Shepard
Shepard made her way to her quarters after speaking with the Council, exhaustion settling into her bones like something heavy and unavoidable.
She had done everything they asked. They had made her a Spectre. And yet, she could still feel the doubt clinging to their words, woven into every carefully measured response.
Was the destruction of the Prothean ruins truly necessary?
That question grated more than she cared to admit. The implication that she had been reckless, that she had chosen destruction over preservation, was a weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying until now. The geth had killed Jenkins in an instant. The beacon had nearly torn her mind apart. What would they have had her do? Let Saren claim it uncontested?
No, it wasn’t the ruins they cared about. It was her.
They had let Saren move unchecked for years, turning a blind eye to the destruction that followed in his wake. And now, with her, there were questions, scrutiny, doubt.
Would it have been the same if Nihlus were still here?
The thought surfaced before she could stop it.
If Nihlus had survived, would things have played out differently? Would the Council have questioned his actions the way they questioned hers? Or would they have simply trusted him, the way they had for years?
She sighed, rubbing at her temple as she sank onto the edge of her bed.
It didn’t matter. He was gone.
But why did that truth still feel so raw?
Yes, it had been a good night. A great night, even. But was that all it had been? A moment of understanding, of shared trust, of letting go—only for it to be ripped away before it could become anything more?
She had barely known him. Not really.
So why does it still hurt?
She laid back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, willing her thoughts to quiet.
Maybe she was overthinking things.
Maybe she was just tired.
Her body finally gave in, exhaustion pulling her under before she could wrestle with the question any longer.
The Presidium stretched out in perfect, polished pathways under an endless sky—too blue, too perfect, just like it always was in her dreams.
Jane trailed behind her father and grandmother, her small hands tucked into her jacket pockets. The air smelled faintly of something crisp and metallic, like ozone after a storm. She’d walked these paths a hundred times, maybe more, but today… today felt different.
She didn’t know why.
Then, she saw him.
A turian boy stood near one of the benches, his posture too stiff, like he was trying not to shrink under the weight of his father’s scolding. The words blurred—a murmur, a drone, the tone of disappointment rather than the meaning itself.
At the boy’s feet lay something shattered. A holo-projector, its casing cracked, the tiny filament inside flickering weakly.
Jane’s breath caught.
The way he stood there—the tension in his shoulders, the sharp angle of his mandibles—she knew that feeling.
She glanced up at her father. His face was indistinct, as always. Just a silhouette standing beside Sarah, their voices lost to the background hum of the Presidium.
“I’ll be right back,” she mumbled, though they wouldn’t hear her anyway.
She turned and walked toward the boy.
“Need help?” she asked.
The boy flinched slightly, his mandibles twitching before he turned to her, his bright blue eyes sharp even in the dream’s haziness.
“What do you want?” His voice was gravelly, as all turians’ were, but this voice was familiar. It tugged at something deep in her memory—an echo she’d never quite caught.
Jane ignored the question and knelt beside him. “That’s your holo, right? I think I can fix it.”
The boy didn’t move as she picked up the fractured casing. She knew exactly how to fit the pieces together, as if she’d done it before. When she pressed a few buttons, a dim flicker of light sputtered inside before fading again.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I dropped it,” he muttered, his voice low, his talons twitching against the ground.
Jane hummed, reaching into her pocket. She knew what she’d find. She always had it in this dream. A small spare part from a chess board she’d been fiddling with earlier.
“This might work.”
The boy watched with those sharp blue eyes, the only thing in the dream that never faded.
A spark. A flicker. And then—
The holo came to life.
A turian woman appeared, her markings silver against dusky plates, her expression serene and intelligent.
Jane tilted her head. Her face was clearer than her father’s. Why was that?
“She’s beautiful,” she said.
The boy’s mandibles flicked, his eyes narrowing slightly. “How would you know? You’re a human.”
Jane huffed, shooting him an unimpressed look. “So?” She studied the woman’s face, drawn to something in her expression. “Maybe there are more beautiful turians out there, I don’t know. But that doesn’t make her less beautiful, does it?”
The boy stared at her.
There was something in his face—something unreadable, something important.
She smiled and stuck out her hand. “I’m Jane.”
He hesitated before reaching out. His talons brushed against her fingers, careful, deliberate.
And then—
Nothing.
The world shifted.
The Presidium blurred at the edges. His voice came, but she didn’t hear it. Just a muffled sound, like static in the air.
Jane frowned. “Nice to meet you, …”
But the name never came. It never did.
She knew he had said it. But she could never hear it.
The dream always ended the same way.
“Jane! Come on, it’s time to go!”
She turned.
Selvek stood waiting, a shadow with no details, no face. He pointed toward an ice cream stand.
Jane looked back, but the boy had already opened his mouth—
“Wai—”
Darkness.
The dream shattered.
She woke up.
For a long moment, the warmth still lingered, like the memory hadn’t yet faded, like she could still feel the weight of his hand in hers—rough, talons careful against her fingers.
Then, like a slow, cruel tide, reality pulled her back.
She stared at the ceiling, her heart pounding harder than it should have been.
The boy. Those blue eyes.
She had completely forgotten about that day.
Shepard sat up slowly, rubbing her face as she tried to piece it together—why now? Why was she remembering him now?
Nihlus had been on her mind before she fell asleep, the dull ache of loss still pressing into her ribs. And yet…
The ache she felt now was sharper.
This wasn’t grief. This was longing.
She suddenly wondered whatever had happened to him—where he was now. Did he remember her at all? Had he ever tried to find her, the way she suddenly wished she could find him?
She cursed herself for not remembering his name. That part was always missing. Every time she dreamt of him, every time the memory surfaced, it was the same—his name never made it through.
But his eyes? Those eyes never faded.
Confused at first, but kind. So damn familiar.
He had doubted her, but trusted her anyway. Let her fix that holo. Let her help.
Besides her father, he had been the first turian she had ever felt a real connection to.
And now, after all these years, she missed him more than she missed Nihlus.
More than anything, she wanted to find him.
Like somehow, if she could just hear his name, everything would make sense.
Garrus
The Normandy was quiet this late. The hum of the engines was a constant presence, barely noticeable anymore, like the background pulse of a familiar melody. Most of the crew had turned in for the night. Shepard had dismissed them hours ago, leaving him with his thoughts and a pile of work on the Mako that was just an excuse to be awake.
Garrus had told himself he was fixing something, but he wasn’t. He was laying beneath the damn tank, staring up at the undercarriage, lost in thought.
His mandibles flicked in irritation.
He should have anticipated the krogan’s move. Should have had her back before she needed him to.
That moment—when Shepard had been pinned against the wall, the weight of a battlemaster keeping her trapped—it played in his mind on repeat. He’d had a clean line of sight, his rifle already raised, and for half a second, his gut had twisted.
The rage had come after, fast and sharp, and the kill had been too easy to be satisfying.
She had waved him off, insisted she was fine, but he wasn’t so sure.
And then there was the other thing eating at him. That moment in the comm room. The way she had looked at him when he said:
“I’d have to be blind to have missed that, Jane.”
She had paused, like she had been surprised by the words, or maybe by him. Her eyes had flickered with something, and for a moment, he’d been sure she was going to say something—until Joker’s voice had cut through the room and the moment was lost.
Garrus sighed and tilted his head back against the cold metal floor.
He wasn’t used to being curious about people like this. He knew how to read people, how to pick out tells in a suspect’s posture, how to spot a liar by the way their mandibles twitched or their voice faltered.
But Shepard? She was a damn enigma. Sharp but warm, distant but present, confident but—something else, something underneath.
He was still turning that thought over in his mind when he heard it—the soft mechanical whir of the elevator descending.
Garrus didn’t move right away. And then—that scent. Cinnamon. That familiar, warm spice mixed with something else, something nutty and sweet, something distinctly hers.
His eyes flicked to his omni-tool. Past midnight.
He shifted slightly, just enough to see her. She wasn’t in uniform—dark blue workout gear, fitted, the kind that left nothing to the imagination. She strode past him without noticing, heading toward the training area.
Garrus didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. He just watched.
She stopped at a locker, grabbing a roll of bandages and starting to wrap her hands. Slow, methodical, almost absentminded. Her eyes were distant, her breathing too even—not the breath of someone ready to train, not the usual energy he felt in her. Her heart rate was steady, almost as if she wasn’t fully here.
She looked… lost.
For a moment, he considered leaving her to it. But then she started throwing punches. Slow at first. Measured. Her knuckles connected with the bag with quiet, controlled force.
Then harder. Faster.
Each hit landed with a sharp thud, and her breathing changed. Her shoulders tensed. Her jaw clenched. He could hear it now—the frustration, the anger winding through her muscles.
She wasn’t training. She was fighting something only she could see.
Garrus exhaled, pushing himself out from under the Mako.
“You know, Jane, most people sleep when they’re off-duty.”
Shepard turned, startled for half a second before her expression softened. She took him in—covered in grease, mandibles flicking in amusement—and rolled her eyes.
“And most people don’t talk about sleep while covered in engine grease.”
Garrus smirked, grabbing a rag from the nearby workbench and wiping his hands. “Fair. But if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to beat that bag to death.”
Shepard let out a breath, some of the tension easing from her frame. “You volunteering to be next?” she teased.
Garrus chuckled, tossing the rag onto the workbench. “Depends. How are your hand-to-hand combat skills?”
She smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Who do you think trained me?”
His mandibles twitched in interest. Now that was something worth finding out.
“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got, Jane.”
Garrus had always enjoyed a good fight, but this? This was different.
Shepard moved like no human he’d ever fought. She wasn’t just fast—she was tactical, deliberate. No wasted movement. Every shift of her stance, every strike, measured and efficient.
She fought like a turian.
Which meant this was a real fight.
Garrus barely managed to block her strike, his forearm bracing against her wrist. Shepard didn’t hesitate—she twisted, used the momentum to shift her weight, drove her knee toward his side. He rolled away, but she was already following up, relentless.
He caught her wrist, used his greater strength to push her back. She twisted free like water slipping through his fingers, already moving into her next attack.
Damn. She wasn’t just fast—she was predicting him, reading his movements before he even finished them.
They clashed again, circling, testing, countering. He was stronger, heavier, trained to subdue. She was smaller, faster, trained to dismantle. Neither of them had the upper hand.
He landed a sharp strike to her ribs. She absorbed it, countered with a brutal sweep toward his legs. He dodged at the last second, barely keeping his footing.
“Not bad, Jane,” he huffed, circling her.
She smirked, rolling her shoulder. “You’re holding back.”
Garrus snorted. “And you’re not?”
Her grin widened—something sharp, something dangerous.
Then she attacked.
Garrus barely had time to react before she was on him again, driving him back with a series of precise strikes. He countered, blocking, redirecting, but she was too damn fast. She faked left, he shifted his weight to counter—
And that’s when she got him.
She twisted inward, used his own momentum against him, locked her arm against his and drove him to the mat. Hard.
Garrus grunted as his back hit the floor, Shepard already shifting to pin him.
But he wasn’t out yet.
She was fast, but he was stronger—and the moment she moved to lock his wrist, he used it.
Almost.
Shift. Pivot. Power.
With a sharp twist, he rolled her momentum over, reversing their positions in an instant. Before she could counter, he pinned her wrist, using his weight to hold her down.
Shepard went still.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Her chest rose and fell, breath steady but fast. Her eyes locked onto his, sharp and intense. Unyielding.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Lucky break.”
Garrus chuckled, mandibles flicking. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t angry. Just calculating.
He recognized that look—the same one she’d given him in the comm room, the same one she had on the battlefield.
Like she was figuring something out about him.
Slowly, Garrus eased off, letting her go.
She sat up, rolling her shoulders before running a hand through her hair. “Damn.”
He smirked. “Admit it, Shepard—you’re impressed.”
She exhaled, shaking her head. “Maybe a little.”
She got to her feet, reaching for the towel on the bench. As she wiped the sweat from her face, she gave him a sidelong glance. “Same time tomorrow?”
Garrus let out a low chuckle, stretching his arms. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Her grin widened, something warm and knowing in her gaze.
And just like that, the frustration he’d seen earlier was gone.
Garrus
Before they left the Artemis Tau cluster, Shepard mentioned that Admiral Kahoku’s men were last reported in the Sparta system. She reasoned they were already out here, so they had a chance to find the missing team.
“You’re driving, Vakarian,” she had told him. He still hadn’t figured out if she was genuinely not good at driving or just not good at driving the Mako, but he didn’t mind.
“Do we know where these marines are supposed to be?” he asked, hands on the controls as he steered across the rocky terrain.
“Picking up a distress signal just north of our position,” Shepard said, looking down at her omni-tool before shifting to peer into the scope.
Then, without warning—
“Garrus, stop!”
He reacted instantly, slamming the brakes. But it was not fast enough. The ground beneath them trembled violently, and then he heard it—the guttural, ear-splitting roar that sent a primal chill through even his hardened instincts.
A thresher maw.
Garrus barely had time to react before the behemoth erupted from the ground, its massive, worm-like body stretching impossibly high into the sky before crashing down, shaking the earth beneath them.
His grip tightened on the controls, his body tensing for evasive action, but his focus flickered—not to the thresher maw, but to her.
For the first time since he had met her, he saw something in Shepard’s eyes that had never been there before.
Fear.
Not panic. Not hesitation. No, her hands were already moving to the gun, her voice steady as she barked commands. But Garrus saw past the steel exterior she wore like armor. This was not just another fight for her.
This was Akuze.
Of course. The defining moment that had made Commander Shepard a household name. The only survivor of a thresher maw attack that wiped out her entire squad.
And now here she was, face to face with that nightmare all over again.
“Keep us out of its range, Garrus. Just keep us moving,” she ordered, swallowing hard. “I’ll bring it down.”
Determination laced her voice, but there was something else beneath it. Resignation. As if, for the first time since they’d met, she was not certain they would make it out of this.
Like hell I’m letting her die here.
Garrus forced the Mako into motion, weaving erratically across the terrain, never staying still long enough for the thresher maw to lock on. It spat acid, massive globules hissing as they struck the ground just behind them.
But Shepard was locked in, firing shot after shot, her hands steady, her aim precise. Not once did she flinch, not once did she hesitate. And yet, even as she landed the final shot and the beast collapsed into the earth, Garrus could still see the tension in her shoulders, the tightness in her jaw.
She was not okay.
He had been around enough soldiers to recognize it. That thousand-yard stare. The way she exhaled just a little too slowly, the way she blinked a fraction too long, like shaking herself back into the present.
The worst part? No one else noticed.
“Let’s go check this out,” she said after a beat, her voice even, measured. “Get us close to that transmitter.”
Garrus simply nodded. This was not the time.
As they exited the Mako, Tali made her way to the transmitter. But the scene before them was worse than Garrus could have imagined. All the missing marines were dead, their bodies scattered in the immediate vicinity of the distress beacon.
Garrus watched as Shepard simply stared, her gaze distant.
“It would seem someone set up this transmitter to send out a distress signal and lure the marines here,” Tali said, her tone clinical, breaking the silence.
She was not seeing Shepard’s reaction.
But he was.
“Someone,” Shepard paused, swallowing hard. “Lured these marines to the site of a thresher maw?”
That was when he caught it—the slight break in her voice, the one she was trying hard to mask. This was too close to home. Too close to what she must have seen on Akuze. It was not fifty men, but it was enough.
“Shepard,” Garrus called, trying to get her attention. He waited until she finally turned to look at him. “Admiral Kahoku will want to know what happened here. We’ll warn him about the distress signal.”
He wanted to say something, anything to make her feel better. He could see he was losing her quickly, but he did not know how to reassure her.
Nothing could have prepared them for this.
“Why would someone lure marines to a thresher maw?” Shepard asked, her voice sharpening. Not broken—focused. Trying to find someone to blame, someone to stop.
Because she would not let this stand.
“Maybe the admiral can investigate,” Garrus said, sounding more certain than he felt.
For her, this was not just about the mission. It was about how everything always ended the same way.
Failure.
Loss.
Another name to add to the list of people she could not save.
And no one else saw it.
But Garrus did.
And this time, he was not just going to let it go.
Garrus
The ride back to the Normandy was silent.
Shepard stood at the front, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. To anyone else, she might have looked perfectly composed—just another mission completed, another report to file—but Garrus saw the way her jaw had tightened. How she hadn’t spoken unless absolutely necessary. How her shoulders, always squared with confidence, now carried something heavier.
As soon as they landed in the cargo bay, she didn’t miss a beat.
“Joker, set course for the Farinata system,” she ordered, her voice steady.
“Aye, aye, Commander,” Joker responded, the Normandy already adjusting trajectory.
Garrus hesitated before speaking. “What’s there?”
Shepard didn’t look at him. “A hostage situation.”
Her answer was short, efficient. No room for discussion. Then she turned on her heel and strode toward the elevator.
Garrus watched her go, jaw tightening. Damn it, Jane.
It wasn’t just the thresher maw. He’d seen her handle pressure before, had watched her face down enemies without flinching. But this wasn’t battlefield instinct—this was something deeper, something she was used to burying.
She was going to drown herself in work. She wasn’t giving herself a second to breathe, and no one was stopping her because this was what everyone expected of Commander Shepard. She’d be fine. She was always fine.
And that was the problem.
No. Not this time.
He gave her some time—enough to change, maybe file reports, whatever else she usually did before pretending she didn’t need rest—before heading to her quarters.
Pausing at the door, he weighed his options. If he left her alone, she’d keep throwing herself at mission after mission, burying whatever was eating at her under responsibilities. He’d seen it before in plenty of cops back at C-Sec. Hell, he’d done it himself. It never worked.
With a quiet exhale, he hit the door chime.
Silence.
Then, after a beat, her voice came through, distant. “Come.”
Garrus stepped inside.
Shepard was seated at her desk, looking at him with mild surprise. But before he could say anything, she smiled—except it wasn’t the one she usually gave him. It was the polished, polite smile she used with everyone else.
That set him on edge more than anything else.
Not happening, Jane.
He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “Figured you could use a break.”
Her smirk was practiced, but he caught the exhaustion behind it. “No rest for the wicked.”
“That why you’re holed up in here instead of getting some air?” He took a slow step forward, watching her reaction.
Air? That was the best you could come up with Vakarian?
She quirked an eyebrow. “Some…recycled air?”
Garrus tilted his head, conceding the point.
She rolled her shoulders. “I’ve got reports to file.”
Garrus nodded,“You always have reports to file.”
She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but then just exhaled, shaking her head. “What do you want, Garrus?”
He considered her for a moment. Careful, he told himself. If he pushed too hard, she’d shut him out completely.
“Well,” he started, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “you did say you’d help me work on the Mako.”
She blinked. It was just a flicker, but for a second, he thought he had her.
Then she shook her head. “Not tonight.”
Garrus narrowed his eyes slightly. Alright, not the Mako then.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms still crossed. “How about a fight?”
That got her attention. Her gaze sharpened slightly, a flicker of curiosity beneath the exhaustion. “You looking to get your ass kicked?”
His mandibles twitched. “Could ask you the same thing.”
She huffed, shaking her head with a small chuckle. “I don’t need to spar right now, Garrus.”
He tilted his head. “Don’t need to, sure. But I don’t think you’re planning to sleep either.”
Shepard hesitated, and in that hesitation, he saw it. The weight of the mission pressing down on her, the memory of the thresher maw, of the dead marines, still lingering just beneath the surface.
Damn it, Jane, let me be here for you.
Garrus exhaled through his nose, pushing off the doorframe. “Fine,” he said, voice more casual than he felt. “You don’t want to work on the Mako. You don’t want to spar. How about this—I stay. No talking, no prying. You do what you need to do, I’ll be right here.”
She stared at him, and for the first time since he’d walked in, she looked genuinely surprised.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, quieter now.
He held her gaze. “I know.”
A long pause. He could see her calculating, weighing her options, deciding whether to send him away or let him stay.
Then, finally, her shoulders eased. Just a little. And she nodded.
“Alright.”
Garrus said nothing, just moved to sit across from her, making himself comfortable like this had been the plan all along.
She didn’t speak at first, just stared at her terminal, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then she leaned back, eyes flicking toward him, curiosity replacing some of that tension.
“You always do this for people?” she asked.
Garrus shrugged. “Not really.”
She let out a quiet chuckle. “Guess I should be honored.”
“I mean, you are my Commander,” he said, smirking. “Wouldn’t look good if I let you crack under pressure.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, something softening in her expression.
They sat in silence for a while. Occasionally, she’d glance at him like she expected him to say something else, but he didn’t. He wasn’t here to interrogate her, just to be here.
Eventually, she let out a slow breath and rubbed a hand over her face. “You ever have a moment where you realize something about yourself, but you don’t know what to do with it?”
Garrus blinked at the question. “All the time.”
She smirked slightly. “Figures.”
Another silence. Then, finally, she shook her head, as if deciding something. “Thanks, Garrus.”
His mandibles flicked in a small grin. “Anytime, Jane.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d actually helped, but as he watched her finally lean back in her chair, some of the tension in her frame easing, he decided this—just this—was enough.
For now.
Shepard
Shepard hadn’t expected to wake up thinking about Garrus.
Yet, as she stared at the ceiling of her cabin, arms folded behind her head, her thoughts lingered on the way he had simply been there last night.
No pressure. No questions. Just… there.
He had sat across from her, completely unbothered by her silence. Not waiting for her to break, not expecting her to explain herself. Just giving her the space to exist.
Wouldn’t look good if I let you crack under pressure.
Shepard frowned slightly. Had she been so obvious?
She thought she had handled everything fine. She didn’t freeze. She didn’t falter. She had brought the thresher maw down and kept moving. That was what mattered, wasn’t it?
But Garrus… he had seen something no one else did.
Had she hesitated? No. Not in her movements, not in her orders. But the fear—that creeping thing that had curled around her spine the moment she saw it rise from the ground—had he seen that?
It had been years since Akuze, since she’d last faced a thresher maw. She thought she had moved past it. But the moment that beast erupted from the ground, something buried deep inside her had stirred—something raw, something unresolved.
She had fought through it. She always did. She didn’t need anyone to check on her.
And yet, he had.
Garrus hadn’t said much—hadn’t needed to. He had just been there. And somehow, that had made all the difference.
Her lips curled into a small, unbidden smile.
Maybe she could go find him.
Not to talk about it—not yet. She wasn’t ready for that. But…
Her smile deepened. Maybe she could go help him fix the Mako. Or rather, watch him fix the Mako.
She wasn’t a mechanic. He knew that. But it would give her something to do.
And she wouldn’t be alone.
The ship was still quiet as she made her way down to the cargo bay. It was early—earlier than usual for her—but she had a feeling he was already awake.
As the elevator doors opened, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Garrus was exactly where she had hoped he would be, standing beside the Mako, visor tilted down as he studied the console.
Shepard hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward, something easing in her chest.
He was here. For her. She didn’t have to ask him to be. He just was.
As she walked toward him, something else caught her attention.
Two cups of coffee sat on the console.
Her first thought was that maybe someone was already here with him, and her shoulders tensed slightly at the idea of having to put on her usual Commander Shepard face for someone else. She didn’t want to talk to anyone else just yet.
Then, before she could search for another presence, his voice cut through the quiet.
“Look who’s finally awake.”
Shepard blinked, looking back at him. He hadn’t even turned away from the console, yet somehow, he knew it was her.
“Your coffee should still be warm.”
Damn turian senses.
The tension in her shoulders vanished as warmth curled in her chest.
She smiled, reaching for the cup. “Do you ever sleep?”
Garrus chuckled, his attention still fixed on the console. “I do. From time to time.”
She took a sip.
Perfect. Just like last time.
Just like him.
She watched him for a moment, mandibles flicking slightly in concentration as he adjusted something on the console. He wasn’t waiting for her to talk. Wasn’t studying her the way others did when they expected her to be more—stronger, unshaken.
He just knew she was here, and that was enough.
“Come on, Jane,” he said, motioning for her to get down on the floor beside him. “If you plan on doing any more missions, we probably should get to work on this.”
Shepard smirked. “Still not a mechanic, Garrus.”
“Then you better learn fast,” he shot back.
She chuckled, setting her coffee aside as she slid down next to him.
As the hours passed, the cargo bay slowly came to life around them, crew members filtering in and out. But Shepard barely noticed.
For the first time in a while, she wasn’t thinking about the next mission. Or Saren. Or the Council.
For now, it was just her and Garrus, coffee in hand, banter flying back and forth, hands grease-streaked as they worked side by side.
And for the first time in a long time…
She felt like Jane.
Shepard
The hostage situation had been resolved easily.
Easier than she had expected, anyway.
Still, Shepard felt the tension lingering in her muscles, a dull ache settling deep in her shoulders where a biotic blast had nearly sent her flying. They had to kill more people than she would have liked, but at least Chairman Burns was alive, and the remaining biotics had surrendered.
Another situation that should have never happened.
A crisis born of neglect, fueled by the indifference of politicians who had long since stopped thinking of people as people. Just another example of the broken system she had grown up surrounded by.
Shepard let out a quiet breath and pushed the thought aside as she made her way down toward the cargo bay with Garrus. She had seen too much of this kind of thing to waste time being angry about it.
“Joker, set course for the Feros system,” she ordered, her mind already shifting to the next objective. “I think it’s time we figured out what happened to that colony.”
“You got it, Commander.”
As they walked down the stairs, Shepard caught the way Garrus kept looking at her, that analyzing stare he had after every mission.
She shot him a glance. “What?”
“Jane, are you sure you shouldn’t stop by the med bay?” he asked in a knowing tone.
Shepard rolled out her neck with a sigh. “I’m fine, Garrus.” She knew he didn’t buy that, but she pressed on anyway. “It’s nothing worse than usual. I could probably use a shower. And some sleep.”
He didn’t look convinced, his mandibles twitching in a way that told her he wanted to argue but was weighing whether it was worth it.
Smart choice.
“Besides,” she added, “I really should take a look at my weapons. Get them cleaned up.” Her tone was casual, but the truth was, she had been neglecting her gear. “I really do think the stability of my sniper rifle feels off…”
Garrus tilted his head. “How about this? Let me handle your weapons. You go get some sleep.”
Shepard stopped mid-step, turning to him with an arched brow. “Oh? You offering to babysit my guns now?”
He folded his arms. “Considering I’ll probably make them better than they were before, I’d say you should be thanking me.”
She couldn’t help it—she smirked. “Garrus, if I wake up tomorrow and my sniper rifle has some experimental, Turian Special Forces attachment that shoots plasma rounds, I’m coming for you.”
He chuckled. “Noted.” Then he motioned toward her holsters. “Come on. Hand ‘em over.”
She let out a breath, amused but also… grateful.
She hadn’t asked, but he had noticed.
Of course he did.
“Fine, you win, Vakarian,” she said, shaking her head as she started unstrapping her weapons.
First, she handed over her sniper rifle, then her assault rifle, and finally—
Her hand froze at her hip.
Her fingers had already wrapped around the grip of her pistol, but suddenly, she couldn’t pull it free.
Oh.
A lump formed in her throat, tight and unyielding.
She had drawn the M-77 Paladin in battle countless times now, felt its familiar weight settle in her palm like an extension of herself. It had become instinct.
But this was different. This wasn’t combat. This wasn’t necessity. This was giving it away.
Handing it to someone else.
She swallowed, forcing herself to move, slowly pulling the pistol from its holster. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have.
Garrus waited patiently, his expression neutral. He had no idea.
No idea what she was holding in her hands. No idea that this wasn’t just a weapon—
That it was Nihlus’ weapon. That she had taken it from his body. That she had told herself it was a way to honor him, to keep a piece of him with her.
But now, standing here, holding it out, it didn’t feel like honor.
It felt like letting go.
She forced her voice to stay even, but it cracked anyway.
“Can you…” She hesitated. No. She took a breath. Steady. “Just put the pistol in my locker.”
Garrus blinked, tilting his head slightly. It was clear he had noticed the hesitation.
“I’ve barely used it anyway,” she added quickly, forcing a smirk, forcing a joke, forcing anything to keep her voice from betraying her. “Thanks, Garrus.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond.
Didn’t wait to see the way his gaze might sharpen, the way he might piece together what had just happened.
She turned, forcing herself to walk—not run—to her quarters.
By the time the doors slid shut, her hands were trembling.
Her breath came in short, uneven bursts as she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, willing the tears away, forcing them away.
She could handle the missions. She could handle the killing, the politics, the impossible choices. Even being made a Spectre.
But this? This stupid, insignificant moment?
This was what cracked her.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
Garrus
Shepard turned and left so fast, Garrus barely had time to process it.
One second, she had been standing right in front of him, her usual sharp wit dimmed but still present—then gone. She hadn’t stormed off in anger. She hadn’t left with the confidence of someone who chose to walk away.
She fled.
The doors to her quarters closed behind her, cutting off his chance to react. Garrus blinked, still holding the pistol she had practically shoved into his hands.
That wasn’t just about a weapon.
He turned it over, his talons running along the well-worn grip. It was pristine, cared for—too cared for, considering she’d barely used it. It was modified in a way she didn’t seem to modify her weapons.
His mandibles flicked thoughtfully.
Shepard had no issue handing over her other weapons—hell, she had even joked about it. But this one? The second her fingers wrapped around it, something changed. He had seen it, felt it. Like an aftershock from an unseen quake.
And now she was gone, and something deep in his gut told him she wasn’t fine.
Slowly, Garrus placed the weapons on the nearby jump seats. The mess hall was quiet, save for the distant murmur of the crew moving about their business. He let himself focus, drowning out everything else.
Listen.
Even from here, he could pick up the subtle shift in Shepard’s breathing. Her quarters were just on the other side—close enough for him to catch the faint, unsteady rhythm. Then he heard it. A sharp inhale. A ragged exhale.
And then a sound he had never heard from her before.
A sob?
Garrus stilled. It was quiet, muffled, but unmistakable. His gut twisted.
Shepard wasn’t the type to let anyone see her weak. Not once since the day he met her had she ever shown hesitation or doubt in front of the crew. She carried herself with the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders, and yet she never buckled.
But right now? Right now, she was alone. And she was breaking.
His talons flexed at his sides. What do I do? Logic told him to leave her be. She probably wouldn’t appreciate someone barging in on her while she was trying to hold herself together. But every instinct screamed at him that if he did walk away, it would be the wrong call.
He had seen this kind of grief before. Not on Shepard—but on officers at C-Sec, on soldiers who had seen too much and lost too many. He had learned that silence didn’t fix anything. That being alone in that kind of pain only made it worse.
So, no. He wasn’t going to leave her alone.
She could tell me to leave. She could shut me out completely. She could pretend nothing happened.
He could already hear her voice in his head: “I’m fine, Garrus. It’s nothing. Just drop it.”
He didn’t want to push her. But he also wasn’t going to let her drown alone.
Taking a steadying breath, Garrus stepped toward her quarters and pressed the chime.
Silence.
Then—
“Go away.”
Garrus exhaled through his nose. Yeah. That’s what he expected.
He stood outside her door, listening. He could still hear her—breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts, the way she tried to stifle the sound of her own grief. It made something twist painfully in his chest. She hadn’t even given herself time to get to her bed. If he had to guess, she had barely made it inside before she collapsed.
His talons flexed.
She had told him to go away. And maybe he should. Maybe respecting her privacy was the right call. But this wasn’t privacy. This was isolation. And he knew what isolation did to people.
He lifted his omni-tool and accessed the Normandy’s security interface. Shepard’s quarters had the highest clearance, but he was no amateur. The encryption wasn’t hard to bypass—not for someone trained to hack through much worse in the turian military.
A few quick keystrokes, and the door hissed open.
The room was dim, but he saw her immediately. She was on the ground, back against the bed, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her face buried against them.
For a long moment, she didn’t even register that the door had opened.
He took a step inside. The door slid shut behind him.
She lifted her head slightly, and—damn. Her eyes were red and swollen, her breath still shaky, and there was no practiced composure to be found. The sheer vulnerability of it hit him like a punch to the gut.
She blinked up at him, eyes flicking to his omni-tool, putting the pieces together immediately. “You hacked in?” Her voice was raw.
Garrus knelt down in front of her, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Hacked is a strong term. Let’s say I let myself in.”
She huffed a weak, humorless laugh, wiping at her face with the heel of her palm. “Garrus—”
“Don’t tell me you’re fine, Jane.” His voice was steady, softer than usual. “Because you’re not. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t see it.”
She hesitated, looking away. “You don’t need to be here.”
“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I am.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it—
“I don’t know how to do this.”
Garrus’ mandibles twitched, his chest tightening at the honesty in her voice.
“Then don’t,” he said simply. “You don’t have to do anything.”
She let out a slow, shuddering breath, her fingers curling slightly against the edges of her armor.
Garrus shifted closer, bracing himself on one knee. “Just… let me help. Whatever that looks like.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to push him away.
But then—so slowly he almost didn’t realize it—she leaned forward. Not much. Just enough that her forehead lightly pressed against his shoulder.
And Garrus didn’t hesitate. He let her.
He stayed right there, grounded and steady, as she let herself breathe.
The weight against his shoulder was unfamiliar, but Garrus didn’t move. Shepard was leaning into him, her body no longer coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. Her breathing had steadied, though every now and then, a tremor passed through her, as if her body hadn’t quite caught up with her mind.
Garrus had never seen her like this. Not even when they ran into the thresher maw. She had been unsettled then. But this? This was the moment that shattered the legend.
And he wasn’t going anywhere.
His arm, careful at first, wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her in just enough that she could feel it—solid, unyielding. He wasn’t the kind of person who did well with words. But actions? That was different.
And Shepard… she had spent her entire life being strong for other people. Maybe, just this once, she needed someone to be strong for her.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The soft hum of the Normandy filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional muffled announcement from the CIC. But the room itself? It was quiet. A kind of quiet he knew she didn’t let herself have often.
Eventually, he felt her shift slightly against him, not moving away, just adjusting—getting comfortable.
That was the moment he knew. She wasn’t going to push him away. Not this time.
Garrus exhaled, mandibles twitching in thought.
“…Whose pistol was it?”
She stiffened. Not a lot. Just enough that if he weren’t already so attuned to her, he might have missed it.
She didn’t answer right away. For a moment, he thought maybe she wouldn’t at all.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper—
“Nihlus.”
The name dropped between them like a weight, and suddenly, it all clicked. Garrus felt his stomach tighten. Not in shock, not even in grief, but in realization.
It wasn’t just about Saren attacking Eden Prime. It never had been.
I spoke to Sarah when I landed. She mentioned… you’ve been taking Nihlus’ death hard.
Selvek’s words came back to him, clear as day. Garrus had been there when he’d said it, sitting across the table close enough to hear, watching the way Shepard’s body tensed.
I’m fine, Dad.
Her voice had been so casual, so controlled, but he’d seen it even then—the flicker of something raw, something buried. And now…
Damn it, Vakarian.
He had known Nihlus, in passing. They were the same age, had gone through boot camp around the same time, but their paths had never really crossed. Nihlus had taken the Spectre route. Garrus had been stuck in C-Sec, drowning in regulations.
But now, thinking back, he could see it—Shepard hadn’t just respected Nihlus. This was personal.
The way she had hesitated when handing him the pistol. The way her voice had broken when she asked him to put it away. She wasn’t just mourning another loss, another failure, or the Spectre that had put her name forward. She was mourning something more.
Garrus tightened his grip around her slightly, just enough that she’d know—he wasn’t leaving.
“You were close,” he said, not a question, just a quiet statement.
She let out a slow breath, pressing her forehead lightly against his collar. “I thought…” She hesitated. “I don’t know what we were.”
Garrus didn’t push. Didn’t press for details. Didn’t make assumptions.
But he was beginning to understand—maybe more than she even realized. Nihlus had been more than just another name. More than just the Spectre she was supposed to follow.
Garrus might not have all the details, but he didn’t need them. He could feel the loss in every unspoken word.
“Jane,” he said, and this time, when she looked at him, her eyes were still red-rimmed but searching—like she was waiting for something, some kind of reaction.
He didn’t give her pity. Didn’t tell her he was sorry, or that it would get easier.
He just held her gaze and said—
“I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Her breath caught. Not in pain. Not in grief. Just… surprise.
Like no one had ever told her that before. And maybe they hadn’t. Not in a way that mattered. Or maybe not in a way she believed.
He felt her weight settle more fully against him. A silent acknowledgment.
She wasn’t ready to talk. Not about all of it. Not yet.
But she wasn’t running anymore either. At least not from him.
And that?
That was enough.