Shepard
Shepard and Garrus stood near the galaxy map, waiting for the crew to finish filing in. They had both ended up back on the Normandy much earlier than planned. She didn’t mind. It had been easier than trying to sleep.
Her mind kept replaying the night before—his hands on her waist, the way he kissed her like he was memorizing every detail. She only wished they hadn’t been interrupted.
Garrus kept checking the incoming crew status reports, but his attention kept drifting back to her, his mandibles twitching in a way she’d come to recognize. He was up to something.
She barely had time to glance at him before he leaned in, his voice just low enough for her alone. “I missed you last night.”
Shepard nearly fumbled the datapad in her hands. The teasing lilt in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she knew damn well he could hear the slight hitch in her breath.
She swatted him away without looking up. Damn turian hearing…
Garrus was testing her—pushing at the edges of her composure, waiting to see just how much he could get away with now that the boundaries between them had changed. How much could he unsettle her before she pushed back?
Too much, if she let him. And she both hated and loved it.
Before she could fire back, Joker’s voice crackled over the comms. “Commander, all crew are now on board and reporting stations ready.”
She exhaled and handed the datapad off to Garrus before nodding to the comm panel. “Thanks, Joker. Ship-wide broadcast.”
“Intercom’s open, Commander.”
She squared her shoulders and let her voice carry through the ship. Time to get to work.
“Listen up, everyone. I know we just cut shore leave short, and believe me, I understand how frustrating that is.” She began, pausing briefly to glance at Garrus before continuing. “But we’ve just received critical intel—Saren’s forces may have been spotted on Virmire.”
She let that sink in for a moment, sweeping her gaze over the crew gathered in the CIC. They were exhausted, some still shaking off the last remnants of shore leave, but they were listening.
“This could be our chance to finally catch up to him. So let’s suit up, focus, and bring our best. Together, we’ll show Saren that he underestimated us. This is our moment to strike, to make him pay for every innocent life he’s taken. Now, let’s get to work.”
She let the words settle before nodding to the salutes around her. They weren’t just following orders. They believed in her. In this mission.
As the ship buzzed back to life, Shepard turned on her heel and strode out of the CIC.
She needed a minute. Just one.
She wasn’t sure where she was going, only that she needed to move, to breathe, to get her thoughts in order before the weight of Virmire pressed in completely.
She had no illusions. This mission would change everything.
Garrus
Garrus stepped off the elevator, his gaze sweeping the cargo bay. It was mostly empty, quiet, save for the faint hum of the Normandy’s engines behind him. His mandibles twitched in amusement when he spotted Shepard sitting cross-legged on the mat near the weight racks.
She was in her workout gear, hair pulled back, a light sheen of sweat still clinging to her skin. The heavy bag still swung slightly where it hung, evidence of whatever frustration she’d been working out.
But she wasn’t moving now.
Instead, she was hunched slightly over her omni-tool, studying something with the kind of intense focus that usually meant she was tearing apart an enemy dossier or calculating her next move.
And then he heard it.
Singing?
Garrus froze, his brow plates drawing together. It was quiet, barely more than a murmur, but it was unmistakable. The soft rise and fall of a melody, her voice working through a sequence of notes—hesitating, adjusting, repeating the phrase just slightly differently each time.
She was… testing something. Picking it apart, piecing it back together.
His mandibles flared slightly as he listened, something warm curling in his chest. It was nothing like what he’d expected. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. He’d assumed it would be something loud, powerful, commanding, like her. But this? This was…
Soothing.
Slowly, carefully, he walked toward her, keeping his footfalls light. He wasn’t even sure why—maybe part of him worried she’d stop if she realized he was listening. And he wasn’t ready for that just yet.
How had he never heard this before? Had he just never been in the right place at the right time? Or had she never done this on the Normandy before?
He wasn’t sure.
What he was sure of was that he could stand here and listen for a long time.
After a minute, he decided to test his luck.
“You know,” he said, finally breaking the silence, “I didn’t even have to bring you a drink after all.”
Shepard startled slightly, eyes snapping up as if she hadn’t even realized she wasn’t alone. For a split second, her shoulders tensed—but then she glanced around the cargo bay, saw that it was just him, and let out a slow breath.
“Hey.” A small, self-conscious smirk tugged at her lips. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” he said, mandibles twitching upward. “You really thought you were gonna keep that a secret from me?”
Shepard huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she deactivated her omni-tool. “Well, I think Sean made sure it wasn’t a secret from anyone.”
Garrus settled down on the mat next to her, stretching his legs out. “And here I was starting to think Sean made the whole thing up.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh no, Sean rarely lies. Exaggerates maybe.”
He let out a low chuckle, watching her carefully. She looked more relaxed than she had earlier. Whatever frustration had driven her into the cargo bay had ebbed somewhat.
He tilted his head. “So, what’s got you singing in an empty cargo bay?”
Shepard hesitated, glancing down at her omni-tool again. “Sean sent me something this morning. Says there’s something off about one of his new tracks and wanted a second opinion.”
Garrus lifted a brow plate. “Didn’t peg you for the consulting type.”
She smirked. “He sends me things from time to time. When he’s unsure about them and isn’t ready for anyone else to hear it.”
Garrus watched her, noting the way her fingers hovered over the omni-tool controls. He could hear her pulse—slightly elevated. Maybe because of the workout. Maybe because of him.
Either way, she was studying him now, as if debating something.
He leaned back, resting an arm over his knee. “Well, don’t stop on my account.”
Shepard’s lips quirked slightly, eyes narrowing in amusement. “You want to hear it?”
He shrugged, playing it cool. “I’m just saying—I wouldn’t mind.”
She studied him for another moment, then finally exhaled, shaking her head with a small smile.
“All right,” she muttered, tapping something on her omni-tool. “I guess you can stay.”
Shepard tapped a file, and the melody she had been working on began playing softly from the speakers. She listened for a moment, tilting her head slightly as if considering something, then hummed a few notes under her breath. Garrus just sat back and watched, taking in the quiet way she worked through it, adjusting little details as she went.
Without a thought, she leaned back against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her waist loosely.
“Here,” she said, tapping a file on her omni-tool and sending it to him, “Can you just play that, let it keep looping?”
Garrus chuckled but did as she asked. It was a slow, steady beat.
She hummed along for a few minutes, testing harmonies, adjusting her pitch. Then she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “This would be a hell of a lot easier if I had a guitar with me.”
Garrus blinked. “You play the guitar?”
Shepard smirked slightly. “I do.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You ever think about staying with Zero Signal instead of enlisting?”
Shepard leaned her head back against his shoulder, staring at the ceiling. “You’re not the first person to ask me that.”
“And?”
She let out a breath, her fingers absently tapping against her knee. “Yeah. Back when things were just starting to take off, Sean asked me if I wanted to go all in. We had offers—record deals, touring opportunities, the whole thing.” She gave a quiet chuckle. “And I thought about it. For a while, I really thought about it.”
She paused for a moment, lost in thought. Then he saw a flicker of realization in her eyes.
“It should be a duet,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?” Garrus asked, brow plates lifting.
“The song, that’s what’s wrong with,” she added, “It wants two different tempos, two different voices.”
Before Garrus could respond, her omni-tool pinged with an incoming message. Shepard glanced down, opening it.
She blinked.
“Hah,” she breathed. “Speak of the devil.”
Garrus leaned in. “Sean?”
“Yep.” She skimmed the message, her brows furrowing slightly. Then she exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “Seems like I’m not the only one that figured it out.”
Garrus blinked. “What?”
She turned the screen toward him, and he read the latest line of text from Sean aloud.
SEAN [09:53]: ‘It’s a duet.’
Shepard huffed, rubbing her temples. “Says it’s meant to be a call-and-response kind of thing. He’s right, it should be.”
Garrus smirked. “And let me guess—he wants you to sing it.”
“Of course he does.”
“You going to?”
She scoffed. “No.”
Garrus tilted his head. “Why not?”
She hesitated.
For a moment, she stared down at her omni-tool. Then, finally, she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.
“I don’t know if I should,” she admitted. “I’m Commander Shepard. Sole survivor of Akuze. First human Spectre. It’s not exactly…” She trailed off.
Garrus saw it then—the hesitation, the regret. The weight she carried. The way she felt like she couldn’t do this, just because of who she was supposed to be.
He didn’t say anything.
Instead, he just let his arm settle around her waist, his hand tracing absent circles where it rested at her side. Shepard exhaled slowly, letting herself lean against him, her voice picking up again—just a little louder this time—as she exchanged messages with Sean.
And Garrus just sat back and listened.
Shepard
They had spent most of the trip to Virmire in the cargo bay. Sean had kept trying to convince her that she should be the other voice in that duet. She couldn’t deny that some part of her would probably enjoy it, but she didn’t have time. And she wasn’t sure an Alliance Commander or a Spectre should really be making music.
She knew Garrus had caught the hesitation in her voice, but he hadn’t pressed her. Instead, he had simply stayed, keeping her grounded in that quiet way of his.
But then Joker’s voice crackled over the comm, snapping them both back to reality. “Commander, we’re about an hour out.”
And just like that, everything else had to be set aside.
She got up, stretched, muttered something about getting ready. Garrus only nodded, falling back into step with her easily. There was an understanding there—whatever had been said or left unsaid in the cargo bay, it didn’t need to be resolved right now. Not with this mission looming ahead.
Now, as she stood on the bridge, she caught Garrus glancing her way when he thought she wasn’t looking. She didn’t call him on it.
Because in a way, it settled her.
Maybe it was the fact that, between them, there were no doubts anymore. No unspoken questions.
Or maybe it was just the fact that she knew, no matter what happened next, she wasn’t alone.
Joker’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Commander, I’m reading a signal. Must be our salarian infiltration team.”
Shepard and Garrus turned their eyes toward the planet below just as Garrus caught sight of the first problem.
“Those defense towers are going to be a problem,” he said.
Shepard considered their options before responding, glancing briefly at Garrus. “We have to take them out first. Drop the Mako. We’ll go in hot and clear them out.”
Joker’s voice came through with an edge of amusement. “You got it, Commander. I’ll get you in under their radar.”
Shepard turned, already heading for the elevator. “Garrus, you’re with me. Let’s go.”
“Right behind you, Shepard.”
As the elevator doors closed behind them, Shepard adjusted the straps on her armor, rolling her shoulders. She could still feel the ghost of Garrus’ arm around her waist from earlier, the warmth of his presence from the cargo bay. But that part of her mind shut down the moment Joker gave the mission update.
Focus.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing the cargo hold where the Mako was already being prepped. Wrex stood near the ramp, cracking his knuckles.
Shepard grabbed her helmet and climbed up into the vehicle. “Joker, we’re locked in. Get us close and drop us fast.”
“Copy that, Commander,” Joker’s voice crackled over the comms. “You know, one of these days, you could just ask nicely.”
Shepard grinned. “Are you looking for me to say please?”
“Would be nice every once in a while, just saying,” Joker quipped.
The Normandy rocked slightly as it maneuvered into position.
Joker’s voice cut in again, “Alright, dropping in five, four—”
Shepard braced herself.
“—three, two—”
The Mako lurched, the gravity shift pulling at her stomach as they plummeted toward the surface.
Then they hit ground, tires grinding into sand beneath the water, the sudden burst of motion shoving them forward at high speed.
Garrus’ hands moved smoothly over the controls, steadying the Mako as it hit the sand.
“We got a clean drop, Commander.”
“Nice work, Joker,” she radioed in, voice steady despite the chaos. “Now do me a favor and try not to wreck the ship before we get back.”
Joker’s voice crackled back immediately, smug as ever. “I know the drill, best pilot in the alliance fleet, remember? Meet you at the camp once those towers are off-line. Joker out.”
Shepard huffed a quiet laugh, shifting gears as the first wave of Geth signatures lit up on her HUD.
Then as she settled at the guns, Garrus hit the thrusters, and the Mako surged forward into battle.
Shepard
At first, things seemed quiet. Too quiet.
The path ahead was clear, save for the occasional patrol drone. But as they pushed further down the beach, the resistance thickened.
First, it was just lone Geth troopers stationed along the cliffsides. Easy enough to handle—too easy. Then the real fight began.
Clusters of snipers took up positions in the guard towers, forcing Shepard and her team into cover as they advanced. Geth Juggernauts stomped through the sand, their barriers flaring under gunfire, soaking up damage before retaliating with terrifying precision. Coordinated suppression fire from multiple angles forced them to keep moving, shields barely regenerating between volleys. This wasn’t just some holdout force—they were dug in.
Shepard gritted her teeth, crouching behind a jagged outcrop of rock as her shields flared under a sniper’s shot. She knew what this meant.
“I think he’s here,” she said quietly, switching to her pistol and lining up a shot on one of the snipers.
Garrus took down a Juggernaut with a clean shot to its eye. “We found him, Shepard. Now let’s take him down.” He glanced at her briefly before turning his attention back to the fight.
The first AA tower wasn’t far, looming over the battlefield. Getting to it was straightforward enough, despite the resistance—but once inside, the situation got complicated.
Shepard burst through the doors, clearing the initial wave of defenses easily. Then she heard it. The high-pitched screech of metal limbs skittering across the floor.
She clenched her jaw. Damn jumping spiders.
Sure enough, Geth Stalkers clung to the walls and ceilings, their erratic, unpredictable movements making them a nightmare to hit.
She fired off a few rounds as one of them launched itself across the room, but missed. “I hate these things!” she muttered under her breath, adjusting her aim as she tried to anticipate their next move.
Garrus, however, didn’t hesitate. His rifle tracked them with almost supernatural accuracy, his shots hitting just as they landed. One, two, three—each one dropping before they could even get close.
Shepard stole a glance at him between shots, a flicker of admiration settling in her chest. How the hell does he do that?
She forced her attention back to the fight, tracking another Stalker as it skittered across the ceiling. Two shots—one to stagger it, one to finish it. The last few stragglers fell quickly after that, and she moved to the controls. “Alright, first tower is down.”
With the first AA gun disabled, they pressed on.
They moved fast, cutting down Geth as they advanced along the shoreline. But as Shepard scanned the horizon through her scope, something caught her eye.
The sky.
Dark clouds were rolling in from the west, thick and fast. There was a charge in the air, a kind of tension that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
She tapped her comm. “Got a storm coming in, Joker. Keep an eye on it.”
Joker’s voice crackled back, steady and composed. “Already on it, Commander.”
She allowed herself a brief smirk. Joker might be a pain in the ass, but she’d be damned if she ever let anyone else fly the Normandy.
The way he handled his ship was the same way Garrus handled a battlefield—with complete, unwavering focus.
She trusted him just as much.
The final gate came into view—heavily fortified and crawling with Geth.
Shepard crouched behind a half-shattered barricade, eyes narrowing as a turret locked onto their position. “Last one…”
The firefight that followed was brutal. They moved fast, weaving between cover under relentless fire. Suppression from above, flanking units on the ground. Even Wrex ducked low as a blast struck his shoulder—then scoffed, brushing it off like someone had flicked him.
“That supposed to hurt?” he muttered with a chuckle, already rising to his feet.
Shepard snickered, firing off a burst, clearing the left flank. “Could be they’re just warming up.”
Wrex laughed and surged ahead, biotics flaring to life. With a guttural yell and a wide swing of his arm, he sent a shockwave tearing through the front line, Geth scattering like toy soldiers.
“That all you got?” he bellowed, drawing fire while Garrus picked them off from cover.
Shepard moved with purpose—calling targets, ducking and rising, every shot landing hard. The team pushed forward, relentless.
When they finally reached the second tower, the battlefield was littered with twisted metal and burned-out circuits.
The last AA gun went offline with a flick of a switch.
“I’m reading that the grid is down, Commander,” Joker’s voice came through, steady as ever. “On approach to the salarian base now. Out.”
Shepard exhaled, pushing back sweat-dampened hair from her brow as she reloaded.
Garrus looked to her, rifle at his side. “Ready to continue on your mark, Shepard.”
She gave a sharp nod. “Then let’s move.”
Shepard
The first thing Shepard noticed as they approached the salarian camp wasn’t the soldiers moving in tight, efficient formations. It wasn’t the wreckage of Geth along the cliffs or the distant rumble of the storm rolling in.
It was the Normandy.
Sitting on the sand, dark and sleek against the beach, it looked almost out of place—Shepard had never seen her ship like this before. She knew the Normandy could land, but in all the time she had served on her, it had always felt like something untouchable, hovering above the battlefield. Now, here she was, planet-side, vulnerable.
Just like all of them.
Her boots hit the sand as she made her way down, catching sight of Kaidan and Ashley standing with a salarian soldier, locked in an argument.
“So what are we supposed to do now?” Ashley asked, arms crossed, her frustration clear.
“Stay put until we can come up with a plan.” The salarian officer responded, his voice clipped, but calm.
Shepard and Garrus exchanged a quick glance before closing the gap.
She kept her voice even as she addressed him. “Are you in charge here? What’s the situation?”
The salarian gave a sharp nod. “Captain Kirrahe, Third Infiltration Regiment STG.” He exhaled. “You and your crew have just landed in the middle of a hot zone. Every AA gun within ten miles has been alerted to your presence.”
Shepard didn’t so much as flinch. “What’s your plan, Captain?”
Kirrahe’s eyes narrowed. “We stay put until the Council sends the reinforcements we requested.”
Garrus scoffed. “We are the reinforcements.”
Kirrahe’s mandibles flared slightly. “What? I told the Council to send a fleet.”
“The transmission wasn’t clear. They sent us to investigate the situation,” Shepard explained.
Kirrahe’s expression darkened, but he let it go, turning back toward the camp. “Then let me make the situation clear for you. This is Saren’s base of operations. A heavily fortified research facility crawling with Geth. We’ve been holding position here, waiting for backup. We’ve seen his forces, but not Saren himself.”
Shepard folded her arms. “What’s he researching?”
There was a pause. Then Kirrahe’s tone shifted.
“He’s using the facility to breed an army of krogan.”
Shepard felt something cold settle in her stomach.
Shit.
She knew what was about to happen before Wrex even stepped forward.
“How is that possible?” Wrex’s deep voice rumbled from behind her.
Here we go.
Kirrahe barely hesitated before responding. “Apparently, Saren has discovered a cure for the genophage.”
Shepard turned slightly, just enough to catch sight of Wrex’s expression.
He was still. Too still.
And that terrified her more than if he had started shouting.
Kirrahe kept talking, unaware of the storm about to break. “Without the genophage, the krogan will quickly overrun the galaxy. And these krogan follow Saren.”
Shepard sighed heavily, rubbing her temples.
She believed Wrex was right—the genophage should be cured. The krogan rebellion was long over, and the Council races had made a decision that wasn’t justice—it was slow genocide.
But she also knew that they couldn’t let Saren breed an army.
“The Geth are bad enough,” she said, voice measured, “but a krogan army… he’d be almost unstoppable.”
Kirrahe’s tone held a note of relief. “Exactly my thoughts. We must ensure this facility and its secrets are destroyed.”
And that’s when Wrex stepped forward.
She didn’t reach for her gun. Not yet.
“I don’t think so,” Wrex said, voice calm—but too calm. “Our people are dying. This cure can save them.”
Kirrahe’s expression didn’t waver. “If that cure leaves this planet, the krogan will become unstoppable. We can’t make the same mistake again.”
Wrex’s jaw tightened. He closed the space between them in a single stride, his massive frame towering over Kirrahe. “We are not a mistake.”
Then he turned sharply and walked away, the tension lingering in the air like a live wire.
Kirrahe exhaled. “Is he going to be a problem? We already have enough angry krogan to deal with.”
Shepard took a slow breath. “No. I’ll talk to him.”
Kirrahe gave a short nod, already refocusing on his men. “Do that. My team and I need time to come up with a new plan of attack.”
Shepard had known Wrex long enough to recognize when a fight was brewing.
It wasn’t the way he carried himself—not yet, anyway. It wasn’t his voice, still measured despite the frustration underneath.
It was the stillness.
That heavy, dangerous stillness, like a storm waiting to break.
And worse than that—she could feel Garrus noticing it too.
“Jane,” Garrus murmured behind her, his voice low, barely above a breath. “You know how Wrex feels—”
“I know.”
She didn’t turn to look at him. She didn’t need to.
Instead, she kept her eyes on Wrex as she took a slow step forward. “And he’s not wrong, Garrus,” she admitted, her voice quiet but firm. “How long do the krogan have to suffer for a decision made by the turians and salarians?”
There was no response from behind her.
Because she knew Garrus. Knew that whatever he had once believed about the genophage, about the krogan—he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Wrex still hadn’t turned to face her. He just fired a shot into the water, missing whatever fish he’d been aiming at.
“This isn’t right, Shepard,” he said roughly. “If there’s a cure for the genophage, we can’t destroy it.”
Shepard took another step closer, her tone careful, steady.
“I understand you’re upset,” she said, keeping her voice measured. “But we both know Saren is the enemy here. He’s the one you should be angry with.”
“Really?” Wrex scoffed. “Saren created a cure for my people. You want to destroy it. Help me out here, Shepard. The lines between friend and foe are getting a little blurry from where I stand.”
Shepard’s jaw clenched. Not wrong…
“Dammit, Wrex, this isn’t a cure—it’s a weapon.” She took a step closer, her hands steady at her sides. “And if Saren is allowed to use it, you won’t be around to reap the benefits. None of us will.”
His shoulders tensed. “This is the fate of my entire people we’re talking about!”
And then Wrex turned sharply, gun in hand.
Before Shepard could react, Garrus was there, next to her.
The distinct whine of his rifle powering up sent a shock of tension through the air as he closed the distance in an instant.
“Wrex,” Garrus said, voice tight, controlled, but edged with warning. “Put down your gun. I don’t want to shoot you. But I will.”
Shepard’s stomach dropped.
Her pulse hammered in her ears as she quickly raised a hand—not toward Wrex, but toward Garrus.
Fingers pressing lightly over the barrel of his rifle, firm but deliberate.
“Garrus, stand down. Please.”
For a brief second, she felt him tense beneath her touch, a flicker of something sharp behind his visor.
Frustration. Fear. Anger. Definitely angry.
But then he exhaled, mandibles flaring slightly, before he finally lowered his weapon.
Shepard turned back to Wrex.
“These krogan aren’t warriors. They aren’t reclaiming their honor. They are slaves, Wrex—puppets, tools to be used and discarded. Is that what you want for your people?”
Wrex stared at her.
She held his gaze, steady and unyielding, her heartbeat hammering in her chest.
“No. We were tools for the Council once. To thank us for wiping out the rachni, they neutered us all. I doubt Saren will be as generous.” Finally, slowly, Wrex’s fingers loosened. He holstered his gun. “Alright, Shepard. You’ve made your point.”
The tension finally broke.
Wrex turned, walking away without another word.
And as soon as he was out of sight, she heard it—
A sharp, frustrated exhale from Garrus.
Garrus
Garrus’ hands were still tight around his rifle, his fingers gripping the metal like he was trying to crush it.
He knew he needed to breathe. To push down the burning frustration curling in his chest.
But damn it—
He turned before he could stop himself, reaching for her arm, pulling her around to face him.
“Jane, I—”
Shepard’s eyes met his, and for the first time since they landed, he felt it—the aftershock, settling like a weight in his bones.
Her hands pressed against his chest plate, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he muttered, voice lower now, edged with something sharp. “You can’t keep risking everything on the vague hope that it will work out in your favor. What if Wrex hadn’t backed down?”
She didn’t argue.
She just held his gaze, steady, soft, and said the words he wasn’t prepared for, “Then you would have handled it.”
That stopped him cold.
“Damn it, Jane,” he growled, the frustration in his voice unmistakable. “Not if you don’t let me.”
There it was.
The truth of it. The thing that had been sitting in the back of his mind for weeks, clawing its way out every time she threw herself headfirst into danger.
He could protect her from anything, except herself.
She smiled softly, not in amusement, but something warmer. Something knowing.
She lifted one hand, fingers barely brushing the seam of his armor near his jaw. A small, quiet reassurance, even as her voice dropped just low enough that only he could hear it.
“Garrus. I trust you to keep me safe. Always.”
His mandibles twitched.
And in that moment, standing there in the open with the storm rolling in, with the salarians working in the background, with every reason to step away…he didn’t.
He let himself lean into it, just for a second, resting his forehead lightly against hers.
A slow inhale. A sharp, quiet exhale. “I just wish you’d trust me enough to let me.”
Shepard let out a quiet breath of laughter, shaking her head slightly, but she didn’t pull away.
“Sometimes, Garrus, there will be things I have to do. And you won’t like them.”
He huffed. Understatement of the century.
But he didn’t argue.
He just sighed, stepping back slightly, the tension in his shoulders finally easing.
“Yeah. I figured that part out already.”
Shepard
The plan was simple enough in theory.
The salarians’ ship’s drive system could be converted into a twenty-kiloton bomb—enough to level the entire facility. But it couldn’t be dropped from orbit. Someone had to physically place it, and that meant fighting their way through the heart of Saren’s stronghold.
And they were outnumbered.
There weren’t enough of them for a full-scale assault. Instead, Kirrahe and his teams would draw attention to the front, staging an all-out assault while Shepard and her squad slipped in through the back.
There was just one hitch—Kirrahe needed one of her people to help coordinate. Someone who understood Alliance protocols and could liaise between the salarians and the Normandy.
Both Kaidan and Ashley had volunteered.
But Ashley had more experience with heavy weapons and explosives. She’d be more useful prepping the nuke. Kaidan’s biotics and tech skills made him better suited to coordinate with and back up the STG team in the field.
Despite Ashley’s initial disagreement, they both agreed.
The fight to the facility had been easier than expected. Shepard, Garrus, and Wrex had taken every opportunity to disrupt Saren’s defenses—destroying satellite uplink towers, communication hubs, and refueling stations. By the time they breached the perimeter, the base was weaker than it should have been, and Kirrahe’s distraction was buying them time.
But once inside it was worse than they expected.
The resistance was light. Most of the geth were outside, engaging Kirrahe’s team. The base itself was quiet.
Too quiet. Then they found the cells and everything changed.
The holding area was cold, sterile. Rows of containment fields cast an eerie glow against the walls, bathing the prisoners in unnatural blue light.
The salarian prisoners stared at them. Or rather, some of them did.
Some were catatonic, swaying where they stood, their gazes unfocused. Some muttered incoherently, voices too low to understand. Others clawed at their own skin, tearing at their uniforms as if trying to peel something off.
There was one who seemed mostly himself, shaking, but still aware.
Shepard let him go.
For the rest…
Garrus exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on his rifle. “There’s nothing left of them.” His voice was quiet. Resigned. Frustrated.
Wrex shook his head. “This is no way to treat a prisoner. Kill them, sure. But to leave them like this…”
Shepard just stood there, staring at them.
It is a terror to be trapped in your mind.
Benezia’s voice from Noveria echoed in her head, sending an icy prickle down her spine.
This wasn’t mercy. It was cruelty stretched thin over time, leaving behind husks of men who should have died long before now.
She took a slow breath, drawing her pistol. “Better to die than to live like this.”
Wrex gave a single nod. “It’s what I would want.”
Garrus didn’t say anything.
Shepard turned off the containment field.
The prisoners didn’t react.
She lifted her pistol, bracing herself. One shot after another. Each shot landed clean, the muted hiss of a silenced round the only sound in the empty room. No one looked at her as she moved from one cell to the next.
Her hand was steady. But her stomach felt hollow.
By the time the last shot rang out, there was only silence.
She exhaled slowly, turning as she holstered her pistol.
Garrus was watching her. His mandibles twitched slightly—not disapproval. Not judgment. Just something quiet. Something unreadable.
“You did the right thing, Jane,” he said softly.
She didn’t answer. They had to keep moving. There was no time to dwell. They worked their way deeper into the base, cutting through what little resistance remained.
Then, they stumbled upon an office, where they found an asari researcher. She scrambled back as they walked in, ducking beneath a desk. She looked terrified, “Don’t shoot! I surrender!”
Shepard lowered her weapon, stepping forward. “Who are you?”
The asari hesitated. “Rana. Rana Thanoptis.”
She talked fast, voice wavering. “I didn’t know what I was signing up for. I thought it was just a research position, but Saren—he’s studying indoctrination. The way it creeps in, changes you. He’s trying to find a way to stop it. Or—” She swallowed. “Maybe he’s afraid it’s happening to him.”
Shepard frowned. “Saren? Afraid?”
A flicker of doubt passed through her. Benezia had thought she was in control. And she hadn’t been. Could it have started that way for him? Or was this just who he had always been?
She pushed the thought aside. “Can you open his office?”
Rana nodded quickly, tapping commands into her console. There was only one thing she wanted in return. “Please,” Rana said, “let me go. I—I didn’t know.”
Shepard stared at her. She was probably lying. Or maybe she was ignorant, or naive. Either way, she wasn’t worth the bullet.
Shepard exhaled. “I’m going to blow this place to hell and gone. If you want to make it out alive, you’d better start running.”
Rana blinked. “What?”
Shepard shrugged, matter-of-factly. “You’ve got about ten minutes. Start moving.”
Panic flashed across Rana’s face. “But—I’ll never—” She didn’t finish.
Instead, she turned and ran, practically screaming down the hall.
Shepard watched her go as she heard Garrus chuckle softly.
“You enjoyed that, Shepard.”
She didn’t look at him. She shrugged.
Maybe.
Rana wasn’t innocent. She just wasn’t guilty enough to kill.
Garrus
Garrus had never doubted Shepard’s strength.
But as they pushed deeper into the facility, he could see it—the toll this was taking on her.
It was in the tension in her shoulders, the way she exhaled just a fraction slower than usual after a fight. It was in the way her hand had hovered just a second too long before pulling the trigger on those indoctrinated salarians.
And it was in the way she didn’t talk about it.
He should’ve helped her more. He shouldn’t have let her be the one to do it. But the truth was… he couldn’t. Not this time.
She was right. It was a mercy but that didn’t make it feel any less like cold-blooded murder.
As they entered the final chamber, Garrus spotted something impossible.
A Prothean beacon.
No. Not again.
His gut clenched. His mind screamed to pull her back before she saw it, because he knew exactly what she was going to do when she did.
Shepard never walked away from a fight. Even when that fight was tearing through her own mind.
“Jane,” he said, voice tight, “it’s another beacon. Like the one on Eden Prime.”
Her breath hitched slightly. “The rest of the message…” She barely finished the thought before she started moving toward it.
Garrus followed closely, every instinct in his body screaming for him to grab her arm, to stop her before it could hurt her again—but he didn’t.
Because this was her. This was what she always did, what she always would do.
She hesitated just slightly, hands hovering over the console.
Then, with a deep breath, she activated it.
The beacon flared to life.
And Garrus could only watch as the energy seized her, lifted her off the ground.
Spirits.
He moved instantly, lunging forward but Wrex grabbed his arm.
“Don’t touch her,” the krogan warned, serious for once. “We don’t know what would happen if we interrupt this.”
Garrus’ jaw clenched. Every part of him hated this. Watching her, helpless, suspended in that eerie glow, her body taut with tension she had no control over. It made him feel sick.
Then, suddenly, the beacon flickered out and Shepard collapsed barely catching herself on her knees.
Garrus was at her side instantly, gripping her waist to steady her.
“Jane, are you alright?” The words came out more urgent than he meant.
She was disoriented—he could see it in her eyes, darting back and forth, trying to process whatever the beacon had forced into her head.
Then, without a word, she leaned into him, burying her face against his chestplate.
Not for long. Just long enough to breathe.
Long enough to look away from whatever horror she had just witnessed in her mind.
His arms tightened around her, just slightly, his hand pressing against her back, trying to offer a comfort he wasn’t sure she’d ever let herself take.
Finally, she pulled back, blinking hard, rubbing a hand over her face.
“I’m alright.” A half-hearted smirk tugged at her lips. “Is it bad that I think I’m getting used to this?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t have to,” he murmured.
His hand cupped the side of her face on instinct, his forehead brushing lightly against hers—a quiet moment, a grounding moment.
She let out a quiet chuckle. “Come on, we still need to destroy this place.” Then, smirking, she added, “Besides… I’m sure Wrex is getting tired of looking at us.”
A deep groan from behind them.
“I am,” Wrex muttered. “Just shoot me next time. It’d be less painful.”
Garrus huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he helped Shepard up.
The moment they stepped back into the upper platform, something felt wrong. A dull red glow pulsed in front of the platform.
A holographic projection, a console.
Garrus immediately tensed, falling into step beside Shepard.
“I get the feeling something bad is about to happen,” Wrex muttered.
Shepard didn’t hesitate. She moved forward.
Then the hologram spoke. “You are not Saren.”
Garrus’ heart kicked against his ribs. “What is that?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “Some kind of VI interface?”
The voice continued, deep and inhuman. “Rudimentary creatures of blood and flesh. You touch my mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding.”
A cold weight settled in Garrus’ stomach. “I… don’t think this is a VI,” he muttered.
Shepard’s expression didn’t change. She already knew.
The voice rumbled again.
“There is a realm of existence so far beyond your own you cannot even imagine it. I am beyond your comprehension. I am Sovereign.”
His chest tightened.
Sovereign.
“Sovereign isn’t just some Reaper ship Saren found,” Shepard said, piecing the puzzle together as she spoke, her voice gaining weight. “It’s an actual Reaper.”
Garrus stared at her. “That’s impossible.”
He wanted to believe it was a lie. That Saren had programmed it to say this. That it was some elaborate ruse.
But then, Sovereign spoke again. “The Protheans were not the first. They did not create the Citadel. They did not forge the mass relays. They merely found them, the legacy of my kind.”
Garrus’ hands clenched into fists.
No, that would mean…
Shepard’s voice cut through the storm in his mind. “Why would you construct the mass relays, then leave them for someone else to find?”
Sovereign answered without hesitation. “Your civilization is based on the technology of the mass relays, our technology. By using it, your society develops along the paths we desire. You exist because we allow it. And you will end because we demand it.”
Garrus felt something twist inside his chest.
“They’re harvesting us,” he breathed, realization crashing down on him like a goddamn tidal wave.
They had been playing into this cycle all along. This wasn’t war. It wasn’t conquest. It was annihilation, written into the bones of the galaxy itself.
Shepard, unshaken, took a step forward. “Maybe not. But I do know that I will find a way to stop you.”
And there it was. The woman he followed. The woman he believed in. She was standing before the face of annihilation itself, and she was not afraid.
Shepard was going to stand between the Reapers and the entire galaxy.
And Garrus hated it.
Because it meant she would never stop being in danger. She would never stop being on the frontlines.
And all he could do—all he would ever be able to do—was stand beside her and fight until the end.