and more. Seeing the state of it, one might be hard pressed to believe this was the same person who had organized countless missions with precision and care, who had been in command of an elite military vessel. Then again, Garrus had never rifled through her drawers before; it was a small glimpse into Circe's inner life.

Pulling the drawer open a little more, he spied a cluster of vials crowded in the dark reaches of the back. He lifted them out one at a time to read the labels. Lamotrigine, gabapentin, duloxetine—all words that sounded like an odd bug in his translator. His stomach dropped as he held the third vial in his palm. He wasn't familiar enough with human biology to know exactly what these were for, but he'd known a fellow C-Sec officer who had taken duloxetine for a long time after a violent arrest gone wrong. It seemed to treat PTSD as far as he could tell.

He stared at the label on the vial, his gaze fixated on her name: Shepard, Circe. It looped through his mind like a distress signal. He closed his hand tight around the vial when he heard Shepard's voice calling out from from the other end of the house.

"Ah! I just remembered, it's in the bathroom cabinet!"

"Got it!" he shouted back. He tucked the vial back into place, then retrieved the medigel from the bathroom.

As Garrus swayed through the hallway, he tried his best to forget what he'd seen. If she hadn't mentioned her medication before, she probably didn't want to talk about it; whatever the problem was was between her and her doctor. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling there was more to it than PTSD.

After he applied the cool gel to her leg and ankle, Shepard tested the sprain by standing.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, painting over his anxiety with a bright tone. He was thankful she couldn't hear the stilted vibrato in his voice.

With one hand atop the setee, she bent her knees. "Peachy! Never better."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, of course." Shepard looked down as she shifted from foot to foot. When she looked up at Garrus, his mandibles were wavering. "Why, what's up?"

"Nothing." That was an outright lie. "Just wondering if I should stay on another day, just in case."

"Don't. I'm fine! Besides, Victus is expecting you. And Wrex too. Your mom, Solana…"

"But it might be hard for you, being alone here. If the bone is fractured—"

"Will you quit worrying? It's only a sprain. And besides, I can always call Jillian or Rusty if I need a ride to the medical clinic. No big deal."

"Alright. I'm sorry."

"I can take care of myself, always have." Her smile grew as wide and bright as the snow drifts outside. "You know that."

Yes, he knew that logically speaking, but the logic centers of his brain had been short-circuted the moment he found the vials in that drawer.

"If you'll pardon me, nature calls," Shepard said as she stepped in his direction.

"Need some help?"

"I've got it. You stay right there."

Garrus watched as she hobbled down the hallway. No doubt she'd noticed he was acting out of character, and he wondered if she'd realized what drawer she'd directed to him to. Though judging by the rest of its contents, she might have forgotten what was in there.

The funny names on the labels stuck in his mind. Would it be wrong to know what they were for?

He brought up his omnitool and navigated to the search function, his finger freezing over the haptic interface as the word lamotrigine remained static in the text box. He stared at the word, and it stared back like a daunting monolith. But hitting 'enter' wouldn't answer his real question: why hadn't she told him?

He was never meant to see those vials, that much he knew. She must have a reason. Whatever was happening, he had to trust she would share when she was ready. Trust. They would always have trust in each other. He let out a sharp huff as he closed the text box and shut off his omnitool.

Beyond the strange names, there was one detail on the labels that stood out to him most-a detail all the vials had in common, and the thing that bothered him the most: the name Shalta Ward Pharmacy emblazoned across each one.

*Snowdrop (galanthus) - a hardy perennial plant with white, bell-shaped flowers that bloom in winter. There's usually still snow on the ground when they do. A symbol of hope, resilience, and perseverance.

*Sundew (drosera) - beautiful genera of plant that appears to be covered in drops of dew, but is actually covered in sticky hairs. It obtains essential nutrients like nitrogen by its carnivorous habits vs extracting it from the poor soils they grow in. One of Charles Darwin's greatest fascinations.

Song: "Coins" - Local Natives
19 hours from my door to yours / I count the miles and all the while / Waiting for the sun to rise /But how come you can be so sure about everything / When I go to sleep you're waking up

Song: "Winter" - Tori Amos
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter / I put my hand in my father's glove / I hear a voice, "You must learn to stand up / For yourself 'cause I can't always be around