Shepard
Shepard couldn’t deny it—some part of her had expected the Council to ignore the evidence against Saren. It wouldn’t have been the first time they turned a blind eye to something that didn’t suit their narrative. That tiny clip of conversation they’d presented could have easily been dismissed, twisted into something innocuous. She was certain they’d find a loophole, some excuse to wave them off.
But they hadn’t.
The moment they revoked Saren’s Spectre status, it felt like the floor had shifted under her feet. It wasn’t just surprise—it was a cold, hollow shock that settled in her chest. And then… they’d turned around and named her a Spectre.
The words had barely sunk in when her thoughts slipped to Nihlus. This would’ve been the first of many missions together, she thought, the weight of it settling heavier than she’d expected. He should’ve been standing there beside her, grinning with that quiet, knowing pride. Instead, his absence felt like an open wound. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. There was no room for that now. But if Saren hadn’t been there… if Nihlus hadn’t found him… Would any of this have happened? Would she have ever been named a Spectre at all?
The title felt hollow without him.
Udina and Anderson’s voices barely registered as they left to arrange her new ship. Their footsteps echoed in the grand chamber, but Shepard remained rooted to the spot, her mind spinning in a thousand directions. She should have felt something more—pride, maybe. Satisfaction. But all she felt was alone.
It was Tali’s voice that finally pulled her back.
“I thought the ambassador would be more pleased. He didn’t even thank you,” Tali said, her confusion clear even through the synthetic modulation of her helmet.
Shepard scoffed, the sound more bitter than amused. “What do you expect from a politician? It’s alright.” She shook her head and straightened her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get moving.”
“Right behind you, Shepard,” Garrus said with a nod, his deep voice grounding her in the present.
They fell into step, the bright, sterile halls of the Citadel Presidium stretching before them. Shepard’s mind still drifted, the weight of Nihlus’ memory lingering at the edges of her thoughts. But Tali, ever curious, broke the silence first.
“You know… three hundred years ago, when the geth drove us from our homeworld, we petitioned the Council to wipe out all synthetics.” Her voice was quiet, thoughtful. “They ignored our pleas.”
Shepard sighed, glancing over at Tali. “Maybe if they’d listened, we wouldn’t be here now.”
Garrus let out a low chuckle, his mandibles twitching. “Sounds just like them. Always too late to the party.”
That pulled a genuine laugh from Shepard. It felt strange—sharp and unexpected—but it helped. “Sounds like almost all politicians in history.”
As they walked through the Presidium, the sleek lines and humming lights of the Citadel’s architecture surrounded them, but Shepard’s gaze kept drifting to the keepers, their silent, diligent movements oddly comforting. She found herself scanning them absentmindedly, the device Chorban had given her buzzing softly in her hand.
It didn’t take long for Garrus to notice.
“So, Commander,” he started, his tone light but curious, “why exactly are you scanning the keepers?”
Shepard shrugged, the motion casual. “I don’t know.” But when Garrus arched a brow, clearly waiting for more, she sighed. “Met this salarian, Chorban, in the tower. Said he wanted to study them but was afraid of getting arrested. Seemed harmless enough. He’s got a point—we don’t really know much about the keepers.”
Garrus tilted his head, considering that. “You’re not wrong. They are a mystery.” He shot her a sideways glance, his tone turning playful. “So, you’re aware it’s illegal but just… don’t care?”
Shepard chuckled, the sound warmer this time. “Didn’t really care before. And now…” She smirked, glancing at him. “Well, Garrus, are you going to arrest me? You’re a C-Sec officer, after all.”
“I’m not a very good turian, remember?” Garrus shot back, his grin widening.
Shepard shook her head, but the smile lingered on her lips. There was something about Garrus—something that made it easy to fall into this rhythm. They understood each other, especially in the chaos of battle, but even here, in the quiet between missions, he had a way of grounding her.
“How does it feel to be a Spectre?” Tali’s voice broke in, her curiosity almost tangible despite the helmet.
Shepard hesitated. How does it feel? The truth was, she didn’t know. It was Nihlus who had put her name forward for this. He’d believed in her. But now…
“I’m not sure. Strange, I guess,” Shepard admitted, her voice softer. “The thought of getting my own ship just for that is… I don’t know.” She sighed, glancing ahead. “If I’m honest, I wasn’t ready to leave the Normandy. Being XO under Captain Anderson was a dream posting. Anderson’s a legend, and the Normandy’s the most advanced ship in the fleet. Proof of what humans and turians can accomplish together.” Her smile faded. “I should be happier, probably, but…”
“But you’d have preferred the Council to just send the fleet after Saren?” Garrus finished for her, his tone understanding.
“Yeah,” Shepard murmured. “I want to catch Saren—don’t get me wrong. But why is no one willing to commit a fleet?” The frustration gnawed at her, but underneath it was something deeper—grief. This mission, this title, had come at a cost.
“I know what you mean,” Garrus said quietly. “Sometimes being second-in-command of an amazing ship and crew is better than having your own. It makes sense.”
Shepard glanced at him, grateful for his understanding. “And I’m still not really sure what this all means for me. What happens to me, my ship, my crew once we stop Saren?” She shook her head. “I guess the thought of being a Spectre is just… new to me.”
“Spectres can go anywhere, do anything in the galaxy,” Garrus began explaining. “From what I hear, they get missions directly from the Council. When they’re not on assignment, they’re free to investigate whatever they want in Citadel space.”
“Anything that interests me?” Shepard quipped, raising an eyebrow. She couldn’t imagine what that even looked like. She’d been in the military for so long, the idea of freedom felt foreign.
Garrus met her gaze, his eyes glinting with humor. “Anything. Guess that means you’re free to keep scanning those keepers.”
Shepard laughed, and for the first time since stepping out of the Council chambers, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter. She wasn’t sure what the future held—what being a Spectre really meant. But with Garrus and Tali beside her, the path ahead felt a little less uncertain.
And for now, that was enough.
Shepard
Over the next couple of days, as they walked through the Wards, Shepard found herself stopped at nearly every turn. People wanted to meet the first human Spectre, shaking her hand as if they had any idea who she really was. Some Alliance officers saluted, wide-eyed and eager, while others just stared, whispering in passing. She’d always hated this part—the fame that clung to her like an ill-fitting uniform after Akuze.
That damn mission. People loved to call it her grand accomplishment, the story of the lone survivor who triumphed against impossible odds. But they conveniently forgot what it really meant. She had failed. Her entire unit had been wiped out, good soldiers gone in an instant, and she hadn’t saved a single one of them. Surviving wasn’t a victory—it was a scar.
When Conrad Verner of all people stopped her, practically vibrating with excitement as he gushed about her ‘heroic deeds,’ it was all she could do to smile stiffly and move on. If only you knew, she thought bitterly.
She was spiraling again, letting those old wounds fester just beneath the surface when Garrus’ voice cut through the noise, grounding her.
“Commander,” he said, his tone casual, but with that edge of familiarity he’d picked up in the past day. “If you’re done scanning keepers, dealing with unruly hanar prophets, and tracking down random signals leading to rogue AIs, maybe we could find some dinner.”
Shepard smirked despite herself. How does he always know? “Hoping I’m buying again, Vakarian?” she teased, her voice lighter than she felt.
“I could go for some dinner…” Tali added, her voice hopeful.
Garrus chuckled, the sound warm and easy. “No, Commander. Let’s call it a celebratory dinner in your honor.”
“Very well, Vakarian. Lead—” But the words died on her lips as her omni-tool blinked with a new message.
ANDERSON [17:43]: Come to Dock 422. Udina and I have an update.
Shepard stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary. Dock 422. She knew exactly what was docked there, but the weight of it didn’t hit until now. The Normandy…
“Well… looks like dinner’s going to have to wait,” she sighed, forcing her voice into something steady. “Seems like they’ve figured things out. Unless…” She glanced at Garrus and Tali, something unspoken lingering in her chest. “You want to come with me? Then we can eat after.”
“I’ll manage a little longer without dinner,” Garrus replied without hesitation, his tone softer this time.
“We’re with you, Shepard,” Tali added, nodding.
The walk to Dock 422 felt longer than it should have. Each step echoed louder in Shepard’s mind, her thoughts racing ahead even as her face remained composed. When they reached the docking bay, she stopped in her tracks.
There she was—the Normandy. Sleek, beautiful, familiar. Shepard’s chest tightened. She hadn’t fully processed it before, but standing here now, the truth loomed over her like a shadow.
This is Anderson’s ship.
“Captain…” Shepard started, but her words felt like they were being pulled from her throat. “What’s going on?”
It was Udina who answered first, his voice sharp and matter-of-fact, lacking any trace of emotion. “Captain Anderson is stepping down as commanding officer of the Normandy.”
Shepard’s stomach dropped.
“The Normandy is yours now, Shepard,” Anderson added, his voice calm, but she could hear the undercurrent of something else—regret maybe. Or was it resignation? “She’s quick and quiet, and you know the crew. Perfect ship for a Spectre.”
Her breath caught. No. This isn’t right.
She hadn’t wanted to leave the Normandy, but this… this wasn’t what she wanted either. The ship belonged to Anderson. He was the one who deserved to command the most advanced ship in the fleet, not her. She hadn’t earned it like he had.
“No, Captain. I want the truth.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, the frustration bubbling beneath her carefully constructed facade. “Why are you stepping down?”
Anderson met her gaze, steady and unwavering. “A Spectre can’t answer to anyone but the Council. It’s time for me to step down, Shepard.”
She could tell there was more to it. Politics. Power plays. Udina’s smug face was all the confirmation she needed. But Shepard didn’t press—not here, not now. Not with Udina standing there like a vulture waiting to pick apart the pieces.
“Commander,” Udina cut in, his voice as smooth and dismissive as ever. “We had reports of geth in the Feros system before our colony there dropped out of contact. There have also been sightings around Noveria. You could start your search there.”
In the chaos of the last couple of days, Shepard had almost forgotten about her visions. The burning images of the Protheans’ extinction, the overwhelming presence of something ancient and malevolent—the Reapers.
“Do we have any more information on these Reapers?” she asked, the word feeling heavy on her tongue. “If what I saw, and what Saren is after, is true, they’re the real threat.”
“I’m with the Council on this, Shepard,” Udina snapped, almost too quickly. “I’m not sure they even exist.”
But Anderson—Anderson believed her. “If they do, the Conduit is the key to bringing them back. Stop Saren from finding the Conduit, and you stop the Reapers. Just make sure he doesn’t find it.”
“There’s one more lead, Commander,” Udina added, his voice growing impatient. “Matriarch Benezia has a daughter, Dr. Liara T’Soni. A scientist specializing in Prothean tech. We’ve got reports she was exploring a dig site in the Artemis Tau Cluster.”
Shepard nodded slowly, the weight of it all settling on her shoulders like a familiar burden. “I’ll start there.”
With that, Udina and Anderson left, their footsteps fading into the background. Shepard stood there, staring at the Normandy, feeling both everything and nothing at once.
“Well,” Garrus said quietly, “looks like you don’t have to leave the Normandy after all.”
Shepard let out a shaky breath. “Yeah… this isn’t quite how I wanted this, though.”
Garrus was silent for a moment, then said, “I know, Shepard.”
She turned to him, surprised by how much those simple words meant. There was something in the way he stood there—steady, patient—as if he understood exactly what she needed without her having to say it. It was odd, really. Turians weren’t generally good at reading humans, but Garrus? He seemed to know when to talk, when to let her walk in silence, when to crack a joke just to make her laugh.
And somehow, that made her feel… less alone.
A small, unbidden smile tugged at her lips. “So… someone said something about dinner?”
Garrus’ mandibles twitched in what she recognized as his version of a grin. “Follow me,” he said, motioning back toward the elevator. “I think I’ve got just the thing.”
Shepard
Garrus led them down into the lower levels of the Wards, weaving through narrow side streets until they reached a small, out-of-the-way sushi restaurant nestled between two neon-lit storefronts. It didn’t look like much from the outside—just a flickering sign in faded lettering and a set of worn sliding doors that squeaked as they opened.
But Shepard knew places like this. The ones that didn’t scream look at me, the ones tucked away in the quieter corners of the galaxy—those were the ones that always had the best food. And this place? It smelled perfect. The briny tang of fresh fish mixed with the warmth of steamed rice and something subtly spicy hanging in the air. She felt a flicker of anticipation, which, honestly, caught her off guard.
She loved sushi.
And that begged the question…
“Have you been looking into me, Vakarian?” Shepard asked, her eyes narrowing as she shot him a suspicious glance.
Garrus didn’t miss a beat. His mandibles twitched in that way she was beginning to recognize as his version of a smirk. “Maybe I’ve got my sources,” he replied, his tone just this side of playful.
She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as they stepped inside. “Sources, huh?”
He chuckled, the low rumble of it oddly comforting, “I am good at my job, you know?”
Shepard blinked, not sure whether to be impressed or mildly alarmed. “You… seriously investigated me to figure out what I like to eat?”
“What can I say? I’m thorough,” Garrus shot back, his voice dripping with mock professionalism. “Besides, it’s not every day you get to have dinner with the first human Spectre. Thought I’d better do it right.”
She shook her head, but the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Damn it, Vakarian.
They were seated at a small corner table, the dim lighting casting soft shadows on the walls. Tali slid into the booth beside Shepard, her visor reflecting the soft glow of the hanging lanterns, while Garrus sat across from them, his posture relaxed in a way that Shepard envied.
The server—a slim asari with a bored expression—took their orders, and for a few blessed moments, they just… sat. The noise of the restaurant washed over them in waves: the quiet clink of chopsticks, the low hum of conversation in a dozen different languages, the occasional hiss of a hot pan from the open kitchen.
Shepard found herself exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“So,” Garrus started, leaning back in his seat, “what’s the plan now, Commander?”
Shepard sighed, the weight of the day settling on her shoulders again. “Figure out where Saren’s headed. Feros, Noveria, maybe track down this Dr. T’Soni. The Council wants results, and I don’t exactly have the luxury of time.”
Garrus nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got the Normandy. That’s a hell of a ship, Shepard.”
Yeah, she thought bitterly. And it should still belong to Anderson.
She didn’t say it, but the thought lingered, pressing against her ribs. She could still see Anderson’s face, hear the calm way he’d handed over the keys to the most advanced ship in the fleet like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing—not to her.
“Yeah,” she said aloud, forcing a smile. “It is.”
But Garrus wasn’t buying it. She could see it in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, the subtle tilt of his head like he was analyzing a datapad he didn’t quite trust. He was getting too good at reading her, and that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Before she could say anything else, he pivoted.
“You know,” he said, his tone shifting like he hadn’t just been dissecting her emotional state, “I’ve been wondering something.”
Shepard arched a brow. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “You ever wonder what kind of fish the keepers would be into?”
She blinked.
Tali let out a soft, surprised laugh. “Fish? Really, Garrus?”
“I mean, think about it,” Garrus continued, his voice entirely too serious for the subject matter. “They’re always scuttling around, doing… whatever it is they do. But no one ever talks about their diets. Maybe they’re sushi fans, too.”
Shepard stared at him for a beat before letting out a genuine laugh. It bubbled up before she could stop it, surprising her with its warmth. Damn him. He always knew exactly when to throw in something ridiculous just to pull her out of her own head.
“I swear, Vakarian,” she said, shaking her head, “if I catch you feeding sushi to a keeper, I’m reporting you to C-Sec.”
Garrus held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying—someone should run the experiment.”
Tali giggled, and Shepard found herself relaxing into the easy rhythm of their banter. The weight of being a Spectre, the burden of chasing Saren, even the guilt over Anderson—it all faded, if only for a little while.
And as their food arrived, and they settled into conversation about everything but missions, Spectres, and Eden Prime, Shepard realized something.
Maybe, just maybe, having Garrus and Tali by her side made the galaxy feel a little less overwhelming.
Garrus
The walk back toward through the wards felt lighter than it should have, considering everything that had happened. Shepard had been cracking jokes since they left the sushi place, Tali chimed in with her usual wide-eyed curiosity, and even Wrex had found them and tagged along, grumbling about how ‘Spectres are just glorified mercs with better PR.’
They were in the middle of a ridiculous conversation—something about whether the fish in the Presidium lake were real or just another Citadel rumor that wouldn’t die—when a sharp, familiar-sounding voice cut through the air.
“Well, there you are, pyjak! Or is it Spectre Pyjak now?”
Garrus felt Shepard come to an abrupt stop beside him. Before he could process who had spoken, he saw it—that smile.
It wasn’t the small, sarcastic smirk she reserved for their usual back-and-forth. It wasn’t the tight, professional smile she gave Udina to keep from decking him in the face. No, this was something else entirely. It was wide, unguarded, and—spirits—he didn’t think he’d seen that expression on her in the past couple of days they’d known each other.
Shepard spun on her heel, eyes bright, and Garrus followed her gaze.
The turian standing a few meters away was older, his plating darkened with age, but his posture radiated strength and authority. Even by turian standards, his presence was commanding—like someone who didn’t just walk into a room but owned it the moment he crossed the threshold. His mandibles twitched in a half-grin, the same easy confidence Garrus had seen in Shepard more than once.
And then Shepard did something that caught Garrus completely off guard.
She ran.
Before Garrus could blink, Shepard had closed the distance, throwing her arms around the older turian with a laugh that echoed off the polished walls around them.
What in the spirits…?
“Daddy!” Shepard’s voice was bright, almost breathless. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on Palaven!”
Garrus felt his mandibles twitch in surprise. Daddy?
The older turian chuckled, the sound low and warm as he easily lifted Shepard off the ground like she weighed nothing. “I just got back,” he said, setting her down gently. “But imagine my surprise stepping off the transport and finding out my daughter was made a Spectre.” He paused, his eyes gleaming with pride. “The first human Spectre.”
Garrus stood frozen, trying to process the scene in front of him. Daughter? A turian?
Shepard’s arms were still around the older turian’s neck as she pulled back, grinning like a kid who’d just been caught sneaking cookies before dinner. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”
“Oh?” The turian raised a brow. “How was I supposed to find out? A postcard from the Council?”
Shepard laughed again, and Garrus felt something shift in his chest. He didn’t know what exactly—just that it was weird seeing her like this. Vulnerable, open, affectionate. Not that she was cold or distant with them, but this was different. This wasn’t Commander Shepard, the sharp-witted soldier who could, apparently, stare down a thresher maw without blinking.
This was just… the woman beneath the soldier. Beneath the Spectre.
Tali leaned in toward Garrus, her voice a soft whisper. “I didn’t know Shepard had a turian father.”
“Neither did I,” Garrus muttered, his eyes still fixed on the pair in front of them.
Finally, Shepard turned back toward them, her arm slung casually around the older turian’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.
“Guys,” she said, still beaming, “this is Selvek. My dad.”
Selvek’s sharp eyes flicked over their little group, his gaze assessing but not unkind. When his eyes landed on Garrus, there was a flicker of recognition—or was it scrutiny? Garrus couldn’t tell.
“And you are?” Selvek asked, his tone light but layered with something Garrus couldn’t quite place.
Great, Garrus thought. Now I get to be interrogated by her father. Just what I needed.
“Garrus Vakarian,” he replied, standing a little straighter without even realizing it. “C-Sec. I’ve been working with Shepard investigating Saren.”
“Vakarian, huh?” Selvek’s mandibles twitched, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Any relation to Castis Vakarian?”
Garrus straightened instinctively. “Yeah. He’s my father.”
Selvek let out a low chuckle, but there was an edge to it. “Figures. Your father and I crossed paths a few times. Stiff as a metal rod, that one. By-the-book to the point of exhaustion.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “Hope you didn’t inherit that.”
Garrus couldn’t help but grin at that. “I’m not exactly by-the-book, sir.”
Selvek let out a sharp laugh, clapping a hand on Shepard’s shoulder. “I like him already.”
Actually, he’d probably approve of this one. Corthak’s words suddenly echoed in his mind.
Shepard rolled her eyes but didn’t bother hiding the grin still plastered on her face. “Don’t encourage him, Dad.”
Selvek’s gaze softened as he looked back at his daughter. “You’re doing good, pyjak. I’m proud of you.”
Garrus felt something tighten in his chest again—something he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t jealousy. Definitely not that. But seeing someone so important to Shepard, someone who knew her in a way he never could, stirred… something.
He shoved the thought aside as Selvek turned back to them.
“So,” Selvek said, his voice returning to that commanding timbre, “how about a drink? There’s a decent place in Zakera Ward. I need to hear about this Spectre business straight from the source.”
Shepard laughed, looping her arm through her dad’s. “Only if you promise not to interrogate my friends.”
“No promises,” Selvek shot back, but the glint in his eyes was unmistakable—warm, teasing, and full of pride.
As they followed Selvek, Garrus found himself falling into step beside Shepard. She glanced at him, her eyes still bright from the unexpected reunion. Wrex excused himself murmuring something about going to find a real party. Meaning trouble.
“You good, Vakarian?” she asked, her tone light but sincere.
Garrus chuckled softly. “A turian father? That explains a lot about you, Shepard.”
She smiled, and for a moment, everything felt… right.
Garrus
The lounge Selvek led them to was tucked into one of the quieter corners of the ward. It was quiet, no loud music, no flashing lights, no rowdy crowds. Just dim lighting, low conversations in half a dozen languages, and a quiet that settled into your bones.
But watching Shepard with Selvek, Garrus realized he’d been making a lot of assumptions about her.
They grabbed a table near the back, the kind of spot that offered a clear view of the exits—definitely a soldier’s habit. Selvek slid into the booth beside Shepard like he’d done it a thousand times, his arm resting casually along the back of the seat. Garrus took the opposite side, with Tali slipping in beside him, her curious gaze darting between Shepard and her father like she was trying to piece together a puzzle no one had told her existed.
Drinks arrived—Relay brandy for Selvek, Denorian beer for himself, and something called a whiskey sour for Shepard, her usual apparently. Something Garrus hadn’t even realized he knew until she ordered it. Tali stuck with something non-alcoholic, though Garrus was pretty sure it was more out of caution than preference.
For a while, the conversation was easy. Selvek had that kind of charisma—the kind that filled a room without trying too hard. He shared stories from his years in the turian military, though Garrus noticed how carefully he danced around the more classified details. Even his half-stories were enough to draw them in.
“…and just as I thought we were in the clear,” Selvek was saying, his mandibles twitching in amusement, “the krogan sniffs the air and says, ‘You smell like a liar.’”
Shepard burst out laughing, shaking her head. “You were lying!”
“Of course I was lying,” Selvek said, grinning. “But it’s not my fault krogan have noses like varren. Fortunately, he didn’t realize I’d rigged the entrance with enough explosives to blow us both into orbit.”
Garrus blinked, his drink halfway to his mouth. That story… I’ve heard that story before. Only it had been stripped of details, the name of the turian operative redacted in every C-Sec report and Spectre file he’d come across. Spirits.
“You’re that turian,” Garrus said, the realization hitting him like a freight hauler. “The one who took down the Blood Claw mercenary ring on Omega. That’s—I mean, that was legendary.”
Selvek chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “Most of it’s exaggerated. I only blew up half of Omega.”
“Sure,” Garrus muttered, but the respect was already settled deep in his chest. It was one thing to hear stories about a shadowy turian spy—it was another to sit across from him, watching him laugh like it was nothing more than an old joke.
What struck Garrus more, though, was how normal it all seemed to Shepard. She didn’t treat Selvek like a legend—just like her dad. It was strange, seeing the human daughter of a turian who could’ve had statues built in his honor, sitting there, teasing him about his old war stories like it was any other family dinner.
It… explained a lot, honestly. The turian phrases Shepard tossed around like second nature. The way she moved in battle, all precision and discipline, but with that flexible edge turian soldiers rarely mastered. And, more than anything, the way she understood Garrus without him needing to explain himself.
But it also raised more questions. Like how someone who’d clearly been raised in a world of strategy and discipline could look so lost when the topic shifted to Nihlus.
Selvek’s tone softened as the conversation lulled. He leaned in, his gaze settling on Shepard in a way that made Garrus’ fringe prickle.
“I spoke to Sarah when I landed,” Selvek said quietly, his voice low enough that Tali probably didn’t catch it, but Garrus’ sharp hearing didn’t miss a beat. “She mentioned… you’ve been taking Nihlus’ death hard.”
The air shifted—just enough to make the table feel like unfamiliar ground. Garrus saw it in the way Shepard’s shoulders stiffened, in the quick flash of emotion in her eyes before she masked it with a sip of her drink.
“I’m fine, Dad,” she said, her voice light, but too controlled. “It’s been a hell of a week, that’s all.”
Selvek didn’t push, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t buying it. Neither was Garrus.
The pieces clicked together slowly in Garrus’ mind. Nihlus. Of course. It wasn’t just that she respected him as a Spectre or mourned him as a comrade. There was something more there, something unspoken and buried deep beneath her sharp jokes and steady composure. Garrus wasn’t sure what it was, but now that he’d seen the cracks, he couldn’t unsee them.
Selvek shifted the conversation again, obviously sensing that Shepard wasn’t ready to dive deeper. Garrus followed along, but his mind kept drifting back to that flicker of vulnerability in Shepard’s eyes.
Later, after a few more rounds of drinks and a handful of war stories that left Garrus both impressed and mildly concerned for Selvek’s sanity, the topic circled back to something closer to home.
“So,” Garrus started, curiosity finally getting the better of him, “how do you know my father?”
Selvek’s mandibles twitched, not quite a smirk but close. “Castis Vakarian. Now there’s a name I haven’t cursed under my breath in a while.”
Garrus chuckled, not even surprised. “Sounds about right.”
“Had to work with him once on a joint operation,” Selvek said, shaking his head. “I needed his help tracking down a suspect—slippery bastard, moving through Citadel space faster than we could keep up. But your father…” He let out a dry laugh. “He was dead set on filing all the proper documentation before we even left the station. Every report, every authorization form—by the time we hit the ground, the target was halfway to Terminus.”
“That sounds like him,” Garrus muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been fighting that same uphill battle at C-Sec for years.”
Selvek’s gaze sharpened slightly, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Good to see you didn’t inherit his paper-pushing tendencies.”
Garrus grinned. “Much to his regret, sir.”
The night wound down after that, the easy rhythm of conversation settling into something quieter as they finished their drinks. Selvek clapped Garrus on the shoulder as they left the lounge, giving him a look that Garrus couldn’t quite decipher—approval, maybe. Or just acknowledgment.
But as they walked toward the Normandy, Garrus couldn’t shake the feeling that the night had changed something. Shepard wasn’t just the sharp-tongued soldier he’d met a couple of days ago. She was more. She was the human daughter of a turian legend, a Spectre who carried the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, and someone who, despite everything, still managed to laugh like the world wasn’t falling apart.
And he wanted to know every part of that story.
Even the ones she wasn’t ready to tell yet.
Shepard
The cool Citadel air hit Shepard as they stepped out of the lounge. The neon lights flickered across the polished walkways, casting soft reflections off the walls around them. She let out a slow breath, feeling the buzz of the evening lingering—not from the drinks, but from the easy rhythm of the night.
It had been… good. Better than she expected.
Selvek walked beside her, his presence steady and familiar, while Tali hovered just a step behind, her excitement barely contained even after hours of conversation. But it was Garrus who she found herself glancing toward.
They’d fallen into step like they had been doing—easily, naturally. It was strange, really. She’d only known him a few days, and yet… it felt like longer. Like he’d been a part of her crew from the start. Except he wasn’t.
And as they neared the walkway where their paths would split, that reality settled in, heavier than she expected.
Garrus came to a stop, his mandibles twitching in that way she recognized—a mix of professional restraint and something more personal. Reluctance, maybe?
“Well, Commander,” Garrus started, his voice steady but tinged with something she couldn’t quite place, “it’s been a pleasure working with you. I’m glad I was able to help in at least getting Saren’s Spectre status revoked.”
Shepard opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. She hadn’t really thought about this being the end of their cooperation. The past few days had been a whirlwind of chasing leads, clearing the reputation of the consort, scanning keepers for questionable salarians, and dealing with Alliance bureaucracy—but through all of it, Garrus had been there. Steady. Reliable.
And now?
“I wish you the best in tracking him down,” Garrus continued, shifting slightly on his feet like the words tasted bitter. “I suppose it’s time for me to get back to work.”
“Thank you, Garrus,” Shepard said, finally finding her voice. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He gave a small, almost self-deprecating laugh, bowing his head slightly. “I’m sure you give me too much credit, but thank you nonetheless.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away.
Shepard stood there for a moment, watching his figure fade into the crowd, the faint blue glow of his visor fading under the overhead lights before disappearing completely. It was… unexpected, the way the absence hit her. She hadn’t seen Kaidan or Ashley in days, and honestly, she hadn’t missed them. But Garrus?
Tali’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“Commander,” she said softly, stepping closer. “If I may… I’d like to continue working with you to find Saren. The geth drove my people from our homes. I can’t stay behind and watch them destroy the whole galaxy.”
Shepard turned, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Tali’s determination was contagious.
“Of course, Tali,” Shepard said, resting a hand on the quarian’s shoulder. “I’d appreciate the help. You’ve more than proven yourself capable. Get to the Normandy by 0900, and we’ll get you settled in and introduced to the crew.”
Tali nodded, her eyes bright behind the helmet. But as they started walking again, Shepard’s thoughts drifted back to Garrus—and why his absence felt like a missing piece she hadn’t noticed until it was gone.
The streets had quieted as they made their way back home. Selvek walked beside her, his steps easy, but Shepard knew him too well not to sense the shift in his posture. The way his head tilted slightly, the way his eyes darted sideways like he was waiting for the right moment.
It didn’t take long.
“So,” Selvek started, his voice low and casual, but Shepard heard the real question buried beneath the words, “you doing alright?”
Shepard shot him a sideways glance, her defenses rising instinctively. “Of course.”
Selvek chuckled, that dry, knowing sound that had called her out more times than she could count. “Pyjak…”
Shepard stiffened, her jaw tightening. She should’ve known. Her father had a way of picking up on things, even when Shepard thought she’d hidden them well. Curse of being raised by a turian.
“What happened with Nihlus?”
The name hit her like a punch to the ribs. Shepard exhaled slowly, staring ahead at the soft glow of the Citadel lights. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything.
“It’s nothing, Dad,” she said finally, but even she heard how hollow it sounded.
Selvek didn’t push—not immediately. But after a few more steps, he spoke again, his tone softer this time.
“Were you just… blowing off steam?”
Shepard stopped walking, her feet planted firmly on the smooth walkway. She turned to face him, meeting his gaze squarely. For a moment, she considered brushing it off, giving him the easy answer.
But this was Selvek Itanus. And she knew better.
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I’ll never know.”
Selvek’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say more. But instead, he just nodded, the understanding in his gaze saying everything he didn’t.
They started walking again, the silence between them comfortable for a few minutes before Selvek spoke again, his voice lighter this time.
“So… Vakarian, huh?”
Shepard glanced at him, arching a brow. “What about him?”
Selvek smirked. “You two seem pretty close for people who’ve only known each other a couple of days.”
Shepard chuckled, shaking her head. “We work well together. It’s easy, you know? We don’t have to talk much in battle, our out of it, we just get each other.”
“That’s rare,” Selvek said, his tone thoughtful.
“Yeah,” Shepard murmured. “I’ve never quite met anyone like that.”
She paused, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as a memory surfaced. “He even saved me from a charging krogan.”
Selvek laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed off the walls. “You needed saving from a krogan? Spirits, I wish I’d seen that.”
Shepard rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully. “Don’t get used to it.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a while longer, Shepard recounting the firefights with Fist and Tali, the smug grin on Harkin’s face as he leered at her, Udina chastising her for ‘firefights in the Wards’ like she’d started the damn thing on purpose.
And then there was everyone wanting her autograph. That… felt wrong.
“It’s like they forget what happened,” Shepard muttered. “Like it’s just some story to them. They don’t see the lives lost. The cost.”
Selvek nodded, his expression sober. “That’s the burden of being in the spotlight. People see the hero, not the scars.”
Shepard sighed, the weight of it settling over her again.
But as they reached the apartment, Selvek paused, his hand on her shoulder.
“I’m always here for you, pyjak. Don’t forget that.”
Shepard smiled, the warmth in his words cutting through the noise in her head.