Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shepard came to slowly, with the sickening awareness that everything hurt, and that she wasn’t sure how long she’d been out. She groaned and opened her eyes. The light seemed odd, and her vision was blurry, but she thought there was a familiar face. “Garrus?” she croaked, hopefully.

“No, I’m afraid not.” It was a turian voice, but lighter, unfamiliar. Shepard blinked several times, and the face swam into focus. She understood her mistake; the turian had similar coloring and the same markings, but had a narrower face, and no scars. “I’m Solana Vakarian. It’s nice to meet you at last.”

“Solana?” Shepard tried to make sense of any part of the situation. She tried to move, and groaned again. There was an IV in her arm, and all her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. “Where the hell am I?”

“On a turian cruiser. It’s largely been converted to emergency hospital facilities, since the end of the Reaper War.”

“The war’s over?” Shepard tried to focus. She had a hazy memory of being on the Citadel, with Anderson… and then in a white space, with a dead child… but none of that made sense. “What happened?”

“I imagine people are hoping you can explain that. The Reapers just… stopped. They were much easier to destroy at that point. I should summon the doctors to look you over.” Solana reached for a call button.

“Wait—” said Shepard. “What am I doing here? And how long has it been?”

Solana checked her omni-tool. “I believe it’s been two months, as humans reckon it.”

“Two months?” Shepard stared at the ceiling. She hated the feeling of losing any more time in her life.

“As for what you’re doing here, I believe I’ll leave it to my father to explain that.”

Solana left as the doctor, who turned out to be asari, entered. She checked Shepard over thoroughly. “You were very seriously injured, and surgery was performed in the field. Since then you’ve been in a coma, but seemed to be healing on your own,” she informed her. “You have more extensive cybernetic work than I’ve ever seen before. The implants undoubtedly saved your life, though some of them appear to be overstrained.” She sounded vaguely disapproving.

After she left, Shepard tested her limbs, cautiously. She could move, she found, but everything felt stiff and painful. She wasn’t sure if that was the result of her injuries, or of problems with her implants. She didn’t have a mirror, either, and wondered just how terrible she must look. A wave of loneliness washed over her. Why was Solana here instead of Garrus? Why was she on a turian ship at all? And where was that ship?

The sound of footsteps made her jerk her head toward the door. For a moment, she again thought it was Garrus, but the greeting she was about to make died on her lips as she realized this turian was slightly shorter than Garrus, with more faded markings. And, if she knew anything at all about turian body language, he looked exhausted. “Commander Shepard?” he said.

“Um, Mr. Vakarian?” she said cautiously. “I’m not sure what the appropriate title is.”

“Yes, I’m Callex Vakarian,” he said. His expression shifted slightly. “Let’s leave titles aside for now.”

“What am I doing here?” asked Shepard. “And if you and Solana are both here, where’s Garrus?”

At that, his head dropped. “Missing. Along with the Normandy and the rest of its crew.”

“What?” Shepard tried to sit up, and immediately regretted it, as every muscle in her body protested. She flopped back onto her pillows with a groan.

“Whatever the Crucible did entailed a large discharge of energy. A number of ships attempted to flee the discharge, the Normandy among them. We’re just not sure where they ended up.”

“We have to find them!” said Shepard, making a second, more cautious attempt to sit up.

Vakarian snorted. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere soon,” he said, not unkindly. “As for why you’re here… I was under the impression you have no living kin.”

Shepard blinked. “That’s right.”

“So I stepped in. Welcome to the Vakarian family, Commander.”

“What?” said Shepard blankly.

He stared at her. He blinked, rubbed a hand over his eyes, and went back to staring at her. She thought he looked almost as baffled as she felt. He said, “Garrus didn’t...”

“Didn’t what?” she asked sharply.

He sighed. “Well, this may be more complicated than I thought. May I sit?”

“Um, sure.”

He sank into the chair next to the bed as if it were a great relief, but still maintained a very upright posture. “My son contacted me before the allied fleets’ assault on Earth and asked permission to bring a spouse into the clan. He did not actually inform you of his intentions, then?”

Shepard tried to think how she could have possibly missed a proposal. Her memories were really pretty good up to that hellish battle in London, though. They’d talked about being together, more than once; he’d asked her if she was a one-turian woman; but... he surely would have asked directly if he wanted her to marry him, wouldn’t he? Garrus wasn’t usually terribly oblique about that sort of thing. Had he lost his nerve? Not found the right opportunity? Changed his mind? Her eyes prickled, and she closed her hands into fists, letting the pain of that ground her. “No. No, he didn’t.”

“I may have acted hastily, then. No.” He shook his head and continued in a low voice, as if talking to himself. “No matter. Declaration of intent to the clan leader is sufficient to form an obligation.”

“Obligation?”

He leaned forward, fixing her with pale eyes. “You are—or, at least, were to be—a member of this family, Commander. You are therefore under my protection. Assuming you would have accepted the offer of marriage, that is.”

Of all the ways Shepard might have imagined a proposal of marriage, none of them involved such a stiff and formal declaration from a prospective father-in-law she’d never met before. She tried to imagine how Garrus himself would have said it, and her eyes prickled again. “Yes,” she said, feeling as though she were delivering her answer to the wrong Vakarian. “I would have.” I will, yet, she told herself.“Wait...” Her brain finally processed something he’d said before. “You said he asked permission. That means you gave it? For a human spouse?” Her voice rose a little, making her disbelief plain.

His mandibles flickered. “I’m not a bigot, Commander,” he said, rather frostily. “Such a relationship may be unusual, but is hardly unheard of. And your service to galactic civilization has been exemplary. It would do honor to any turian clan. Certainly I gave my permission.”

Shepard had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. Or cry. Or do both at once. “I’m sorry,” she said, irritated that her voice cracked a little. “It’s a lot to take in.”

She thought his face relaxed a little. “Of course,” he said. “You are still recovering, after all. It would be more fitting to take you to the family estate, but...” he grimaced “... it happens to be ashes. In addition, I have other responsibilities here.”

She was about to ask where “here” was, other than a turian ship, when the asari doctor returned with a forbidding expression, insisting that Shepard needed rest. She wanted to argue, but once her visitors were gone and the room was darkened, she quickly went to sleep.

#

Shepard woke from restless dreams about the Normandy crashing on some uncharted planet. Everything still ached. She fidgeted her way through a bland breakfast and won grudging permission from her doctor to use an omni-tool to access an extranet feed. She had to know what the hell was going on out there.

The galaxy was a mess, but the fragile alliances she’d built seemed to be holding, for the present. The Reapers had simply deactivated, and their legions of husks along with them. The latter were being burned en masse. Many of the Reapers had been destroyed, too, but efforts were underway to dismantle and study some of the rest. Such work took second place, though, to the massive tasks of healing the injured, feeding the survivors, and getting everyone back where they were supposed to be. The geth were being particularly helpful. Shepard stopped and frowned. Why had she been convinced that the geth were all gone? No, they were still here, bringing the mass relays back online, building shelters.

She herself, she discovered, was listed as MIA. There was a great deal of speculation in the media about what might have happened to her and where she might be, with a number of stories insistent that the Alliance was concealing her, and that she should come forward to Answer Questions as soon as possible. The hysterical tinge of some of these made her feel a little ill. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to be where she was, under Vakarian protection. At least it was quiet and no one was bothering her.

She hadn’t imagined Anderson’s death. His body had been found in London, near the conduit beam. She frowned again. There’d been a huge memorial service. She hated the idea that she’d missed it. Admiral Hackett was still alive, showered with honors for his command of the battle. She’d taken Ashley and Javik with her as her ground team at the last. Ashley had survived, also covered in honors, regularly giving interviews (including the statement that she had no idea what had happened to Shepard). She couldn’t find any reference to Javik in the news reports. She wondered if he’d died, or quietly disappeared, or if the Alliance was attempting to cover up his very existence.

Garrus had argued with her about that choice, wanting to accompany her, but she’d wanted him on the Normandy in her absence. There was no one better to man the Thanix cannon during a fight, in her opinion. He’d acquiesced, reluctantly. And Tali and Liara and Joker were still on board, some of her closest friends... she’d known any of them might die. She’d been prepared to give up her own life. She hadn’t been prepared to survive, alone, with the fate of her entire crew unknown.

Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Solana Vakarian, who hesitated in the doorway. “Would you like to get out of here?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” said Shepard. “I didn’t know I could.”

“I got permission. I thought some time out of this room would do you good. Consider it physical therapy, although I’m sure you’ll have real therapy soon enough.”

Shepard’s legs still weren’t working well, so Solana fetched a wheelchair. Shepard felt odd being pushed around, but the turian woman didn’t seem to mind. In spite of her own faint limp, she steered the chair deftly through corridors and to...

Shepard burst out laughing. “Your idea of physical therapy is to take me to a shooting range?”

“Commander.” Solana’s teeth flashed in a grin. “This is a turian ship. Of course we consider shooting to be physical therapy.”

Shepard had to admit that the turians might be on to something. Breaking down and assembling a pistol was good practice for her hands, clumsy at first, but rapidly regaining the habitual motions. And she felt a lot better once she had demolished some holographic targets.

“Nice work, Commander,” commented Solana, a fair shot herself.

“Thanks. Um.” Shepard hesitated. “Most people call me Shepard. If I’m... part of the family, you could... call me Jane.” Hardly anyone actually used her first name. Except Garrus.

“All right,” said Solana. “If you don’t mind. We just hadn’t been properly introduced, since my little brother doesn’t see fit to tell me anything anymore.” There was an edge to her voice that made Shepard tense.

“Um,” she said, searching for some kind of defense. She really had very little idea what kind of relationship Garrus and Solana had, she realized.

“Sorry, it’s not you,” Solana said. “I’m worried about him, that’s all.”

Shepard exhaled. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Dad told me Garrus never actually made the marriage offer.”

Shepard looked down at her hands, wound together in her lap. “Yeah. I don’t know. We’d talked about staying together, but...” She trailed off. “Maybe he changed his mind,” she whispered, not wanting to believe it.

Solana snorted. “Doubtful. If he asked Dad for permission, his mind was made up, and he’s far too stubborn to change it. They’re just alike in that respect, which is the problem they’ve always had with each other.”

Shepard looked up, intrigued. “He used to complain about his father, but he didn’t say a lot about the rest of the family. Except, during the war, that he was worried he couldn’t reach you. I knew he had a sister, but I don’t know if you’re younger or older.”

“Oh, he’s the baby of the family,” said Solana, folding her arms as she leaned against the wall. “And a worse tease of a brother I could never hope to have. He used to sneak around following my friends and me, and save up jokes to tease me with later on. With our parents present, if you please. Little brat. It was a sad day when he got too big and too skilled for me to beat him at hand-to-hand.”

Shepard could tell that her tone was affectionate, in spite of the words, and smiled. “You should meet our friend Tali some day. He used to tease her all the time, too.”

“He’d grown out of the worst of it by the time he started his military service. We had more in common then, and became much closer.”

“Solana,” Shepard said, wanting to ask the question that had been starting to bother her. “How did you even find me? The Alliance doesn’t seem to know where I am.”

She shrugged, her mandibles flicking out. “You’ll have to ask Dad about that. He’s the detective. We’d evacuated Palaven, and were fit enough to join the war fleet. Once the dust had settled, he started making inquiries. We knew the Normandy was missing and... he said he was determined to find one of you.”

“Oh.” Shepard blinked, oddly touched. Her eyes felt a little wet. “I have to say, I’m surprised by everything your father has done. I... thought he and Garrus didn’t get along.”

Solana hesitated, mandibles twitching. Shepard was used to reading that as a sign of agitation, and thought she wasn’t far off the mark. “They... don’t. Didn’t. They’d seemed to be better, the last few months. But, look... that’s between the two of them. Like I said, they’re too much alike in a lot of ways. Our father is not a bad man, Shepard. Jane. Asking for permission to bring a spouse into the clan is a big deal. Especially a non-turian spouse. Plenty of turians don’t bother to get clan approval, even if they’re with another turian. There are less formal ways to set up relationships. For Garrus to ask, it had to be really important to him. Dad wouldn’t take that lightly. And after giving permission, he’d view his obligation to you as binding. He’s strict, and serious, and is not always the easiest parent, but he takes his duties very seriously. ”

Shepard remembered Garrus’s story of his father blocking his Spectre training. For the first time, she wondered what the other side of that story looked like.

Chapter Text

Shepard found it depressing how quickly she got tired. Her trip to the shooting range with Solana left her exhausted. Her doctor glared at her once she got back to her room and insisted on more rest. The second day, she had physical therapy first thing in the morning, where she discovered just how little her legs wanted to work. Thoroughly irritated, she returned to her room and searched for old comrades on the extranet until Solana dropped by to see how she was doing.

After a few minutes of pleasantries, Shepard said, “Listen, Solana, I ought to contact the Alliance and let them know where I am. Can I get comm access?”

“Of course,” she replied. “If you’d prefer, you could be transferred to human medical care. Do you want me to set that up now?”

Shepard hesitated. “Let me think about that.” On the one hand, she did have a duty to report to the Alliance, and there were people out there who would want to know she was alive. But... she was so tired. She’d been through hell, again, and come out the other side, and she was still figuring out how she felt about that. She didn’t feel ready to face the inevitable questions about what had happened, what she’d done. Would it be so bad, really, to take a few more days to recover? Hadn’t she done enough, running every damn errand Alliance Command thought was necessary, in between hammering out alliances between species that had been hostile for centuries? “I... maybe in a day or two.”

Sol nodded. “That’s fine. Whenever you like.” They settled to talking about lighter subjects before Shepard dozed off again.

Later, she woke up to find a familiar dark-haired woman, dressed in a white coat, at her bedside. Shepard stared at her, stunned. “Miranda? How the hell did you find me?”

“There was a significant pattern of extranet searches from this ship, Shepard,” Miranda Lawson replied. “Also, you’re actually on the patient roster as ‘J. S. Vakarian.’ Once I knew where to look, it wasn’t hard.”

“What are you even doing here?”

“All sorts of sophisticated technology has been malfunctioning since the Reapers were defeated. I thought your implants might be among them, so I’m here to fix them.” Miranda gave Shepard a sharp look over her datapad. “Just what exactly did you do to the Reapers, Shepard?”

“I can’t remember. What I do remember doesn’t make much sense. I thought I got to the Citadel, but... I don’t know.”

“Well, you were in London when the Vakarians claimed you, as best I can tell from the records. Apparently you were unidentified in some field hospital, and the staff there was so overworked they were glad to surrender you to the first party that came along.” Miranda’s lip curled. “It’s nice to see the Alliance looks after you so well.”

“Miranda,” said Shepard wearily.

“Fine. I won’t malign your precious Systems Alliance. Now let’s see what we can do about these implants.”

The asari doctor appeared at the door, and Miranda smoothly intercepted her. “I’m Dr. Lawson. I’ll be overseeing this patient’s care from now on.”

They stepped out into the corridor, and Shepard couldn’t quite make out all of the ensuing argument. But Miranda came back looking pleased with herself. “You’re not actually a doctor,” Shepard pointed out.

“I am as far as she’s concerned. Plus, I think I did the equivalent of a graduate degree in neuroscience, cybernetics, and human physiology on the Lazarus Project.”

“Miranda, wait.” Shepard caught her arm before she could get too far with her diagnostic equipment. “Do you have any idea what happened to the Normandy?”

Miranda’s expression softened. “I don’t, Shepard. But two other ships missing from the battle checked in in the last week. I have some contacts on it. I’ll tell you if I hear anything.”

“Thanks.” Shepard let go and let her proceed. Miranda had brought in some specialized equipment to test Shepard’s various augmentations. The results led her to inject new nanites, in a process similar to what Shepard had used for the various skin, bone, and muscle weaves. Miranda also supervised Shepard’s physical therapy herself, and was even tougher on her than the turian physical therapist had been the day before.

Like so many of Miranda’s plans, her treatment for Shepard was painful but brutally effective. By the end of the next day, Shepard was able to totter around under her own power. She wouldn’t be winning footraces any time soon, but at least she could walk a little.

She felt a lot better the next morning, well enough that she boldly ventured out of bed by herself to test her legs. Her room was big enough to pace back and forth a bit, letting her work out some of the kinks. She still ached, but it was a better kind of ache than before.

“Well, look at you.”

Shepard turned, finding Solana watching her from the doorway, with a smile. “Yeah. Doing much better.”

“I guess your Dr. Lawson knows her stuff?” Solana crossed her arms and tilted her head, a questioning expression that looked terribly familiar and briefly made Shepard’s heart ache. “You know her, I take it?”

“Yeah, she’s an old, ah, friend.” Shepard decided that her and Miranda’s relationship was a little too complicated to explain first thing in the morning.

“I came down to ask if you wanted to join Dad and me for breakfast.”

“Sure.” Shepard cleaned up and changed—the ship had ill-fitting but serviceable shirts and pants and slippers for non-turians to wear—and accompanied Solana through the corridors, passing an assortment of busy-looking staff on the way.

Solana took her through a door into what looked like the outer waiting area of an office. “We have quarters and an office through here,” she explained.

“Just for the two of you? That seems like a lot of private space,” Shepard commented, surprised.

“Well, it’s not quite just for us, and...”

She was cut off as the passed through the office and found not only the elder Vakarian, but Adrien Victus. Shepard had talked to the former general turned Primarch enough to recognize him on sight. His eyes widened when he saw her.

“Commander Shepard?”

“Ah, good morning, Primarch,” said Shepard, uncomfortably aware that he must have thought she was dead.

“Councilor, now, actually.”

“Um, congratulations?”

He shook his head irritably. “Hardly. But more importantly, what are you doing here?”

“She’s under my protection,” snapped Vakarian.

Victus turned to him with flared mandibles. “On what grounds, Primarch?”

“On the grounds of acceptance into this clan—”

Solana caught Shepard’s arm and steered her onwards into the next room, even as the two men’s conversation turned into a rapid-fire exchange of legalese and colloquial turian that gave her translator fits. Solana firmly shut the door behind them, then tipped her head against it, listening. “Damn,” she said. “That was unfortunate. They’ll be at this for a while.”

Shepard drew close enough to the door to hear Victus say, “No, I will not be a witness for you. I concede his intentions were obvious, but...” She winced and pulled away, relieved when the argument sank to a lower volume.

Solana also winced. “It’s not just you,” she offered. “They’ve been disagreeing about policy issues for weeks now. This is just an excuse for them to finally have it out with each other.”

“We don’t need to break up a fight, I hope,” Shepard said, attempting a joke.

Solana didn’t laugh. “I certainly hope not. Dad may be a traditionalist, but dueling is old-fashioned even for him.”

“Wait, did Victus say your father is the Primarch?”

Solana sighed. “Yeah. Never thought that would happen. The lines of succession are clear and specific, but with so many casualties, the citizenship tiers are a bit in flux.”

Shepard sank into the nearest chair, feeling weary and a little guilty. Partly for the massive loss of life during the war—not that it was really her fault, but she couldn’t help feeling that if she’d just done something differently, the galaxy would have been more prepared—but mostly for the knowledge that she really couldn’t remain hidden away here, MIA, forever.

“Jane,” said Solana, “can I ask you something?”

She looked uncomfortable, and Shepard suspected that she was trying to distract her from the raised voices on the other side of the door. Well, she’d welcome a distraction from straining to hear exactly what Victus and Vakarian were saying to each other. “Go ahead,” she said.

Solana sat down, laced her fingers together, and looked steadily at Shepard. “What happened to my brother, the last two years?”

Shepard hesitated. On the one hand, it wasn’t really her story to tell. On the other... if anyone deserved an explanation, it was probably Solana. And Shepard felt a debt to her, too, for her friendship and comfort over the last few days. She hadn’t known her long, and already it seemed almost natural for Sol to call her Jane. “What do you know?” she asked cautiously.

She shook her head. “Virtually nothing. Which is not like Garrus. I told you he was a pain when he was little, but once he’d grown up some, we were pretty close. We talked regularly all the time he was at C-Sec, even when he and Dad weren’t speaking much any more. He sent me messages when he first joined your crew, too. Nothing classified, but I got the gist. And then...” She stopped abruptly.

In the quiet, Shepard could still hear the men speaking outside, their voices sounding calmer now. “And then what?”

“You were reported dead,” said Solana. Her mandibles twitched. “And two months later, Garrus just quit his job and disappeared. He wrote, but not very often, and with very little detail. Mercenary work was my best guess, but it didn’t seem like him. And then, six months before the Reaper invasion, he just showed up on Palaven acting like nothing had happened, but looking like hell. And then suddenly he’s heading up some new task force. He only told me about the Reapers a couple of months before the war started. So what the hell happened out there? Was he with you the whole time?”

Shepard sighed. “No. He did join me, but later, just a few months before he went home. So... I don’t know the whole story. But I do know that when he left the Citadel, he went to Omega.”

Solana’s jaw dropped. “He did what? Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Shepard. “He’s told me some of it, but I still don’t have a good handle on what he was thinking at the time.” She explained the whole Archangel story as best she could, right up to the last stand and the gunship, uncomfortably aware of the growing look of horror on Solana’s face.

“He must have lost his damned mind,” muttered Solana.

Shepard shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I don’t know,” she said again. “He doesn’t talk about it much, even with me.”

The door opened before she could get any further, and Victus entered, looking ruffled. “Commander. Solana. Might I have a word with Commander Shepard in private?”

“Certainly, Councilor.” Solana rose and joined her father in the office.

Victus took a deep breath and took a seat, looking at Shepard earnestly. “Commander. I should first say that I’m very glad to see you alive and well.”

“Likewise, Pri- er- Councilor.”

“And yet, you must know that your own people are very concerned about your whereabouts.”

Shepard sighed. “I know.”

“I am persuaded that Primarch Vakarian’s intentions are good, though his... interpretation of certain turian customs is unusually liberal.” His mandibles flicked out and in. “But I would like to hear from you that this is your will.”

Shepard sat back and raised an eyebrow. “You think they’re holding me against my will? No. Not all. Councilor, I was in a coma for the last two months, and I only woke up a few days ago. The Vakarians have been nothing but helpful.”

He seemed to relax a little. “Good. I will send my personal contact information to your omni-tool. Do not hesitate to use it if you need anything.”

“I appreciate it. Look, Councilor, I will get in touch with my own people. But I don’t have any family of my own, and I’d like to take a little more time to recuperate before I have to answer questions from the Alliance. Or worse, the press.”

He nodded. “I understand. Do you need anything now?”

Shepard leaned forward. “What I need is to find my ship and my crew.”

He nodded again, slowly. “I understand that, as well. A number of turian ships are also missing. The geth have been active in search and rescue operations. I will tell my geth contact how to reach you.” He shook his head. “I never thought we would owe so much to the geth.”

All that, and she still hadn’t had breakfast. Councilor Victus took his leave. The meal was more appetizing than the bland, very hospital-like fare she’d been having, though still pretty utilitarian. Solana apologized, on the grounds that turian ships were ill-equipped to feed levo-based species anything more than the basics. Shepard remembered how Garrus and Tali had put up with the dextro fare on the Normandy, and vowed not to complain.

It was an awkward meal. Solana was subdued, probably still thinking about what Shepard had told her, and her father was stiffly polite. Seeking some conversational opening, Shepard finally congratulated him on becoming Primarch.

He looked uncomfortable. “We all serve as we must, Commander. Having spent most of my career off Palaven, I am sure there will come another better suited to the post.”

“I know I’m not completely up on the news,” she said, “but your work on the Citadel seems like good experience for coping with all the allied species.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he allowed.

They engaged in a cautious conversation about the current state of the galaxy: the work of finding homes for displaced people, of rebuilding on devastated planets. The mass relay network had briefly shut down when the Reapers ceased functioning. It was still being used, but with caution, and there was talk of replacing it with something new, not derived from Reaper technology. In the course of this conversation, she discovered that the cruiser they were on was actually docked at the Citadel, “which has been returned to its customary location,” said Vakarian dryly.

“Garrus once told me you didn’t approve of Spectres,” Shepard finally ventured, feeling a little more relaxed.

Vakarian immediately stiffened, and she thought Solana flinched. “Well. That’s true,” he said. “I believe in the rule of law, Commander. Immunity from the law leads too easily to corruption. I think the career of Saren Arterius illustrates that quite well.”

He had a way of making even Shepard feel like a small and unruly child. “Of course, sir,” she said, reflexively.

“Your record, Commander, seems remarkably... clear,” he said, as if each word were being extracted from him by force. “You refused to ignore a clear threat, even when your own superiors would not believe you. If they had, many lives might have been saved.”

He was staring into his plate. Shepard swallowed, too aware of the uncomfortable atmosphere. “I can understand that my claims seemed extreme,” she said.

He shook his head. “Perhaps, but the evidence was clear. More evidence might have come to light, had we begun looking earlier. If Garrus had come to me sooner, for example—” He stood abruptly.

“Dad,” said Solana.

Shepard was readying a defense of Garrus, but his father shook his head again. “I understand why he did not,” he said. “Please excuse me, Commander, I have to prepare for my next meeting.”

He left before she could do more than murmur a farewell, and she sat stunned, turning his words over in her mind. “He thinks this is his fault?” she burst out, turning to Solana.

Solana looked uncomfortable. “I told you, he takes his duties seriously. Including his duties as a father. I think he came to regret... certain things... while Garrus was missing.” She sighed. “It would be better if Garrus were here.”

Shepard couldn’t help but agree.

She returned to her room exhausted, to find Miranda already waiting. Miranda took one look at her and decided her physical therapy should wait until later, and practically tucked Shepard into bed. “How’s Oriana?” she asked, amused at the oddly maternal streak.

Miranda paused, and her face lightened. “She’s doing all right. She’s back in school. Studying music, and engineering.” She patted Shepard’s shoulder. “Get some rest, Commander. I’ll be back later.”

Shepard dozed, for a while, and only woke when her omni-tool chimed with an incoming message. She woke herself enough to bring it up. It read:

Shepard Commander:
We the geth appreciate your continued survival. We also appreciate your warning, which allowed us to preserve our runtimes while the Old Machines were ended.
We will find the Normandy collective for you.

Chapter Text

More than sixty days on this damned planet, and Garrus was thoroughly sick of how long the repairs were taking. Damage to the hull, the engine core containment systems, and the propulsion systems; the SR-2, unlike its predecessor, wasn’t really designed to get in and out of gravity wells with ease. Damage sustained during the crash had knocked out the QEC, to make matters worse, so they had to rely on conventional communications to send a distress signal. They’d thought long and hard about that one—it might attract Reapers or mercs or looters—but at this point Garrus would actually welcome a merc band. He entertained fantasies of shooting them, commandeering their shuttle, taking it into orbit and seizing their ship… and then flying it back to Palaven or Earth…

Not knowing what was happening—in the battle they’d left behind, to his homeworld, his family, to Shepard—was eating him up with worry. And was a distraction he couldn’t afford. He worked himself to exhaustion every day, because otherwise his overactive imagination kept him awake.

At least they’d landed on a garden world. There’d even been a settlement here. Unfortunately, they found it overrun with husks and empty of sentient life. They’d grimly stripped the place of anything usable. Food replicators would keep them all alive for quite some time. The Normandy’s fabricators could even make replacement parts. The trick was getting enough materials to fabricate what they needed—especially the patches for the hull—and then getting all of the battered ship’s systems to work together long enough to break atmo and get back to civilization. No telling how long that would take, either, because they couldn’t be sure how the FTL drive would perform until they actually got into space to test it.

Tali’s voice came crackling over his comm. “Garrus?”

“Yeah,” he said, pausing from his task of trying to coax more power out of the kinetic barrier generator (which would save them the effort of repairing some of the hull damage, if they could get it going).

“We’re going to have to divert more power from the Thanix to engine containment. I’m sorry, I just don’t see another way.”

Garrus bit back a curse. When they had no idea what they were coming back to, he really didn’t like the idea of downgrading the weapons systems. He liked the idea of frying the entire engineering staff less, though. “Fine, do it.”

Once the dust from the crash landing had settled, Garrus had simply taken charge. It was still a little astounding to him that not one of the human crew had said anything at all to question the authority he’d claimed for himself, even though he was not remotely part of the actual chain of command. Chakwas and Adams both backed him, which helped, but he was the one making final decisions. Both of the older humans had their hands full anyway. They’d been extremely lucky to have no fatalities, but Chakwas still had an infirmary full of patients with concussions, burns, and broken bones, and Adams had primary responsibility for overseeing the repairs. Garrus was handling everything else: scouting, defense, work schedules, rationing, supplies... Not alone, certainly. Everyone pitched in, and Liara, with her data feeds offline, had been particularly helpful on the administrative end, but everyone looked to him in the end. It was, he supposed, a mark of their respect for both him and Shepard, but it was a little unnerving.

A couple more hours of work, and Garrus was finally ready for a break and a meal. He was reviewing the next day’s repair priority list and work schedule when his comm activated again.

It was Joker. “Hey Garrus, we’ve got an incoming transmission.”

He reached for his rifle. “Who is it?”

EDI cut in. “It is a geth signal.”

Garrus paused. “Friendly geth? EDI, any sign they’re under Reaper control?”

After a moment, the AI said, “Negative.”

“Okay. EDI, be prepared to deploy countermeasures to AI hacking. Joker, put it through.”

The calm, synthetic voice sounded like Legion, although he knew it wasn’t. Probably all the geth sounded more or less the same. “Normandy collective, greetings. Can we render assistance?”

After that, it was amazing how fast the repairs went. The geth had the materials they needed, plus would work around the clock. Garrus held his breath when they lifted off, but the patched hull held, and they were on their way back to civilization. They headed for the Citadel, once again the hub of galactic civilization (even if the structure’s recent role in the war made people a little nervous about that). With Arcturus Station destroyed, it was also where they’d find most of the current Alliance command.

The geth had also answered the storm of anxious queries from the Normandy’s crew, as politely and patiently as only an AI could manage: Yes, the war was over, the Reapers were gone, the rebuilding had begun.

And Shepard was alive.

The Normandy limped into port for a proper refitting, arriving late in the Citadel’s day cycle. The docks looked surprisingly unchanged, though the considerable number of Keepers roaming around suggested that the area had been recently rebuilt.The crew split up. Alliance officers met them at the docks to see to the human crew; Tali needed to find the other quarian admirals who were on-station, and Liara wanted to try to re-establish some contacts. EDI’s mobile unit accompanied the asari, since the AI had taken an interest in her work. It was odd separating from everyone after the stress of the war and the long days of being marooned together, and they promised to reunite the next day.

It was not Shepard, however, but Solana who met Garrus at the docks, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

“Sol! You’re all right?”

“Never doubt it,” she said. “You?”

“Fine. How’s Dad?”

“Not really enjoying being Primarch, but fine aside from that.”

Garrus blinked. “Dad’s Primarch?”

Solana filled him in on her and their father’s doings over the last few months. Eventually he found an opportunity to slip in, “Do you, ah, know where Shepard is, by any chance?” He’d never actually told Solana about his relationship with Shepard. The time had just never seemed right, and the longer he was on Palaven, with her incarcerated, the more he’d wondered if she’d still feel the same.

Something shifted in Sol’s face. “Your Commander? I believe she’s debriefing with the Alliance.”

“Damn,” he muttered, and added hastily, “I just wanted to check in with her.”

“Very dutiful of you,” said Solana dryly. “She paid us a visit, you know.”

“Oh… really?” He hesitated, wondering what Shepard might have said to his sister.

“Really. Seems like she’s been locked down with the Alliance for a few days, though. Hard to say when she’ll be done debriefing with them.”

“Oh,” he said, deflated.

Sol tapped him on the shoulder. “You look exhausted, you know, and it’s late. Why don’t you go get some rest, and we’ll catch up in the morning? Dad’s been tied up in meetings all day, but I know he wants to see you.”

“I could use some rest,” he admitted. “As long as you don’t mind…”

“Nah. And hey, being Primarch has some perks to go with the crushing responsibilities. We found you a hotel room.” She sent the location and passcode to his omni-tool.

“Thanks, Sol.” He gave her another hug. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Garrus sent Shepard a message anyway, on his way to the hotel. He found his room easily, dropped his bag, changed out of his armor, and wondered what to do with himself. He was tired, yes, but also a little buzzed, with a little too much nervous energy. Maybe he should call Sol back after all, or see if Liara or Tali was free…

The door behind him opened. He turned, startled, expecting someone from housekeeping, maybe, but…

“Shepard,” he said, stunned.

#

Shepard had let herself recuperate for a few more days after getting the geth message, under Miranda’s stern eye. Solana stopped by often to talk, and Shepard was really beginning to think of the turian woman as a friend. It was feeling a lot more natural to hear Solana call her ‘Jane.’ With her cybernetic implants repaired, Shepard’s strength and endurance came back little by little, and when she found herself fidgeting and restless, she decided the time had come, and put a call through to Alliance Command. It was just about as bad as she expected. She was immediately swept up in a whirl of questions, although they kept the press away, and there was a certain amount of irritation visible among the Alliance commanders when she admitted where she’d been for the last two months. She was able to smooth over the diplomatic repercussions, though. She’d spent the days since in debriefings and staff meetings, getting questioned about the Crucible and the Catalyst, in spite of her inability to clearly remember what had actually happened. The admirals also, inexplicably, kept wanting her opinion on high-level decision-making. She was wondering if she could possibly escape the political role they clearly had in mind for her when her omni-tool buzzed, her urgent message incoming warning.

She checked it surreptitiously under the table. It was from Solana, it was brief, and it set her heart pounding:

Normandy checked in. All crew accounted for.

She got the second message as the session wrapped up for the day.

He’s fine. Didn’t tell him you were coming. And the number of a hotel room.

She pushed her still-healing legs as fast as they’d go, got a quick flurry of messages from Tali and Liara and Joker and James on the way. She sent replies from the rapid transit car, promising to meet everyone for drinks the next day.

Tonight she had a different reunion in mind. Solana had sent her the passcode for the hotel room, so she used it instead of knocking. Garrus turned, said her name, and simply stared at her, as if she were an apparition. He looked a little drawn and worn out himself.

“Oh, Garrus,” she said, and then her arms were around him and his around her and she rested her head on his warm, solid shoulder.

“Sol said you were tied up with the Alliance,” he said after a moment.

Shepard snorted. “She would.” She pulled back and looked at him sternly. “You’re thinner.”

“Just trying to make supplies last,” he said, a little embarrassed. The truth was, he’d often been too worried to muster up much appetite. He looked her over carefully. “You’re really all right?” She looked paler than usual, but he couldn’t see any visible marks.

She smiled. “Cybernetics still doing their job.” Her smile faded a little. “Actually, I was in a coma for a couple of months. Miranda had to replace a bunch of my implants.” He couldn’t quite hide his reaction to that, and she added quickly, “I’m doing fine now. Getting better.”

He pulled her close, both desperate and relieved. He hadn’t really let himself think it, but he hadn’t been sure he’d ever see her again. It was unspeakably good to feel her form against him. He inhaled her scent, reassuringly familiar and uniquely her, and nuzzled the side of his face against hers, running his fingers through her hair.

“Not so fast,” said Shepard, pushing on his shoulder. Garrus blinked and backed off. Shepard stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Garrus looked at her, puzzled, wondering what was wrong.

“So,” she said. “I understand there was a certain question you were going to ask me.”

Garrus stared at Shepard. For a moment he couldn’t think what she might be referring to at all, and then a certain awful awareness crept up on him. But Sol hadn’t said anything... had Shepard really talked to his father? And had his father really told her...? “How did you know?” he blurted.

Shepard leaned her weight back on one foot. “Your father said he’s been treating me as a daughter. Or daughter-in-law, I guess. Part of the family, anyway. He tracked me down while I was still in a coma and took me into... protective custody, of a sort. He and your sister took good care of me.”

“Oh,” said Garrus. “That’s... good. I didn’t expect him to do that.” He really must be tired; he knew she wanted an explanation, and somehow his brain just couldn’t come up with a satisfactory one. He hadn’t been prepared to deal with this question right now.

Her gaze was challenging. “I just... Garrus, why would you ask your father if you could get married and then not ask me? Help me understand here.”

He sank down on the bed and lowered his head into his hands. “I don’t know. I thought about it for a long time—I’d been thinking about it, even before I saw you again on Menae—and it never seemed like the right time. You were... you had so much pressure on you. I wanted to help, not put more pressure on you. Especially after Thessia fell, and we were tracking Leng, I knew you were having a hard time with... everything.”

She moved toward him and put her hand on his shoulder. “But you talked to your father. Right before we went to Earth, he said. And you still didn’t say anything to me?”

He looked up. Her eyes were extra bright, and something wet rolled down her cheek. Oh, Spirits, she was crying. She almost never cried, and now she was crying over this, so it was clearly his fault. A rising sense of panic forced words out of his mouth. “You were so focused on the mission. I almost asked you, in London, and I... I didn’t want to distract you. And... I was afraid you’d say yes just... because you thought we didn’t have a future.”

Shepard blinked. “You didn’t think I might want to think about having a future? With you?”

He looked at her hard. “Could you really think about anything except the mission right in front of you?”

Shepard looked away. He had a point. Those frantic weeks of the war, running from one crisis to the next, she’d been almost totally occupied with planning and diplomacy. She’d taken just enough down time to keep from cracking up entirely. Looking back, she could see how carefully the crew had been supporting her, especially Garrus, who’d gently reminded her to sleep and eat and taken care of routine details so she didn’t have to, on top of his other responsibilities. She’d accepted that support without fully returning it, except when it was beyond obvious that someone needed her, and so she’d never realized that he’d been wrestling with this decision. “We could have a future now,” she suggested. “If you still want to ask me.”

Her voice was shaking a little. Garrus wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “I always meant to explain, first. I don’t know that much about human marriage customs. People do form pairs without formally joining the clan. It’s harder to dissolve a formal marriage, and it confers certain responsibilities as a member of the clan...”

She put both her hands on his shoulders, leaned over so she could rest her forehead against his. Almost automatically, his hands rose to grasp her hips. “Garrus, if doing this formally matters to you, ask me.”

He swallowed. Took a breath. “Jane Shepard, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife and joining my clan?”

“Yes,” she said and pressed her lips against his mouth.

He fell back onto the bed and pulled her with him, her softer body sprawled over his, and she only left off lavishing his face and throat with kisses long enough to say, “Did you really think I’d say no?”

Garrus was rapidly losing coherent thought, between her mouth and her fingers under his fringe and her hips pressing against him, but he managed to get out, “Just... couldn’t be sure.” His hands worked their way under her jacket and shirt, stroking up and down her back.

“Mmm,” Shepard hummed appreciatively. “Yes. You and me. Together. Always. Yes.” She sat up enough to discard jacket, shirt, and bra, her weight against his hips making him groan. He flicked his tongue over her breasts until she rocked frantically against him, her clever fingers sliding down between them to undo the catches of his trousers, reach inside to grasp his aching flesh, bring him out into the air. Too long apart, he wasn’t going to last long. He growled and rolled them over, yanking her pants down, underwear with it. She scrambled, freed one leg from her clothing. He took hold of it, stroked along her thigh and the back of her knee, pressed her bent knee toward her shoulder. “Easy,” she gasped, and he was careful not to stress the joint even as he pressed himself into her willing body, soft and hot and wet around him. She shuddered, and he hesitated, but her fingers dug into his back, pulling him down, so he thrust in deep. Her moans encouraged him to move fast and hard, her cries rising in pitch until her body clenched and spasmed around him. His own climax tore through him in response, like fire along his nerves. He rolled onto his side, cradling her, bringing her with him, and they simply held each other for a time.

After a while, Shepard said, “I woke up and you were missing and I was so worried.”

Garrus chuckled. “I got marooned and had no idea if you were alive or what was even happening.”

“You win,” she concluded.

“You agreed to marry me. I definitely win.”

“I’m thinking we both win.”

He rumbled agreement and combed his fingers through her hair.

“Hey,” said Shepard a little later. “We can do some human marriage customs, right?”

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, when a man and a woman agree to get married, usually she gets a ring.”

“Oh yeah. I read about that one. I don’t... well, I don’t actually have a ring for you, but...”

“But what?” Shepard propped herself up on an elbow and arched an eyebrow.

“I have the stone.” Reluctantly, Garrus disentangled himself and got up to search through his bag for the little box. “I just hope you like it.” He found the box and presented it to her. “I wasn’t sure what size it should be, and this way you can pick a setting you like... say something, Jane.”

Inside the box, cushioned on layers of velvet, was what Shepard was pretty sure was a diamond, dark blue. “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking up with wide eyes. “So beautiful. I wasn’t expecting... I thought blue diamonds were rare?”

Garrus relaxed at her expression. “They’re not that rare on Palaven. This one’s been in the family for a while.”

She smiled. “Clan color, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, relieved that she understood.

She closed the box and pulled him down and into a kiss. “Thank you. It’s perfect. Tomorrow you can start telling me about this wedding we’re going to have.”

“Wedding and clan-joining,” he corrected. “Not tonight?”

“I’ve got other plans for you tonight.”