#scoped and dropped ( garrus vakarian )

[anderwhohn]

@smokedanced || requested a starter.

While it is true that the Normandy's main guns need some serious calibration, especially before they went up against an enemy like the Collectors or another Reaper, most of the work is just to keep his hands busy while he thinks on other matters.

Since coming aboard the SR-2, those thoughts have mostly been centered around Shepard - the implications of what led to her agreeing to work with Cerberus, the weight of just what was done to her to bring her back, and now, the mess that was Horizon.

It was with the last one that he really took notice of just how much things were affecting her. He'd known from early on that she was stressed - anyone in her position would be, really - and it was obvious to him, at least, that she wasn't sleeping well, given how early she would be in the galley before her shift even starts.

But things really changed after Horizon, between Alenko's presence there, Anderson's stonewalling them about the whole thing, and the loss of over half the colony. The darkness under her eyes seems more noticeable than ever, and there's a weariness to her gaze that he hasn't seen to this extent since Virmire.

To say he's concerned is a major understatement…

For a moment, he wonders if he is overstepping, being as concerned for her as he is. Yes, she's his best friend, and he likes to think that he may be hers in return, at least, but she's also his commanding officer, and that… The lines between her and her non-Alliance crew have always been a lot more blurred than with the humans, and while he knew he and others got to enjoy a bit more leeway thanks to that, he also doesn't want to accidentally offend her by crossing that line too far.

But it's when she starts spending more than working than she could ever actually spend sleeping that he finally decides enough is enough. She's going to burn herself out at this rate, and that won't be good for anyone.

"Shepard," he starts, almost reaching for her when he sees her nearly swaying on her feet, likely due to sleep deprivation, but his hand just hangs there awkwardly for a moment before he lowers it again.

Spirits, he hopes she's not on stims as well…

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly, mandibles pulling in tight to his jaw in concern as he watches her closely. He knows she's not, but he hopes… maybe she'll actually admit it herself.

#smokedanced #smokedanced ( wren shepard ) #dreams of elsewhere ( ic ) #scoped and dropped ( garrus vakarian ) #mainverse || don't know what to do with grey ( garrus ) #wren shepard || smokedanced ( garrus ) #against insurmountable odds ( closed starter ) #dutyworn #wren shepard || dutyworn ( garrus ) #shipverse || wren shepard / dutyworn ( garrus ) #connection / dutyworn ( garrus & wren shepard )

[captainderyn]

Misfire [Shakarian Fic]

Rating: Mature TW: Injury, Mental Health Summary:

Ryn Shepard doesn't want to die. But she's not doing what she should to keep herself alive. To herself, she's a machine of the war, no longer a person.

A mission against Cerberus goes wrong, and Ryn's blood is on Garrus' hands in order to save her.

Or, Ryn struggles hard with what happens on Thessia, Garrus struggles to support her, and Chakwas is pissed off with Shepard's sacrificial attitude.

AO3 LINK

--

Ryn was exhausted. Her shotgun felt like lead in her arms, her helmet a brutally heavy crown atop her head.

The eight hours she'd slept the previous night did not count; they'd been anything but restful when all she could do was roll from side to side, trying to banish thoughts of Thessia from her mind.

She couldn't.

At this point, sleep was just a formality. She was never going to recover the hours of sleep debt she was in. 

"Shepard, you good?" Garrus' voice rumbled over her inter-helmet comms system and she nodded, taking a needed breath before responding.

"I'm all here, Vakarian." She looked towards him, perched at a vantage point facing their final communications station left to retake. Tali stood on her right, her attack drone pulsing and bobbing beside her.

Ryn added, "Let's get in and out, easy, alright? We can be home by dinner if we're quick."

"Mm, ship rations, my favorite." Garrus chimed in as Tali groaned at the bright, brutally sarcastic optimism Ryn poured into the latter half of her sentence.

Despite the weight that felt like it was pushing her into the ground, Ryn couldn't help a snorting laugh, "Don't worry, you'll get your good food, we're aiming for the Citadel after this."

"It's about damn time." Tali muttered before perking up at movement ahead, "Looks like Cerberus finally decided to show up."

One of the Cerberus troops spun and fell to the ground before they'd cleared the crates that amassed into scattered barricades.

"Heh, scoped and dropped." Garrus hummed over their helmets' comms.

Ryn's mouth quirked up in the barest hints of a grim smile as she focused her biotics around her, shooting off towards the nearest trooper in a storm of energy. She slammed into the soldier, sending them staggering backward. Another pulse of energy dropped the soldier's shields.

She repeated that familiar rhythm, charging and expelling the energy in a brilliant purple nova, bouncing around the battlefield in streaming light.

She could sustain this pattern for long enough to get them through this battle, she insisted with herself. She was far more powerful with her biotics than she was with her guns. Guns could only get her so far when Cerberus had their troops increasingly armored.

Guns needed to reload. Her biotics would last until her brain short circuited and melted out her ears. And if they reached that point in a fight, well, then shit was already so far gone they would have bigger problems to worry about. 

Garrus and Tali's voices carried on in the back of her awareness, calling out warnings to each other as Garrus kept an eye on the troop movements from his higher location.

Ryn zeroed in on a Phantom prowling the battlefield, marking their location just before the soldier's invisibility mechanism clicked on. She hit the Phantom like a freight train, sending them both staggering as her exhaustion waned her raw strength.

Grimacing, she began to pull her biotic energy back around her in an increasingly tight coil, poised to charge again. The amassing light and energy around her sputtered out as the Phantom slammed into her first, pushing her back up against the wall of the communications tower.

She struggled, pulling on that energy again. It fizzled inside of her, her implants screaming like burning knives in her temples at each failure to expend the energy she'd gathered. The Phantom's grip on her was vise-like, forcing her back against the wall.

Her biotics would last until her brain short circuited and melted out of her ears…her head blazed with enough pain that she wondered if she was approaching that point at the speed of light. 

Ryn's teeth snapped together as the Phantom's grip shifted, hammering her head back against the wall behind her. Blood filled her mouth in an iron-tinged deluge and she gagged.

This was a mistake, her struggle doubled. She tried to cry out, choking as the Phantom slammed her back again. Stars filled her vision. 

Images of what had happened to Ashley on Mars flashed through her mind. She was trapped, cornered. Her shotgun was pinned between them; she was as likely to shoot her own head off as she was her assailant’s if she fired.

"Garrus! Tali!" she gasped, hoping her comms system wasn't broken. "Help."

"I can't get...shot...hitting you, Shep..." Garrus' voice was muffled and every other word broke off as the delicate comms systems in her helmet took damage.

Jaw aching with how intensely she clenched her teeth she took all the amassed biotic energy she had left and let it loose, Her vision darkened for a moment, lighting-like shocks running up into her temples.

It bought her a moment.

The Phantom was a Cerberus abomination, moving faster than anything ever should. Before Ryn could so much as roll to the side to put more space between them, her back pressed against the metal wall,  the Phantom's hands were back on her, fumbling with all their strength. Ryn dropped her gun, grappling with the soldier.

She didn't realize the way the Phantom had skewed her until searing pain ripped through her. Ryn grunted, the shock ripped all the air from her lungs. Faltering, her legs went to jello beneath her as her body rebelled against the sudden sharp agony from somewhere she couldn’t identify. 

She’d been punched, hit, shot…stabbed was a new one. And it hurt like a bitch. 

Focus, focus, focus! She chanted in her head, gasping. She couldn't make out the chatter going through her comms, it was all static now.

She tried to charge again, only to find nothing left to expend. Fuck.

Chest heaving, she partitioned off all the pain raging through her from seemingly everywhere in her body  for later, diving for her gun. She'd have to do with that now.

The Phantom, also heaving for breath now, she realized with some grim satisfaction, caught her, slamming their shoulders together. Ryn careened into the wall with an, "Umph!"

She could make out one word blaring across her comms as she watched the Phantom's helmet explode in red.

Her name.

*

Garrus ran not for his life, but for Ryn's.

Tali sprinted into the communications tower, a drone trailing behind her, to enable it. Once the disruption was gone they could call the Normandy down, or at the very least get back into contact with Cortez to bring the shuttle. 

They were lucky their comms between the three of them hadn’t been jammed with only one functioning disruption left. Even if they’d been garbled at best and barely functional the closer they’d come to the tower.

Garrus’ legs ached as he leapt from his vantage point, joints protesting the height. Shouldering his sniper rifle, he sprinted across the open area that had become their battlefield. He dodged the fallen Cerberus soldiers, boosts clanging and slipping against used thermal clips.

Ryn slumped against the wall, a patchwork of blood splatter behind her. The Phantom lay crumpled at her feet. Garrus pushed the body out of his way, dropping to his knees in front of his commander.

A torrent of curses flooded from him as his eyes flitted about for where to look. Guilt roared in his mind, clenching in his chest, at the neat, puckered hole in Ryn’s armor where the Phantom had used her body to block his shot. The shot he’d made with specialty armor piercing ammo Ryn had got him the last time she’d been on the Citadel.

There was no way for him to change the path his clips took midair but...spirits...

He’d shot her.

“Garrus...” Ryn gasped and he couldn’t help the way relief stuttered its way back into his mind at the fact she was still alive and conscious, “Helmet...off.”

“I don’t think...” Garrus began, wracking his mind for all the basic military medical training he had. He was pretty sure removing helmets wasn’t part of standard protocol for any of what was happening. Especially not when he’d watched her get slammed against the wall several times. 

“Please.” Ryn coughed, sounding awful, “Can’t stand it.”

There was enough rising, raw panic for him to throw away that barest medical training. Especially as her hands began to tug at it herself, eliciting a cry of pain.

Her helmet was a wreck. It was banged up at the back where the Phantom had slammed her repeatedly into the wall, Garrus noticed as he gently cradled her head to undo the clasps. If she hadn’t been wearing a helmet…now was not the time for what-ifs. 

She gave a ragged, sucking breath as he pulled it from her head. Blood coated the lower half of her face in a grisly smear from where it poured from her nose, the corners of her mouth.

Ryn leaned over and spat, red tinged and brutal.

“Bit...tongue.” she explained, as if that was the most pressing and normal issue at the moment. She wiped at her mouth with her forearm, only smearing blood further across her skin. 

Garrus caught Tali’s voice with more clarity over his comm; she’d breached the final comms disruption and was hacking into the last lock.

Ryn went rigid in front of him.

“Garrus.” she said with the sort of calm that put him on immediate high alert. All the color had drained from her face, leaving her eyes wide and stark against her pallid skin, “You need to call the Normandy.”

“Tali’s working on it--” Garrus followed Ryn’s hands, body going unnaturally still.

The Phantom had worked a long, black blade between the fibrous parts of her armor and the carbonized plating. It blended into the dark metal of her armor at a first glance.

Ryn’s hands flitted around it, “Suit deploys medigel.” She reasoned with that too-calm voice, “Medigel can’t fix that.”

She hacked again, spitting out another glob of scarlet spit. Her teeth and tongue were stained as she grimaced, hands settling on the blade, “Heh,” she mumbled, “Chakwas is gonna be pissed.”

Garrus gave himself a shake, pulling himself from his own icy shock that had frozen him in place. He forced calmness onto himself, bringing down like a shield.

Her questionably coherent babbling was either a good sign or a bad sign. She talked when she was nervous and trying to keep herself together. And she was talking a lot right now.

His voice stayed shockingly neutral as he said into his comm, “Tali do you have the comm hub back up?”

“Yes,” She was quick to respond, “Systems are coming back online now, why?”

“Get the Normandy or Cortez down here asap. Tell them to have the med bay ready to go.”

The ‘It’s Shepard’ went without saying.

“Vot,” Tali swore harshly and he heard her sharp breath, “Sending now. What’s the timeline?”

Garrus shot a look to Ryn, who was staring back at him with eyes wide as saucers. Sweat drenched her skin, her breathing starting to come sharper and sharper; whether it was from mounting panic or onsetting shock, he wasn’t willing to roll the dice on.

“Urgent.” he decided.

His comm went quiet as Tali switched to paging the Normandy.

Garrus caught at Ryn’s hand as she gave a tug at the blade and yelped, “Do not do that.” he said with a bit more intensity than intended. Ryn dropped her hands back onto her lap, flexing them from open to closed fists.

“The Normandy is on its way. It’s going to be fine.” Garrus kept talking, feeling the weight of Ryn’s eyes on him. He just needed to keep her with him as long as possible.

He began working on the straps to her chest armor, loosening it just enough to give her more room to breathe. The heat radiating off her skin was disjointed with the pallor in her skin.

“I’m already impaled, Vakarian, now’s not the time.” Ryn’s voice was feeble, on the cusp of losing it entirely. 

Garrus squeezed his eyes closed, taking a very long breath, “I’m going to give you a pass on that one given the circumstances.”

An eternity seemed to pass before Cortez appeared with the shuttle, hovering as close as he could get.

Ryn grit her teeth and held her breath long enough that the parts of her face visible beneath grime and blood started to go pink as Garrus hauled her as carefully, but quickly, to the shuttle as he dared.

“Breathe, Ryn.” Garrus reminded her, crouching at her side as Cortez started them back to the Normandy.

“Fucking hell.” She wheezed out in response, squeezing her eyes closed with every jostle of the ship. At least the colorful words got her to let out a breath.

He’d take what he could get.

*

“What happened?” Chakwas demanded. 

Ryn was still conscious, barely, if the way her eyes rolled around beneath fluttering eyelashes could count as consciousness when he tried to set her down on the medbay’s cot. 

Still, she grasped him with surprising strength when he tried to hurry from Chakwas’ way, and it took his distressed mumbled pleas to let Chakwas work and the doctor’s firm tugging to finally get her to let go. 

Chakwas gave him a sympathetic glance as she barked at him, “Out, Vakarian, not enough room in here for all of us.” 

It was only because he needed to explain what happened that she amended her statement and shoved him deep into the corner by the door. His voice failed him when he explained the shot to Ryn’s shoulder and he cleared his throat, mandibles flaring as he struggled to get the words out. 

He’d shot her. Accidentally yes, but guilt raged in his chest in a burning fire, sweeping all of his breath away. 

“You can’t change clips mid air.” Chakwas said shortly, “Better her shoulder than anywhere more vital. If that Phantom had moved her any further, it might’ve been her heart or lungs.  Leave the what-ifs as what-ifs.” 

Harsh, but true. Chakwas directed a glance over her shoulder from where she peeled layers of bloody armor from Ryn, scissors laid on the tray within reach to work Ryn’s under armour away. 

“She’s going to be fine.” she added, “Shepard is too tough for her own good.” 

It took him a moment to realize he was being dismissed for real this time. He hesitated, rocking his weight. Leaving her felt like inviting the worst to happen. It was every time he’d left her behind that something bad had happened. 

He blinked, bringing himself out of the spiraling of his mind and back into the medbay. Blinked at the lights, glinting off the metal all throughout the room, back into focus. Formed Chakwas’ voice back from meaningless noise into words. 

“I’m going to stabilize her,” she was saying, “And then we’re going to have a talk. Confidential, between us.” 

*

Their “confidential talk” echoed throughout the crew deck. Penetrating the shuttered windows of the medbay and the sealed door as if Ryn was standing in the middle of the deck. 

Ryn rarely yelled when it wasn’t to make her voice heard in combat. Especially loud enough for Garrus to hear from the main battery, where he’d sealed himself away to fiddle with calibrations while he retreated deeper and deeper into his mind to parse through what had happened today. 

He’d used the shared crew bathrooms to wash Ryn’s blood off of him. Had scrubbed his armor on the stand he kept in the battery. Going into her quarters without her right now felt wrong, as if he was awaiting her judgment on him when she woke up. 

She was awake now. 

“Find somewhere else to be.” he said sharply to the crowd milling about, eavesdropping on the muffled shouting. When several pairs of eyes just stared at him, he growled, “Out. This is the Commander’s business.”

Respect for their commander broke through morbid curiosity and everyone slinked away, finding somewhere else to be. He probably should’ve done the same thing, but then Chakwas raised her voice louder than he’d ever heard her address Ryn before. 

Worse yet, she used her first name. Chakwas never used Ryn’s first name. 

“Commander Ryn Shepard you will sit down, shut up, and listen to your medical officer!”  

Against his better judgment, he pressed the control pad and the door hissed open. 

Ryn sat on the edge of the bed, face flushed a deep red that splotched down her neck. She clutched a crumpled piece of paper in her hand, held so tightly that her fingers were beginning to rip the material. Beneath an Alliance-issued, loose fitted black t-shirt a bandage crept above the neckline from her shoulder. 

Her eyes jumped to her, the muscles in her jaw jumping as she clenched her teeth. But something deep in her expression deflated, a light flickering into something bleak, as if she’d been caught doing something she’d never meant for him to see. 

Garrus held up his hands under the pressure of her stare, trying to work exactly what it was, and the ire he felt radiating off of Chakwas. 

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” he explained, inching back towards the door. 

Chakwas shot a look towards Ryn, once again filled with something imperceptible to him, “Want him here?” 

Ryn averted her eyes but gave a subtle nod, “Garrus can stay.” 

Looking towards the ceiling for a long moment as if collecting herself, Chakwas motioned Garrus in, “Maybe you can calm your commander down.” 

He let the door hiss closed behind him, but kept himself pressed against it, the same place he’d relayed today’s events to Chakwas hours ago. 

The doctor crossed her arms over her chest, “Do you want to continue?” she sniped, “Perhaps in a quieter tone?” 

Ryn grit her teeth, eyes flaring. Her voice was clipped, each word sharper than the last, as she glanced down at the wadded up paper in her hands. 

“Did you seriously hand me a fucking psych eval? I’m fine.” 

His stomach dropped to the floor at the words alone. The implications. 

Though her tone still made Chakwas press her lips together in a thin line, she said, “It’s standard procedure for service personnel who display reckless or careless behavior in the field. What happened out there today was a severe error--” 

“It was a mistake. That Phantom caught me off balance--” Ryn started, only to snap her mouth closed as Chakwas held up a hand. 

“You know as well as I do that I am not talking about the Phantom.” 

Ryn looked at the paper again, smoothing it out across her knees. Her lips twisted, “I’m not trying to…” she broke off and repeated herself instead, “I’m fine.” 

Dr. Chakwas looked towards a datapad propped on her desk, the screen crisscrossed with graph lines. “Preliminary data analysis from your suit suggests--” 

“That I’m under more stress now than during the Skyllian Blitz.” Ryn finished the sentence with a guttural edge to her voice that Garrus had never heard before. Then her voice got tired, so very tired, “I’ve been told that already.” 

Even if that piece of data sent a chilled zap through his mind, conceptualizing exactly how much stress Thessia and this war were putting on her. He hadn’t known her during the Blitz, had only seen the drone footage of her fight on Elysium when he’d first met her and curiously looked into her service history during his days of C-Sec. 

This war was hard on everyone, the whole universe falling down around them, but the front she put on, even to him, never revealed just how much it weighed on her. How much was she hiding?

“You put more stress on your implants today than they’re rated for, and that’s the newest tech on the market. Frankly, I’m surprised you weren’t brought back a brainless shell.” Chakwas’ voice had softened, the edge coming off, “Your suit noted higher levels of fatigue, slower reaction times, and dangerous levels of power output from your biotics.” 

Ryn remained silent, staring hard off to the side. 

Garrus had spent enough time among turians on warships to recognize the signs of a soldier who had checked out. Surprisingly, it stirred a flicker of irritation in him, a similar fire to when he’d but heads with Ryn over her relentless idealism in the days of Saren. 

It was one thing to watch her in the field; there wasn’t time to truly worry for her in the heat of battle and he trusted her implicitly as his commander. Something else deeply turian took over him in those moments, the deference to his higher up that had been instilled in him since he was old enough to grasp that concept. In the field they were not Shepard and Vakarian, but a soldier and his commanding officer. 

It was quite another thing entirely to meet that cavalier attitude back on the ship, where those dividing lines of rank receded. Quite another to watch her disengage from the dangerous statistics Chakwas shared with her about her well being. 

No. Garrus took a quiet, steadying breath, watchful eyes darting across Ryn again. Disregard wasn’t the right word. She may have turned her face away, her body language giving off the air that she wasn’t engaged anymore, but her eyes flicked back towards them. He’d seen that expression before, where her lips tightly pressed together. 

Shame. 

He blinked, finding Ryn’s eyes fixed on him now. The dark circles beneath them coupled with the intense overhead lights alit them like liquid silver. Her shoulders rose, then fell, and she looked away. 

Taking a deep breath, Dr. Chakwas snatched the datapad from her desk and crossed the space to Ryn’s bedside. Held out the datapad and gave  it an insistent shake when Ryn just raised an eyebrow. 

Ryn shifted her energy back towards them, grabbing the datapad, “What am I looking at?” That deep emptiness had settled into her voice, drained of all the rage that had filled every word mere minutes ago. 

Chakwas traced her finger along a graph that Garrus couldn’t quite make out from his position. 

“That’s the strain that your current stress levels are putting on the cybernetics that Cerberus used to put you back together.” She explained, “And you are functioning at at least twice the level they are rated for. Project Lazarus’ tech is almost completely unknown, leaving us with only best guesstimates.” 

From here he could make out the image mapping all of Ryn’s cybernetics, the leylines of technology that kept her alive. Her eyes were locked on that, her lip curling with disgust. It left a pit in Garrus’ stomach. 

Ryn sighed, long and low, “What do you want from me? The Reapers won’t stop just because my body can’t keep up. Planets won’t stop getting destroyed, people won’t stop dying, just so I can sleep.” 

“And you can’t keep fighting a war if you're dead.” 

His mandibles might as well be locked from how little he was able to find the words, any words, to buck against the cavalier way Ryn spoke about driving herself to the breaking point. 

The literal breaking point. 

He’d never thought too hard about the cybernetics that kept her ticking. He’d comforted her through bouts of severe disgust and anxiety, where she’d gouged long, red lines from her nails into her skin, swearing she could feel them. 

But whenever his own mind had dwelled too hard on the specifics of bringing her back, his own mind threw up an error code, refusing to go any further. While he could listen to Ryn, provide whatever she needed as best he could, digging any deeper into what happened in his own mind may as well have been trying to bend a plate of metal with his own hands. 

The closest he’d come to truly conceptualizing what had happened to Ryn had been in Liara’s apartment, staring at the battered remains of Ryn’s armor from the crash. That had pushed him far too close to that gaping hole where her loss had been. 

He gave a viscous shake of his head to dispel the rabbit hole he was careening towards, finding Ryn and Chakwas silently staring at each other in a stalemate. 

Ryn broke first, sighing and easing herself back. The look she shot Chakwas was exhausted. It seemed to pull down on her face, on the corners of her eyes, the edges of her lips. 

“Can I at least go back to my cabin to rest?” She murmured, quiet enough that Chakwas had to step closer to hear, “I’ll sleep better there than on this cot.” 

The doctor’s lips pinched together and Ryn made a noise painfully close to a pleading whimper, “Karin, please.” 

Chakwas stepped away from the door, gripping the datapad tightly, “Only if you assure that you will be back in here at 0800 sharp for reevaluation or if there are any issues before then.” 

The ghost of a smile touched Ryn’s lips, “0800? Letting me sleep in. Fine. ‘Sides, I won’t be alone. Garrus will be with me…” Her eyes slid over to Garrus, brows drawing together, “Maybe?”

He gave a slight nod, a quiet, “Of course I will.” even as his heart gave a painful lurch. As if he’d leave her alone after the day’s events unless she gave him the orders. 

*

Karin unloaded Ryn onto Garrus with a series of orders and instructions that went through one ear and out the other. Her head pounded; her brain might as well have been melting out of her skull. 

All she knew was that her body felt too heavy to move and that she hurt all over. Every single muscle was shouting displeasure at her. She was pretty sure that Garrus’ hand around her waist was the only thing keeping her on her feet as the motion of the elevator swayed them back and forth, each jolt sending another wave of nauseating aches through her. 

The door to her cabin hissed open and she tumbled out of Garrus’ grasp, the allure of her bed far bypassing the pain it took to take more than snail-steps over there. She thunked down onto the mattress in a puff of the black duvet. 

She nearly groaned at the soft comfort on it, but ended up biting her tongue to stave off a yelp as she twisted her ailing shoulder, her side barking in discomfort.

Right. Her injuries. She pushed herself up with effort into a sitting position, locking her eyes on Garrus. He lingered by her desk, fingers tapping the glass that partitioned off her model ships. 

She motioned for him to come over. He lingered. She turned to roughly patting the bed beside her, “Sit. Please.” 

Garrus sat. 

Ryn took a steadying breath, shoving her exhaustion to the other side of her mind. She could wait a little longer. Needed to wait longer. 

“I’m sorry, for a lot of what happened today.” She scrubbed her hands across her face. Damn she was tired, “I let you and Tali down in the field and fucked the situation up, down, and sideways. And I shouldn’t have said what I did, there in the med bay.” 

She watched recognition flash across his face, watch his mandibles flare, before his face dropped back into careful neutrality, “What’s done is done for what happened in the field.” 

“But you are, or were, upset with me. I saw it in the med bay. For reasons that I understand but…I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t want you to hide those things from me.” 

She wanted to curl in on herself, tuck her knees tightly up against her chest, but her body wouldn’t let her. She settled for wrapping her arms around herself, “If I let those things show…what’s that going to say to the rest of the crew?” 

“I’m not the rest of the crew.” There was an uncharacteristically intense firmness to Garrus, an unyielding wall of…something that she couldn’t parse out. 

She squeezed her eyes closed, “I know. That’s not how I meant it…I just--don’t know how to put this burden on you. I don’t even know what to do with it myself.” 

Garrus moved closer and she tentatively leaned against his shoulder. When he slipped his arm around her in silent permission she melted against him. The silence between them softened. 

“Thank you for saving my ass today.” She bit back a yawn. Her eyelids might as well be pulled down by leaden weights. 

Resting his chin against the top of her head, Garrus’ voice rumbled through her, “I shot you.” 

“Because that bitch used me as a shield.” 

Garrus breathed a long, slow breath, “You should rest.” 

She desperately needed to. Her thoughts were jumbling in her head, slipping through her fingers. But they needed to talk, there were still so many things she had to explain. 

As if her thoughts were written across her face, Garrus murmured, “Later. It can wait.” 

“But…we’re okay?” She murmured, voice breaking. His kiss to her temple soothed that part of her, terrified about shoveling too much onto him, and she let out a sigh. 

“We’re okay.” Garrus assured, “Now please, get some sleep.” 

Even getting under the covers felt too big an effort, but with Garrus’ help she shimmied beneath them. When he crawled on top of the covers, datapad in hand, she tucked herself close against his side. 

The toll of the day dragged her under, and she just prayed it would be restful. 

#captainderyn writes #mass effect #mass effect fanfic #shakarian #femshep #garrus vakarian #shepard/garrus #oc: Ryn Shepard #otp: Keep Me Grounded #I really hope this readmore works #lmk if it doesn't and i'll repost

[captain-radioactive-mentality]

A Shot to Remember

“Ha!” Shepard punched the air in excitement. “That’s another point for me!” Looking up at Garrus, Raven smirked. “Still think you’re going to win?”

Garrus’ mandibles twitched before he huffed out a fake frustrated breath. “Oh, I’m still going to win. I’m the best sniper on the Citadel after all.”

Raven snorted out a laugh. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Won every competition C-Sec had.” Garrus gave her his best smirk.

“Pshh.” Shepard waved a hand dismissively. “They don’t know the ass end of their gun from the tip of the barrel.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Take the shot!” Doing her best to shout over the roar of gunfire Raven struggled against the Batarian's hold. They were ambushed, surrounded on all sides by the ship full of slavers. Someone had tipped them off. There was no way they’d know where the Normandy would land otherwise.

His hands shook as Garrus lined up the shot. If he was off by even a hair’s breadth he’d hit her instead. For the first time ever Garrus was afraid to pull the trigger. It had always been easy before, there were never any immediate repercussions, but now? Now Shepard was in the crosshairs. One wrong move and he’d lose his everything.

“Damn it, Garrus!” Tossing a few slavers away with his biotics Kaidan shouted over at the Turian. “Take the shot!”

Gulping down a deep breath Garrus steeled his nerves, forced his hands to steady, and pulled the trigger. That single moment felt like a hundred years as he waited for the bullet to reach its mark.

His heart stopped when Shepard dropped out of sight, her form no longer outlined by the notches in his scope. Garrus was frozen to that spot, his gaze locked onto his scope. A few painfully long seconds ticked by before Raven’s head popped back up into view. He’d managed to clear the shot.

Looking up from the scope Garrus returned to the fight, the roar of gunfire nearly muffled by the sound of his heart pounding in his head. Sucking in a deep breath Garrus forced himself to relax before rejoining the fray. “Firing a concussive shot!”

The shot hit a Batarian square in the face, knocking him back from his spot behind Kaidan. The biotic whirled around, ready to fire his pistol before he picked up what had happened. He offered Garrus a small wave in thanks before launching back into the crowd.

Soon enough silence overtook the battlefield, the Batarians were quickly picked off by a calculated combination of cryo blasts, sniper shots, and incendiary grenades. Once they were sure no other enemies would rush them the trio regrouped near the shuttle.

“Intel dropped the ball on that one.” Kaidan grumbled. Flexing his back a bit he tried to stretch out his tense muscles. He would never admit it but his body still ached, even though he was cleared for active duty.

Shepard huffed out a frustrated breath. “You don’t say.” Raven’s hands came to rest on her hips as she looked over the bloody field. “Batarians weren’t even supposed to be in this sector, and with the Hegemony on our side I assumed we wouldn’t have to deal with their bullshit right now.”

“Hey, old habits die hard.” Kaidan sighed. “They probably saw the chance at a quick buck and ran with it.”

“They could have been indoctrinated. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.” With crossed arms, Garrus looked Shepard over. “Are you okay, Shepard? I was worried I’d hit you.”

Raven hummed and turned her attention to the Turian. “Eh, not a bad shot, Vakarian.” Shepard rolled her right shoulder. “Just barely nicked me.” She smirked. “A little more practice and you’ll really be the best sniper on the Citadel.”

Releasing the breath Garrus hadn’t noticed he’d been holding he groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Raven chuckled. “You love me and you know it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you like it @finchmarie!

I tried to capture Raven’s personality and her relationship with Garrus as best I could, and I thought a competative moment and a fight scene would work well for them. :)

Happy late Holidays!

#Holiday Harbinger #FemShep x Garrus #FemShep x Garrus Vakarian #Commander Shepard #Garrus Vakarian #FinchMarie

[hanarinhightown]

I love when Garrus yells “Never saw me coming!” in combat bc like yeah babe maybe no one SAW you coming but everyone HEARD you coming because you never shut up during a fight

#garrus vakarian #this man is an infiltrator???? #idk if it’s just my game or what but garrus is LITERALLY never not saying something #like he is just continuously ‘I love this rifle’ ‘SCOPED AND DROPPED’ ‘NICE SHOOTING!’ #without breathing in between #and NO ONE else ever says anything? #I assume it’s a bug but it’s funny and I’m ok with it lmfao #me2

[iamcayc]

ME drabble

Been playing Mass Effect for the first time (I’m behind the ball, I get it) since New Years and naturally I have thots. Little snippet of Athena and Ares Shepard dealing with arguable the worst part of the first game: the fucking Mako. This might eventually become a full-fledged fic if there’s interest, but if it does, I refuse to let Nihlus die because we deserve more sexy turian voices.

—

“Athy, for the love of fuck, hold it steady!”

“Have you fucking tried steering this piece of shit?” Thena screamed back, her usually sweet tone closer to a snarl as she glared at her brother. “All I have to do is breathe wrong and it jerks the opposite direction!”

Watching the twins bicker mid-battle would normally give Nihlus and Garrus reason to be concerned, but it's oddly comforting as they haphazardly circle the thresher maw none of them expected to deal with today. If they can be at each other's throats, then they felt confident they weren't about to die horrible deaths.

It's when they're silent that the squad should be concerned. The Shepard twins didn’t do silence.

“Nihlus, Garrus, don't stop shooting. If my dear sister gets her shit together, I'll man the cannon.” Ari punctuated the order with a direct hit to the maw's open mouth, it's shriek deafening as Thena controls the Mako's persistent need to skid through the sand.

“Vakarian, don't you dare give me shit for whatever happens to the undercarriage!” Thena grunted as she adjusted gears and picked up spead coming out of a particularly nasty drift. Garrus snorted, his eyes never leaving his scope.

“I wouldn't dare.” He fired his rifle, taking out one of the tentacles. “I think I speak for everyone on the Normandy when I say, we'd rather put you at the wheel than your brother. The odds of revisiting our meals on the floor of the Mako drop dramatically.”

“I can still fucking hear you, Vakarian.”

“If you can hear him, then you aren't focusing on killing the thing actively making our lives hell, Ari!”

“I'M WORKING ON IT, OKAY?”

“WORK FUCKING HARDER, ARES.”

#mass effect #garrus vakarian #nihlus kryik #commander shepard #shepard twins #athena #ares #mass effect mako sucks balls #thresher maw #drabble

[starsinmylatte]

i’m in a mass effect mood so how about a femshep + garrus with “under the skylight and starlight” :) take that any way you wish <3

So, this ended up being way longer than I had originally planned. I'm so sorry it took a while, but I hope you enjoy it!! I personally headcanon that Garrus and Shepard fell for each other back in ME 1 and are just being idiots (affectionately) in love.

Pairing: Garrus Vakarian x Fem!Shepard

Rating: M for a little bit of hurt/comfort. Please remember this is an 18+ blog, so minors DNI

Length: 1.3k

Death had always been inevitable, but now it was fairly certain. Archangel was prepared to go out in a blaze of glory and take as much of Omega’s gang problem with him as possible, but deep down, Garrus Vakarian was honestly just tired. Somehow, this heroic fate seemed kinder than a life alone; one spent without his team, and worst of all, one spent without her.

Shepard had crashed into his life with the sheer force of a falling star. She was beautiful, a fierce warrior unrelentingly dedicated to saving humanity, and the most capable commander he could’ve ever hoped to serve under. How could he not have fallen for her?

Garrus may as well have been found floating in the wreckage of the Normandy because a part of him died the day Shepard was lost. His cracked heart had begun to heal over time with the love and care from his team, but when they were killed, it shattered completely.

--------

The kickback from his sniper rifle shook Garrus out of his daze. His shoulder throbbed from the repeated force. Across the bridge, a Blue Suns officer crumpled to the ground while the others yelled and dove for any available cover. The ghost of a wry smile formed on his face.

Heh. Still got it.

Suddenly, the tone of the battlefield changed. Three more figures hopped over a barricade close to the entrance, and Garrus snapped his scope in their direction.

Shit.

He focused in on the smaller figure in the lead. They seemed to be one of the outside mercenaries from the look of their armor.

Inhale.

The scope was trained for a clean headshot.

Exhale.

His finger moved to the trigger.

Suddenly, the mercenary on the right stumbled, the unexpected fall catching his eye right before he pulled the trigger.

Before Garrus could even think, the mercenary in the middle -a woman- turned back to grab their arm and pull them aside. He would’ve normally chalked it up to some kind of uncommon honor among criminals, but the red and pearlescent white N7 sigil etched into their breastplate glinted in the light as they turned.

For the first time in years, Garrus felt a sharp pang in the heart he swore he no longer had.

His hands moved before he could even think. The concussive ammo was clipped in, and one round was fired into their shoulder. The woman barely even flinched. Instead, she turned, looked knowingly in his direction, and inclined her head.

It may be a cruel joke, but at least it’s a helpful one.

Garrus sighed. Hope was a funny thing; he’d seen the wreckage of the Normandy himself, and not even Shepard could’ve survived that. Now, he’d get to see the woman humanity chose to try and take her place.

Another bullet, lethal this time, left the chamber and a Blood Pack operative crumpled. The woman led her two friends through the doors and into the first floor of the building. Garrus could hear raucous cheers from the mercenaries and gang members on the other side of the bridge.

If I’m right about this, they won’t be cheering for much longer. If I’m wrong……. I won’t exactly have much time to regret it.

As if on cue, several pairs of footsteps could be heard running up the stairs behind him. They ran through the door behind Garrus as he fired another shot. Yet another gang member fell.

Time to see if my luck has run out.

As he lowered his weapon and turned around, the woman released the latches on her helmet. The sight of fiery red hair peeking out from underneath made his heart stop. Time seemed to slow as she lifted it completely off, and, before he knew it, the face Garrus saw every night in his dreams was looking back at him expectantly.

He nearly dropped the rifle. Garrus slowly reached up to remove his own helmet, afraid she’d somehow disappear if he moved too quickly.

“Shepard….. I thought you were dead.” His normally smooth, purring voice cracked with raw emotion; he couldn’t have kept it out if he’d tried.

---------------

Garrus found Shepard where she always was after a difficult mission, the observation deck. His heart jumped again at the sight of her, a feeling he’d have to get used to again. The starlight from the large viewport was the only source of light in the room; it shone on Shepard as she gazed out into the galaxy, brows furrowed in thought.

He made it all the way over to where she sat before she turned to acknowledge his presence.

“It’s good to see you back on the Normandy,” Shepard rewarded him with a small, relaxed smile, one he only saw given to close friends. She gestured to the spot beside her.

Garrus took the invitation and sat. He had recovered enough to be walking around, but the wounds he suffered were still fresh, and the weariness from the long fight hadn’t fully left him. Shepard noticed the slight wince he tried to hide and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You know you can go rest if you need it.”

The look of genuine concern on her face was touching.

“Shepard, you came back from the dead; my rest can wait.” Garrus paused and gestured around. “The crew, your friends, missed you… I missed you.”

That last bit accidentally slipped out before he could think. Turians didn’t blush like humans, but Garrus was sure his face would be bright red if they did. He was far from shy around women; he was usually quite the charmer, but Shepard was a special case.

For the first time since he had been back on the Normandy, Garrus actually looked closely at her face. Her expression would seem peaceful for anyone who wasn’t close to her, but there was sadness and worry hidden in her eyes. There were new scars on her face still healing from the explosion, and she seemed just as weary as he felt.

“The world wouldn’t end if you got some rest too.” Garrus looked at her pointedly before mirroring Shapard and resting his hand on her shoulder.

They sat in comfortable silence, still in their partial embrace, before she finally responded with a new mischievous glint in her eye. “Since you’re back on the Normandy now, I have your first order. Take the rest of the night off to rest.”

Garrus opened his mouth to protest, but Shepard wagged a finger at him and poked him in the shoulder. “I wasn’t finished yet, but I’m serious. Your calibrations can wait until tomorrow.”

She grinned before continuing, “Besides, I happen to be taking the rest of the night off to make sure you actually follow my order. I know how you are.”

Garrus tilted his head in mock disbelief. “I just got out of the med bay, and you’re already ordering me around?” He feigned a look of hurt, the familiar bantering purr returning to his voice. “Very well, Commander, since you insist.”

Shepard fired back, her tone still light and teasing, “Good to see that all your time as Archangel hasn’t overridden your military training yet.”

This woman is going to be the death of me.

The stars continued to shine through the viewport as they sat in comfortable, friendly silence. There was so much to talk about, so much to discuss, but, for now, there was this moment of peace carved out of a chaotic universe. There was only Garrus and Shepard, and that was more than enough.

Earlier today, life had seemed like a cruel joke, but now Garrus Vakarian would swear to anyone that he was the luckiest Turian in the entire universe. The fight was dicey, they had barely escaped, and he had a few new scars to show for it, but what was new? The most important thing was that Shepard was back in his life. Besides, some women find scars attractive…..

Join my taglist here!

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @rebelpitstop @kirsty-kiddo @hereforthesunrise @not-the-tie-youre-looking-for

#garrus romance #garrus x shepard #garrus x femshep #shepard x garrus

[dearophelia]

turn on your favorite nightlight

long live :: nine of wands :: turn on your favorite nightlight

Hannah partakes in that gold match from combat, i’m ready for combat. It goes about as well as you can expect.

It’s three weeks before Liv’s back on the Citadel and schedules line up for their gold match. Hannah’s spent most of those three weeks pointedly not talking about it to Zaeed, but spending a little extra time at the shooting range. If he notices (and there’s no way he doesn’t), he doesn’t say anything.

After a warmup bronze match against geth that earns Hannah her first kill medal, Hannah watches the three of them load up on gear in a way they haven’t yet. They’ll be on gold, but given how they’re gearing up for this (and that Olivia programs a missile launcher for each of them), Hannah thinks she could’ve gone her entire life without knowing her daughter soloed something called platinum. More than once.

Liv hands her a handful of mod chits to plug into her gear slots on the match configuration board. The board beeps and displays the mod name as it registers each. A pistol amp, armor-piercing rounds, shield power cells, and a shield booster, all maxed out at level five. Hannah swallows.  

“Map preference?” Garrus says, flipping through the choices. “Giant, Rio –”

“Fuck Rio,” Zaeed and Olivia say at the same time. Hannah wonders what the story is there.

“– Giant, Vancouver, Goddess, Hydra, or Dagger?”

Olivia checks the sights on her shotgun. “I’m too short for Dagger. And, you know,” she says as she slams her locker shut, “maybe not Goddess.”

There’s a twinge of pain in Olivia’s voice. Earth’s never been home for Olivia, but Thessia was for a while. Probably still is.

Garrus nods. “Any objection to Hydra?” Hearing none, he selects the map, sets the enemy, and challenge.

The board flashes HYDRA – REAPERS – GOLD and then begins a countdown.

Ten seconds to back out.

“Breathe,” Hannah says to herself.

***

A barrage of grenades explodes at the other end of the map and it’s a lot of effort not to sit down in a corner, cry, and just let something kill her.

Gold is loud. Gold is chaos. Gold has too many enemies coming from too many directions at once. Gold is overwhelming. She’s gone down four times and hit a grand total of zero targets.

It’s wave three. Of eleven. And this is what her daughter deals with every time she jumps out of a shuttle. Crying seems like a really good idea.

It doesn’t help that she’s been split off from the others. She’s hiding at the very corner of the map under a ladder, hoping nothing notices her.

The others aren’t together either, but they know what they’re doing. Their comm chatter has been heavier this match – amidst calling out shots and swearing, there’s still an astonishing amount of banter – and none of them are as scared as she is.

Which makes sense: they’ve all been doing this a long time and they did it together for a year and a half. But it doesn’t make her feel better.

Something slides down the ladder and lands in a crouch next to her. Hannah startles and whips around so fast she loses her balance. She comes face to face with Olivia.

Liv peers out of cover long enough to scan the immediate area. Finding nothing worrisome, she taps her comms. “Massani, Vakarian, keep the shit off us,” she orders. “We’re in the back corner by the dam. Back in a minute.” She switches her comms to silent and then reaches out, tapping the same control on Hannah’s gear.

“Liv,” Hannah starts, but she doesn’t know what comes after. She wants to be brave for her daughter, but she’s fucking terrified.

“Mom,” Olivia says, as steady and collected as Hannah’s ever heard her. “Number one, none of this is real. Remember that. Safety protocols are locked on and there is no such thing as friendly fire. You cannot get hurt.”

Hannah nods. Olivia’s voice is calm and comforting, soothing amidst the gunfire and fighting.

“Number two, we’ve got you. Zaeed, Garrus, and I. We know how to do this. We will get you through this.”

It’s the nightmare voice.

Hannah used this exact tone with Olivia and Mark when they were small and had a scary dream. She doesn’t know how she feels about Liv using that same voice back onto her, but that’s a problem for later. Right now, the nightmare voice is exactly what she needs to hear.

“Good air in, bad air out,” Olivia says.

An uncomfortable mechanical noise whirs nearby. Liv pops up, scopes in on the marauder, and blows its head off.

A little medal appears in the corner of Hannah’s HUD: Olivia Shepard – 15 Headshots.

“Mom,” she says, drawing Hannah’s attention again. “Good air in. Bad air out.”

It’s an order.

Even if she could argue, Hannah wouldn’t. Not with that tone to Liv’s voice. Hannah takes a deep breath.

“Do you need to stop?” Olivia asks, brow furrowed deeply in concern.

Yes.

“No,” she says firmly. “I want – I need to finish this. And then drink. Heavily.” This is her daughter’s life. All this fighting, all these horrors, and Hannah can’t do a goddamn thing to protect her from it.

A brute goes down on the walkway above them (Garrus Vakarian – 25 kills) and the metal structure shakes, grating and shrieking against itself.

“Well, Zaeed lost the headshot bet in the warmup, so drinks are on him tonight.” Liv’s smile drops and she throws two grenades at an influx of cannibals in the courtyard before they can get any ideas. “I’m right here. And I’m staying right here. If you want to park it next to me in cover for the rest of this, that’s alright. I’ve got you.”

They’re in armor in a combat simulator on the Citadel, not barefoot in a chilly cornfield on Mindoir, but for a moment – it’s suddenly eighteen years ago. Only this time, Olivia’s saying Hannah’s words.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, holding her daughter close as withered corn stalks rustled in the wind. “I’ve got you.”

Hannah exhales. Bad air out.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Hannah nods.

There’s that smile again, reassuring and solid. Olivia gently clasps her shoulder. “Good hunting.”

Hannah offers a half-hearted smile in return. She swallows. “Good hunting.”

#s:long live #s:words #livfic #s:2021

[dracoangel]

Hair Like Fire

Characters: Garrus Vakarian Mentions: Trinity Shepard, Liara T’soni, Mordin Solus, Zaeed Massani # of Words: 700

Might become a thing. I just needed to do a little writing. It has been so long!

Two years ago he lost someone close to him. Someone, that he didn’t realize until she was gone, he had started to harbor feelings for. Feelings past friendship. Feelings he had to keep buried down and not allow himself to admit to. He couldn’t mourn her the way he wanted, the way he needed to.

He always felt Liara had figured it out. For all her embarrassing bumbling and lack of social interactions with people, she was pretty adept at reading people. But she never said a word about it. The last time he saw her, she simply had said “I’m here if you need a friend.” And though he never took her up on that offer, it was nice knowing it was there.

So he stomped and buried those emotions down into the barest ache while he tried to fulfill his promise to Shepard of becoming a Spectre. But he couldn’t help his pleas to go find her. What if she was alive? What if she was found somewhere and she is injured? Even if there was a 1 in a billion… a trillion chance, shouldn’t they take it? But his pleas landed on deaf ears.

He grew frustrated and angry as time went by and Sovereign’s attack began turning into a “geth attack led by the rogue Spectre Saren.”. And it all came to the Council and the propaganda they wanted to spin like fools. He remembered how frustrated Shepard was after her briefings with the Council, admitting on one occasion telling the Turian delegate to go screw himself. They didn’t listen, they never did. And the result was Sovereign’s attack. And now they were doing it all over again. Spitting on the grave of the woman that literally saved their lives at heavy cost to the human Alliance.

In the end, Garrus couldn’t keep his promise to Shepard. He had grown tired of a system that was broken. A system that wasn’t going to be fixed. Bad guys getting away with crimes, and the good guys paying the price for their leader’s failings.

So here he was now, in the dregs of Omega, picking off mercs as they kept funneling down the bridge where he made his stand.

As he looked through his scope for his next target at the other side of the bridge, waiting for the next round of attacks, one merc caught his attention. She stood out from the rest for various reasons. Firstly, she was armed a lot better than the other freelancers around her. Second, the outfit she was wearing. It was black, sleek, form-fitting; allowing for maneuverability and stealth. A hood covered her head, hiding her identity. But there was something about the way she moved… Garrus felt that tug at old memories, but he couldn’t quite grasp them.

Shrugging, he pulled the trigger.

And she quickly side-stepped, his bullet only grazing her shields.

His mouth nearly dropped. He only knew a few people that could dodge one of his shots like that, and only one of them female. She had had an uncanny ability to see when a shot was coming and where it was coming from. She could take in a scene around her in seconds and remember where all her enemies were for perfect shots every time.

Garrus would have shaken that off, but… that hair. He caught the briefest glance of it as light penetrated her hood enough to shine on red hair. Hair that was like wild fire.

Before he could get another shot off, the woman ducked into a side room.

Garrus didn’t even realize he was putting a concussive round in. Why did this matter? It couldn’t be her. But… he couldn’t shake that need to know for certain. And so he waited.

He waited for that same hooded figure to come back out with her two companions in tow. He pulled the trigger, aiming for her shoulder.

She was too slow, distracted by her salarian companion. His round hitting her in the shoulder, disabling her shields and making her stumble back into the arms of her male human companion. And her hood falling back.

His breath left him, old memories flooded him.

“Shepard.”

#shakarian #garrus x trinity #garrus x fem!shep #garrus #garrus vakarian #oc: trinity shepard #fem!shep #shepard #commander shepard #my oc #mass effect #mass effect legendary edition #me:le

[queen-scribbles]

Acceptable Risk

Art trade fic for the extremely patient @theheroofoakvale, exploring if Shepard’s recruiting Thane had gone a little.... differently.

-----

The door opened with a quiet hiss, and Shepard’s entry was greeted with the raised barrels of several assault rifles. The mercenaries, however, paused before opening fire, despite being confronted by three heavily armed individuals pointing guns back at them.

The asari in the middle of the cluster--clad for business rather than combat--spun to face them, her eyes widening. “Shepard?!”

Shepard smirked, centered his pistol on her. “Nassana.”

There was a muffled clatter in the ceiling that had the mercenaries’ attention swiveling upward. Her posture shifted defensive. “You’re dead.”

“I got better,” he retorted, and shot her in the throat.

Her bodyguards zeroed back in on him and his team, torn between them and the threat above, and that was their undoing. A dark figure dropped from one of the ceiling vents, and Shepard used that moment of distraction to take out two of them. When the remaining mercs focused in on him, the dark figure punched one in the throat and shot the other center mass. The few that were left went down quickly.

Massani and Vakarian kept their guns up, leveled at the late arrival, a drell, as he stood in the middle of the carnage, eyes fixed in an unblinking, regretful stare at Nassana Dantius’ body.

“Sorry if I stole your kill,” Shepard said after letting the silence go as long as he could tolerate. His pistol hung at his side in a loose grip, ready if he needed it. He didn’t think he would.

“I was not here for her, though the galaxy is no less for her removal,” the drell said softly, finally looking up from the dead woman and blinking just before he met Shepard’s gaze. “I am here for you.”

Behind him, Massani muttered a quiet curse and Vakarian tightened his grip on his gun, but Shepard didn’t even flinch. “I did wonder. Dantius hardly seems worth the time for someone of your... reputation.”

“And yet you still came,” the drell said, clasping his hands behind him and looking in no rush to kill anyone.

“She used me.” He let the barest edge of a snarl color the words. “I can go along with a likely trap if it gives me an excuse for payback. Also,” he took half a step forward, “seemed the best way to meet you, Krios. We need to talk.”

Thane Krios did not look at all perturbed that his target knew who he was. His expression remained impassive as he studied Shepard’s face. “Do we? What about?”

“I need your help on a mission. You can feel free to continue trying to kill me after we’re done.”

“Why?” Krios asked, still studying Shepard’s face.

“Why, what?”

“Why do you need me? Why should I help instead of killing you now?”

Shepard laughed darkly. “The fucking galaxy is at stake, I need the best of the best, even if they are out for my blood.” Another half step forward, Vakarian and Massani following this time until he waved them back. “As for the second question.... I know some things about you, Krios. I know you’re dying, and I know you have a son.” His pistol folded in on its clip as he crossed his arms and stared hard at the assassin. “And where he is. I imagine you’d hate for something to happen to him before you had a chance to mend fences.”

Three rapid blinks, a sharp breath, posture unchanged, but it was the most reaction Krios had shown in this conversation. “And would you make this...   something happen if I say no, Shepard?”

His calm was impressive. Shepard wondered if it was an easier illusion to maintain with eyes that had neither pupils nor iris to betray strong emotion. “If I have to. I need the best, Krios, which is you. Don’t really care how I get your cooperation.”

Krios was silent for a long moment. “This threat must be grave indeed for you to employ such measures.”

He was nigh impossible to read, but the slight shift of his clasped hands was hint enough. “I’m hunting an enemy who’s abducting human colonies and has ties to the Reapers, I’d call that pretty damn grave. Like I said, you can resume trying to kill me if we survive. What’s it gonna be?”

Another heavy pause, though shorter. “You have left me only one viable option if I care about my son.”

Shepard arched a brow.

“I will assist. Consider this a pause in the contract on your life.”

“Good enough for me.” Shepard cast a smug glance at Dantius’ corpse, then turned to exit the room. “We’re done here, so you can either come with us or meet us at the ship.”

“I will meet you shortly. I have a few personal effects to gather,” Krios said.

“Alright. We’re on a clock, so don’t dilly dally,” Shepard replied, and motioned their departure to Vakarian and Massani.

“What’s to stop him from shooting you on our way down?” Vakarian muttered as they headed for the elevator. “He’s already planning to kill you and you threatened his kid.”

Massani beat Shepard to the answer. “Doesn’t know if there’s a dead man’s switch on that something happenin’ to his boy if Shepard bites it.” He chuckled darkly and smirked at Shepard. “What the hell’d you do to earn a death mark, anyway?” 

Shepard shrugged, watching the blur of downward travel out the elevator’s glass-paned wall. “Hell if I know, Massani. Certainly pissed off enough people for there to be some options.”

The mercenary gave a rough laugh and slapped him on the shoulder. “Wear like a badge of fucking honor, kid. Means you got someone real riled up.”

---

Krios was, as promised, aboard the Normandy well within an hour. His personal effects he’d gone to collect were few enough to fit in a small shoulder satchel that he politely refused to let anyone inspect. (Lawson was not happy when Shepard told her to drop it, clearly suspicious of allowing an assassin on board without first vetting his gear.) He settled in life support at EDI’s suggestion, and ruffled no feathers with the rest of the crew, unless you counted Taylor’s mistrust of his career in general.

“What will be expected of me, Commander?” Krios asked, in that same modulated tone he’d used on Illium.

“No shipboard duties, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Shepard said. He leaned against the wall by the door and studied Krios. “You can do as you like here. When we have missions, I may want you to come watch my six, if your skillset seems a good fit.”

“I see.” He folded his hands, elbows braced against the small worktable at which he sat. There was a hesitation under the words that almost rang in the air.

“If there’s something else you wanna say, now’s the time,” Shepard prodded. He didn’t have time to be gentle prying out secrets or whatever.

“My son,” Krios said, words measured and careful. “You say you know where he is. Would you be willing to share that knowledge?”

Shepard mulled it over, weighing the value of his options. “In time,” he finally said. “We have a couple pressing assignments that are more important than family reunions. But if we hit a point with some free time I’ll let you know.”

Krios nodded, his expression unreadable as ever. “Very well, Shepard.”

“One thing I need to know from you,” Shepard began, pushing away from the wall, “is if whatever’s killing you will affect your abilities in a fight.”

“It shouldn’t, not yet.” He paused for the space of a few blinks. “I should have several months at least before the symptoms become noticeable even to myself. More than enough time to complete your mission, if it is as urgent as you make you sound.”

“Is that something you doubt, Krios?” 

“Not at all.” Krios pushed to his feet and crossed the room to examine a rack of spare rifle parts. “Even someone of your reputation would have to be on a mission of urgency to blackmail an assassin sent to kill you into helping your cause. I simply mean this threat seems the type where a decisive outcome will be reached swiftly; whether in victory or destruction. Well within the time I have before functionality is... affected.”

“Good.” Shepard nodded. “Not sure when I’ll need you, but I want to be sure you’ll be worth it when the times comes.” He left the room, noting Krios’ undertone murmur as he did, and from the cadence wondered what the assassin was praying for.

---

Shepard first tested him on something that seemed of no consequence; a mercenary base on a backwater planet trafficking stolen eezo. Thane did his job, no more no less, all the while making note of how the man fought. The risks he thought worth taking, the sacrifices that were acceptable cost, the balance of recklessness and cunning. It was not a complete picture, not off one mission, and Thane wouldn’t act on what he’d gleaned even if it were.

Not with the blade the commander had hung over Kolyat. Not with the hope of learning where his son might be. Patience was the hallmark of an assassin, after all; knowing when to strike as well as how. And Thane had been an assassin a very long time. He could wait.

Especially as conversations with others aboard the ship painted a clearer and clearer picture of the mission’s scope. A trip through the Omega 4 relay was very likely to be suicidal just on its own. Destroying whatever these Collectors used as a base doubly so. When Shepard made ‘if we survive’ comments, he wasn’t joking. Thane could wait. He could help with the mission--it was a worthy goal after all, one he would have assisted in accomplishing without the threats--and then resume his contract.

After the mercenary base was eliminated, and easily, Shepard made use of Thane’s skills a few more times. Usually on missions with plentiful shadow coverage and good sight lines.

“How’re you holding up?” Garrus asked on one such mission, the two of them picking off targets from a bit of a distance while Shepard made viciously short work of the battlefield.

“I’ve had worse assignments.” Thane’s rifle kicked against his shoulder and the krogan he’d been targeting dropped. He fired another shot, just to be safe, and watched the body jerk then lay still, before searching out another target. “What of you?”

Garrus snorted, took down his own target. “I’m  here because he’s my... friend” --there was a brief hesitation, as if the turian wasn’t completely sure that was the right word--”and I trust that whatever he’s doing is worth whatever it costs to accomplish.”

“You’ve fought alongside him before.”

“Against Sovereign, yeah.” Garrus’ mandible twitched as he focused on sighting in another shot. “This feels different.”

He didn’t elaborate, and it was only a few moments more for them the claim victory and press further on with their mission.

Thane watched Shepard, and wondered what had changed in the eyes of his friend.

---

It was after the derelict Reaper, after adding a geth to their mix, that Thane’s patience paid off. At least in part.

“Your kid’s on the Citadel,” Shepard informed him out of the blue. “Lucky for you, Vakarian has some unfinished business there as well, and the techs need some time to integrate the IFF to the Normandy’s systems. I can spare a side trip for personal issues while they get that squared away. Be ready to go in an hour.”

Thane didn’t protest. Didn’t question. He could ask for details on approach to the Citadel.

They set a cold knot in his gut when he learned them. “He’s here to kill someone,” Shepard said bluntly, and all Thane could think was Like father, like son. That was not a path he’d ever wanted for Kolyat. Shepard didn’t have a lot of details, just that Kolyat was there. Apparently even Cerberus’ resources had limits.

They spoke to a C-Sec officer, then to Mouse at his suggestion--Thane was surprised but pleased he was still alive--both conversations Shepard kept as short as possible. Clearly he was not in the mood to waste time. Thane wished that hadn’t involved the commander breaking Mouse’s nose, but couldn’t muster much sympathy when the same proved true of Kelham once they got his name and interrogated him.

“We have some time, not a lot of it,” Shepard growled. “And we still need to find Sidonis when we’re done with your shit, Krios.” He turned to Captain Bailey.  “What can you tell me about this Talid Kelham wants dead?”

The picture Bailey painted--up and coming turian politician, vocally anti-human and gaining support--made it obvious why Kelham would want Talid gone. He had to be very bad for business. He was also in a very vulnerable position currently; pressing flesh on a walk through the Wards with only one or two bodyguards along for protection.

Thane had to admit surprise when Shepard was alright with them splitting up to track Talid and (hopefully) find Kolyat.

“You can’t find him alone any more than I can,” Shepard commented with a sharp smile s he and Garrus headed for the catwalks. “Stay sharp, Krios.”

As if he would do otherwise. Still, he bowed his head and asked Amonkira for strength and guidance before he vanished into the shadows, hoping they weren’t too late to save his son from a very familiar dark path.

Are you really surprised? a voice inside him mocked as Thane picked his route along catwalks and ducts, through shadows and crowds. Even if he hates you, that’s the example you left.

He shook it off. He didn’t have the luxury of internal debate right now. He had to pick out his route on the fly, keep in touch with Shepard and Garrus, plot out several ways to handle the situation that all depended on Kolyat’s behavior. And he didn’t know his own son well enough to predict that, so his solutions were all loosely structured ideas at best. Some plan was better than none.

It was a close thing, despite their best efforts. Kolyat spooked, shot the bodyguards and dragged Talid into his apartment with a gun to his head.

Shepard was only a step behind once Kolyat broke cover and very quickly had a gun pointed at him.

Thane went very still, watching this standoff. He didn’t know Shepard well enough to know what the man would do, but he knew what C-Sec protocols would be, and he could hear their approach. Shepard had been very clear about the limited time they had for this side trip, the fastest resolution--which would also fulfill C-Sec’s mandate to keep Talid alive--would end with his son dead, and Shepard was not a patient man.

Kolyat’s anger blazed, even from across the room, and he was far from willing to cooperate, his pistol pressed to the back of Talid’s head.

The loud crack of a pistol shot nearly made Thane flinch, his chest squeezing in protest at the thought of his failure. Just this one thing, I wanted to fix just this.

But Shepard’s shot snapped Talid’s head back, not Kolyat’s. The turian collapsed in a spray of dark blood and Kolyat recoiled. In that moment of distraction, Thane surged forward and twisted the pistol out of Kolyat’s hands, unsure if the tremor was adrenaline or rage.

Shepard was talking to an incensed Bailey; “No one will miss a racist asshole, I did you a favor”, but Thane’s focus was all on his son. 

“This was not the best way,” he said softly.

“What do you know?” Kolyat hissed back, struggling against Thane’s unrelenting grip.

“More than you might think.”

Kolyat yanked away as if the contact had burned him. Fury simmered in his eyes, and resentment, but he was alive. C-Sec would still have to take him in for what he’d been ready to do(attempted murder? That would likely be the charge), there would be consequences for what he tried to do, and Thane didn’t know if they even could “mend fences” as Shepard had put it. But he was alive. And hopefully could be deterred from a path Thane wouldn’t wish anyone to tread.

“Krios,” Shepard barked and Thane pulled himself out of his reverie watching C-Sec lead Kolyat away. But rather than Time to go, the commander nodded after the arresting officers. “Massani can help with tracking down Fade. You have until we’re done. I wouldn’t count on more than an hour or two.”

Thane blinked, thrown off kilter by the gesture, but recovered quickly.  “Understood.” He’d taken three steps after the C-Sec officers before he stopped and turned. “...Thank you, Shepard.”

The man waved him off, already walking away with Garrus in his wake.

---

An hour and a half didn’t go very far working through a decade of distance, but it was a start.

“Why do you stay with him?” Kolyat asked when Thane’s comms crackled with a heads-up Shepard and the others were on their way back and he stood. “If... this” --a quick gesture, more a flick of the wrist than anything, between the two of them-- “is so important?”

For you. In more ways than one. “Shepard’s mission is... critical. And there is, unfortunately, a time limit on saving the galaxy.”

Kolyat snorted at his father’s dry humor. “Right.”

“I will keep in touch,” Thane promised. “Perhaps we can meet again once this is finished. If you would like.” If I survive.

“...We’ll see.” Kolyat was staring at the table rather than him, but Thane would take it.

He nodded and headed for the door. “Very well.”

“Does he have something on you?” Kolyat asked abruptly. “With the reputation Shepard’s made, he doesn’t seem the type honorable people would be following.”

“I have made no claims of honor,” Thane said quietly, hand on the door frame.  “And with  the stakes of mission, some sacrifices may prove necessary.”

“Sounds familiar,” Kolyat muttered.

Thane made no reply, and didn’t look back as he left the room with a cold weight in his chest.

---

It ha been the right call letting Krios reconnect with his son. He seemed more centered, more focused, for having dealt with his baggage. Probably that whole ‘something to live for’ schtick. Shepard only cared that Krios did his job and the mending bond made the kid an even more effective pressure point.

Not that Krios had ever protested. Ever balked. But everyone had their limit, and if he happened to find the assassin’s, it never hurt to have a brute force solution in your arsenal. Especially as they were very close to actually pursuing the Collectors through the Omega 4 relay.

“Just a few more tests,” Lawson assured him. They wanted it to work right, after all. It’d be a real short trip otherwise.

“So,” he asked Krios, “out of morbid curiosity, who wants me dead?” There were plenty of options, he wanted to know who wanted it badly enough to hire an assassin. And it wasn’t like he currently had anything better to do with his time. 

Krios cocked his head, a flicker of what might have been amusement crossing his face. “I cannot tell you, Shepard.”

Shepard snorted and arched a brow. “Client confidentiality?”

“Client anonymity,” the drell corrected.

“You let some faceless coward point you at a target with my body count?”

“As you know, I am dying,” Krios said in that implacable tone of his. “Odds of survival were... far from troubling, as a factor.”

“And odds of success?” Shepard retorted.

This time there was definitely a small smile before Krios schooled his expression neutral. Not mocking or cocky, just... amused. “There is a first time for everything.” The faint amusement was gone when he locked eyes with Shepard. “How will we handle this, commander? When we are finished our mission, assuming we both survive, and I resume my contract to kill you?”

“Feel like giving me a day’s lead?” Shepard grinned sardonically.

“I could be persuaded,” Krios said. He shifted in his chair. “Let us see how things progress, shall we?”

You’d never know to look at the man he’d been... convinced to help with this by threat of harm to his son. He seemed perfectly at home, posture easy. He didn’t talk to the crew much, Shepard knew from EDI, but it was hardly surprising an assassin was accustom to solitude.

As if summoned by his brief thought of her, a glowing sphere materialized on the AI kiosk. “Shepard, Miss Lawson wished you informed that the IFF installation is in its final stage. For the shakedown we will need complete access to the Normandy’s systems, so it is recommended you use the shuttle for whatever you plan to undertake next.”

“Got it,: Shepard tossed in vaguely the direction of the AI. “That’ll make things tight,” he muttered to himself. He had something in mind that would likely need the whole team. They’d fit in the shuttle, but it would be tight. Last thing he needed was Lawson and Jack killing each other before they even hit the Collector base.

Krios was eyeing him with curiosity. “Commander?”

“Gear up,” Shepard said, heading for the door. “Got a search and recover that might take all hands.”

The assassin nodded and pushed to his feet, heading for his locker. “Very well.”

---

Their mission went well. Things on the Normandy in their absence, not so much. Shepard left a fully-staffed state of the art warship an returned to a picked-clean husk manned only by his pilot and the now-unshackled AI.

The Collectors had bloodied his nose, cost him his crew. Again. He’d had it.  “Ship’s not getting any more ready than it is. Joker, head for the Omega 4 relay.”

“Aye, aye,” came the determined, hungry reply.The pilot was probably even more eager than Shepard to punch back at the bug-eyed bastards.

Unlike Joker--and probably the others--Shepard viewed getting the crew back as a secondary objective to taking out the Collectors. The threat they posed to humanity ended now.

Get us there was his order, and that didn’t change when they came out of the relay having to dodge starship wreckage, or when they were harried by drones, or even when a fucking occulus busted into the hold.

“Krios, Massani, with me!” he barked, rifle in hand, listening to the scrape and thud of wreckage and lasers ricocheting off the upgraded hull on the way to the bowels of the ship. By the time they had trashed the occulus, Joker had them past the debris field and the drones, and a new problem had arisen.

New, but familiar--the same Collector vessel that he had encountered numerous times before. But this time, the Normandy had sharper teeth. “Let ‘em have it!” he ordered, a command Joker follow with alacrity Darting, looping, dodging, the pilot had them dancing around the larger ship, deftly avoiding the beam that had been their destruction before.

The surge of satisfaction at destroying the vessel was short lived, as it erupted in a fireball more than large enough to knock the Normandy into a crazy, barely controlled descent that could more bluntly be called a crash.

“Everyone alive?” Shepard checked over comms. When that was affirmative, he followed with, “Assemble in the CIC.”

This was it. A quick rundown of schematics pulled from the vessel and what he expected to find inside, a victory whatever it takes reminder, and it was time to go.

---

Than prayed silently to Amonkira as they disembarked from the Normandy. Let our hands strike true, and victory be worth the cost. There would be a cost, of this he was sure. He was familiar enough with Shepard’s methods by now there was little room for doubt. If I am among that cost, please guide my son, that his steps may trace a better path.

He wondered, if he should fall, whether his client would hire someone else to complete the task of killing Shepard or if they would let it go. He hoped it wouldn’t come  to that. He wanted to survive, to speak more with Kolyat before the end, but it would be what it was.

They split into groups, Shepard leading Thane and Zaeed, Garrus the rest of them, to serve as distractions while Tali crawled through the vents to let them pass. It was a good call; the Collectors swarmed thick enough any other plan would likely have been overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. They were not given the luxury of time for sighting in targets, so Thane stuck with his pistol--and occasionally biotics--firing, reloading, firing, with the odd interruption to scrounge more thermal clips because he’d run out.

Shepard’s back and forth with Garrus and Tali was just background noise, like the beating wings of their foes, as Thane gave his focus to the task at hand.

Tali stumbled out of the vent just as they finally reached the heavy doors barring the end of the hall. She beelined for the access panel, teetered as a couple shots ricocheted off her shields.

“Get it open!” Shepard barked as the three of them wheeled to give her cover fire. “Vakarian, where the hell are you?!”

“Almost there, a group of the bastards ambushed us!”

A Collector dove toward Tali and Thane shot it--rushed, imperfect, but the grazing shot knocked it off course long enough for him to try again. This time, it fell and did not rise again.

---

The sense of urgency, pounding Hurry, hurry, hurry through Shepard’s veins thrummed louder as the door beeped and started to hiss open. A muffled burst of gunfire reached his ears a handful of seconds before Vakarian and the others came into view, hauling ass down the passageway toward them.

“Massani, Krios! Through the door!” He rattled off a stream of cover fire, driving the Collectors to hang back for a second. Just a second. But it was enough time for the second fire team to reach the end of the passage and dart through the door.

Krios and Massani maintained some cover fire from the far side of the door, buying breathing room for the others as one by one they darted through the door. Lawson brought up the rear, her barrier shimmering out as the doors groaned on closing.

“They’re stuck!” Tali bit out, shoving one door with scraping, grinding protest along its track. Shepard and Lawson ducked through the narrowing gap just as a final shot slammed into Lawson’s shoulder and sent her stumbling.

“I’m fine,” she ground out, slapping medigel on the injury as the group of them shook off the adrenaline to register what the room held.

The walls were lined with dozens, hundreds, thousands, of the Collectors’ pods. The dingy yellow glow throughout the room spoke to them all being occupied.

Movement caught Shepard’s eye and he swung his rifle toward the potential threat. it was just one of the nearby pods; the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman inside stirred, pounding against the transparent canopy in a futile attempt to escape. Even as Tali and Krios rushed forward to try and free her, the pod hummed and the woman only had time for a single terrified scream before she simply... liquefied into a sludgy brown paste which drained away almost before his crew had time to recoil in horror.

“Commander! Over here!” Taylor fumbled with a nearby pod until a very disoriented figure tumbled out. “It’s the crew!”

That broke the horror that had frozen them, and the group surged forward to free their comrades before the same fate could befall them.

Chambers. Daniels. Donnelly. Gardner. All of them were here, as Shepard ran a mental roster, but Chakwas was the one to explain. Near as she could tell, the humans in the pods were being reduced to genetic material and ...piped elsewhere in the base through tubes, though she wasn’t sure where or why. That sounded like where they needed to go.

“We need to get them out of here,” Taylor said, hovering near a few of the engineers as they stumbled to their feet.

We don’t have time for this. “You wanna take them back, be my guest,” Shepard returned brusquely. “We need to destroy this base, but we can mange without you if it’s that important to you.”

“It is.” Taylor’s voice was firm as he tugged Chambers’ arm around his shoulders and herded the crew back toward the Normandy. “See you on the other side, Commander.”

---

Thane almost offered to accompany them; it was a lot of people for one man to safeguard. But Shepard was already snapping orders for the next stage of their infiltration. He’d be taking Garrus and Zaeed, sheltered from the overabundance of Seeker swarms by Jack, down the shortest route that followed the tubes. “The rest of you follow Lawson on the other route EDI indicated, draw some of the flying bastards off.”

Forward, then. Thane checked his reserve of thermal clips, made sure his pistol was undamaged, and fell in with the others as the door hissed open and they pressed on.

They hadn’t advanced far when the first Collectors appeared, drones and a small number of husks that were easy enough tot pick off. Their numbers only increased as time wore on, but that was the point wasn’t it? Draw them here, so Shepard could get through. Thane stood shoulder to shoulder with Tali as their squad advanced, shared his thermal clips when hers ran out first, lent what strength he could to the biotic barrier Samara had summoned to protect their backs.

“There’s a lot of them, Shepard!” Miranda hollered into comms when they were forced to take cover from a particularly large group, dotted with abominations and led by a scion.

“Good!” his reply crackled back underscored by gunfire. “Keep them the hell off us! We’re almost there!”

She hissed a quiet curse, then, “Yes, Commander!” Her fist flared blue and a pair of husks flew off the edge of the path. “Samara, push them back on three!”

The justicar nodded and the rest of them by unspoken agreement turned their focus to give the women cover fire.

“One!”

Strafing fire raked Grunt’s armor and he bellowed a laugh as he shot back. Thane admired his defiance.

“Two!”

The barrier Samar had been maintaining shrank inward in preparation. Amonkira, guide their strength.

“Three!”

The combined power of two gifted biotics exploded outward in a wash over overwhelming ozone-scented blue. Just as it slammed into the descending Collector horde, a heavy, white hot pain tore into Thane’s arm and side. 

He was dimly aware of Miranda yelling for them to move, of a hand closing around his bicep to drag him with them, of his legs moving to keep up until the gave out and he was hauled over someone’s shoulder instead. There was  rushing sound in his ears and it wasn’t until it was it was punctuated by gunfire and Miranda hollering at Shepard they were under heavy attack Thane realized it was Collector wings and not the lure of unconsciousness.

“Give us a minute, Lawson!”

“We don’t have a minute!”

Shepard’s curse was broken by static. “Vakarian, get that door open! Now!”

Time was fuzzy with the pain that swirled fresh at each jolted step of whoever (probably Grunt) was carrying him, but it still seemed an eternity before, muffled, he could hear someone calling an encouragement.

He slammed against something and the pain flared so white, for a moment he saw Irikah’s face. There was a dull murmur of voices, then a spike of numb shot through the pain and spread, blanketing, pushing back until he was aware again.

Tali knelt beside him, her omnitool just closing down as he became conscious of her presence. “Good, you’re still with us.”

“Thanks to you,” Thane rasped. He passed one hand gingerly over his injured side. The healing wound was large, like from a plasma- or other energy-based weapon rather than bullets. He could cope much better with bullets.

“You are welcome,” Tali said, pushing to her feet and offering him a hand up.

Thane accepted, but leaned against a wall once he’d gained his feet. It would take a few minutes for the medigel to truly do its work. He cast a surveying glance about as he waited. Mordin was limping heavily, Grunt, Garrus, and Zaeed all had significant battle damage to their armor....

And Miranda lay still, half-slumped against a wall, pistol resting in her limp grasp. Shepard knelt next to her, blood streaked in his stark white hair, but stood even as Thane’s gaze landed on them. “She’s gone,” he confirmed, as if there was any doubt. He half-turned, hand rising to his ear, expression flint-hard. “Got it, Joker.”

Garrus’ mandibles clicked. “The crew?”

“They made it back.” Shepard shoved a new clip into his rifle. “Taylor died getting them there.”

Thane grimaced. He should have gone along. 

“It happens,” Shepard said, as if he’d caught the self-reproof without even looking. “According to EDI, this next room’s the core. Vakarian, Massani, you stick with me, the rest of you cover our asses.”

He didn’t wait for agreement or confirmation, just strode to the console for the necessary door and and punched in the command to open it. Garrus and Zaeed followed silently, the former briefly locking eyes with Tali before the three of them disappeared down the hallway.

---

The rest of them hastily arranged themselves in a defensive perimeter, gazes and weapons trained on the two doors that separated them from the Collector forces.

Thane said a rushed but heartfelt prayer to Kalahira for their fallen, working the fingers of his injured arm to test the medigel’s progress. It would do.

The sheer number of Collectors made the task a difficult one--more than once Thane feared running out of clips for his pistol until a brief pause between waves allowed them to scavenge and share from the fallen. This sort of sustained firefight was far from his normal milieu, but this close to the end he was still determined to do his best.

They held as battle chatter from Shepard’s squad broke through the static. They held even though Mordin fell and Legion fell and Jack nearly followed, snarling and spitting curses as she struggled back to her feet. They held until Shepard’s order came over comms, “Move if you don’t want to go up with this place!”

Then they ran, Samara and Jack shielding them from as much as they could, the rest picking off the bolder Collectors even as they ran. They reached the Normandy, adrenaline surging as they gave Shepard’s squad cover fire until they were aboard as well. Joker had them rocketing toward the relay before the doors had fully closed, and the whole ship seemed to hold its breath until they were safely through.

---

As the adrenaline wore off, all Shepard wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn’t. Not yet. There were things that needed to be settled first.

Krios was in the medbay, sitting serenely still as Dr. Chakwas more thoroughly treated the nasty, half-healed burns on his side and forearm. (In sharp contrast to Jack, who was glowering and cursing about both having to sit still to let her injuries heal and being around so many people.)

“Looks like we both survived,” Shepard said without preamble. Chakwas took the unspoken cue and moved off to see to Jack.

“Indeed.” Krios didn’t move, hands folded in his lap as he sat on the edge of a bed.

“You make up your mind about that head start?”

Krios chuckled. “I believe my recuperation will be a bit more than a day, Shepard. A good time for me to visit my son, I think, and a good head start for you as the contract resumes.” His lips twitched to a small smile. “Perhaps my client will reconsider in light of your actions.”

“Doubt it,” Shepard snorted. “I get the sense their beef with me is personal. Doesn’t lend itself to rational decision making. We’ll see, I guess.” Stranger things had happened, but he wouldn’t be holding his breath.”I’m not going anywhere near the Citadel, in case the Council gets any bright ideas about me or my ship, but we can drop you on Omega before we head off.”

Krios nodded solemnly. “A fair arrangement.”

A less intelligent person might have wondered--hoped--leaving him on Omega injured was as good as a death warrant, but Shepard had seen him fight. It would take more than a set of already-healing electrical burns to put Krios at a disadvantage against the thugs on Omega. (And if they did happen to prove too much for him, one thing less for Shepard to worry about.)

“We can have you there in an hour or so,” he said. “once the doc’s done with you go get your things together.”

Krios inclined his head. “I shall.”

---

It had been a while since he was last on Omega and Thane hadn’t missed it in the slightest. Fortunately he wouldn’t be here long. Passage elsewhere was easy enough to  procure, and from there he could work his way to the Citadel. He could take some time to mend more fences with Kolyat before he resumed his hunt.

That was one thing about Shepard; he was never a hard man to find.

#queens fic #art trade #seb shepard #mass effect fic #hope you like it #hope i got seb right

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Gifts

More sci-fi gadgets for all of you.  I go into more detail on the workings of some of the more interesting ones.  As usual, I own no one except Drake.  Enjoy the story.  

Aboard the Normandy

John Shepard pressed the locking mechanism on the doors to his quarters.  The automatic doors slid open noiselessly, and he stepped into the room beyond.  It was dark inside, the only light emanating from a large fish tank on the far wall.  It was his hobby, per say.  A welcome distraction from the rigors and challenges of his life.  He enjoyed relaxing and simply watching the fish swim.  

The rest of the room was simple, yet elegant, in the way that a mid-level hotel was.  Nothing exceptionally fancy, no wild designs.  It had few personalizations, save for several framed photographs and some slight tinkering projects he stored there.  

He sighed.  It had been quite the long day.  Quite the long month, come to think of it.  The implants that had brought him back from the dead all that long time ago...or was it really that long ago? he asked himself.  Well, either way, that had started to hurt again, a constant dull ache, especially located in the back of his neck.  So much to do.  So much stress.  First his death, then the Collectors, who were still a problem, now this.  Now new worlds, which, in turn, brought new problems.  It was the end of a long day, which would lead into a short night, which would bring yet another long day.  The cycle continued.  

He walked, slowly, over to his bed, before his tired eyes noticed something different.  A package, wrapped in plain black paper, lay upon it.  Attached was a note, written in neat cursive.  

To Commander John Shepard, a soldier after my own heart when it comes to personal weaponry.  From, Thomas Drake

His tiredness forgotten and curiosity piqued, he sat down beside the rectangular package, slit open the paper, and took out a heavy plastic case.  With a click of latches, it opened, revealing a sleek and compact silver rifle sunk into black felt.  On the side, where the ejection port of a bullet-firing weapon would be, was a small vent, glowing with purple and blue energy.  A miniaturized plasma reactor.  Three barrels, each heavily reinforced to take the heat buildup of the weapon, protruded from the front.  A small packet came with instructions on the gun’s cleaning and upkeep.  Emblazoned into the side of the weapon, small enough so it didn’t take away any of its looks, was the name X-45 Plasma Repeater.  

Shepard instantly recognized the gun.  It was the same model that Drake wielded during their missions, and the same model he had told them all was the pinnacle of plasma weaponry design in his home galaxy.  Come to think of it, actually, it was the only plasma weapon in any of their galaxies capable of fully automatic fire.  Drake had just...given one to him.  He wasn’t sure if he should be touched beyond measure or extremely suspicious.  He decided on touched.  Suspicion could wait.  It was an utterly magnificent gift.  The personal shields and armor in his galaxy were all designed around stopping projectiles.  He grinned evilly in the darkness of the room at the thought of what he could do with such a weapon.  He had seen Drake’s melt straight through unprotected torsos.  This...this would do nicely.  

Garrus Vakarian, one of Shepard’s closest friends and most trusted advisors, walked through the sleek halls of the Normandy into his own quarters.  Much more spartan and austere than the Commander’s, or, for that matter, most of the other crew members, his room had only various weapons and projects he had been working on.  He didn’t need anything else.  Plus, his culture was not flamboyant like humans or Asari.  He was a Turian, practical, result focused.  His body was humanoid, with two legs, two arms, and a head, but no one would ever mistake him for Human.  His limbs were spindly, his torso massive, and he was distinctly taller than most other species.  His face was flat, the back of his head a crest that seemed somewhat between a lizard and a bird.  Once, a human had compared him to a velociraptor.  He had taken the time to look it up, and found a distinct similarity between himself and the long-dead animal.  Interesting, but, ultimately, unimportant.  

A single bed sat in his room.  Mass produced, it wasn’t luxurious, but it would suffice.  On, it though...something new.  A long rectangular package, wrapped in black paper.  He walked up to it and read the small note.  

To Garrus Vakarian, a sniper of both lethal accuracy and renown. 

P.S.  It’s probably best if Cain didn’t know this was in your possession. 

From, Thomas Drake

His mandibles twitched as he smiled to himself.  He thought he knew what it was.  Long talons tore through the paper, and revealed a long black box, emblazoned with a double-headed golden eagle.  Bingo.   He opened it silently, to reveal the Exitus Rifle.  Nearly as tall as he was, it was a massive beast of a weapon.  While some sniper weapons were just glorified assault rifles with scopes, others were large, unwieldy, and extremely heavy.  The Exitus was far on the side of bulky and brutal.  A huge scope, able to switch between nine different types of viewing the world, was mounted on the top.  The entire thing was painted black, and a golden skull with outstretched wings was embellished on the side.  Garrus snorted.  What was it with xenophobic groups and their odd need to put their symbols on everything?  A good question, actually.  One to ask a behavioral specialist.  But, back to the task at hand.

Drake had given him the gun to use on the Scoundrels' mission against Batarian slavers, and he had fallen in love with it ever since.  While it was too unwieldy to move around quickly, it had a range of over ten miles and enough power to blow straight through any target he aimed at.  Ten miles.  He chuckled to himself.  

Before the mission, Drake, accompanied by a reluctant Cain, had explained how the rifle worked.  It fired bolt shells, .75 calibre monstrosities as long as a human foot.  Emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila (of course), they were essentially rocket propelled explosive bullets.  Fired at an unarmored target would mean it would quite simply cease to exist in a shower of gore.  But, it looked like there was even more to it.  Located in the box, next to the rifle, were a series of small cardboard cartons, each a different solid color.  Judging by the distinct lack of any Imperial iconography, Garrus assumed Drake, or one of his crew, had added them.  Above them was a note, written in Drake’s neat cursive.  

Special issue ammunition.  I can not easily replace it, so use with care.  

Printed on each box was a small note describing each’s contents.  He went over them all in turn.

Shell Breaker Rounds: Will punch through any shielding, even of a ‘magical’ or biotic nature.

Hellfire Rounds: Contains a very powerful mutagenic acid that eats through organic tissue at a rapid rate.  Useful against large monstrosities.  

Turbo-penetrator Rounds: For use against armored targets.  Will punch through most armor plating.

Seeker Rounds: For when you absolutely, positively, cannot miss a target.  Lock on to your target through the Rifle’s scope, and this bolt will follow it by itself.

Oh, this was going to be good.  Garrus would be enjoying himself very much in the coming weeks.

Aboard the Omen

Admiral Adam Vir returned to his quarters.  They were slightly larger than those of the regular ratings and officers, as benefitted an Admiral, but not obscenely so.  Cluttering the room were trinkets and items of personal importance, things he liked to keep from his childhood or his travels across the stars.  But this time, something was out of place.  A black package, about the length of his leg, lay on the bed.  Curious, he walked up to it, leaned over, and examined the note.

To Admiral Adam Vir, whose giddiness at seeing new things is a constant source of amusement.  I’ve heard you always wanted a lightsaber.  This is the closest I could get.

From, Thomas Drake.

Intrigued, he opened the box.  Resting inside was a...sword.  Interesting.  The scabbard was of red velvet, edged and wrapped with gold.  It was approximately two feet in length, and looked like an old Medieval-era broadsword.  The hilt was wrapped in a black material that he didn’t recognize, but it looked as if it would give him an excellent grip nevertheless.  The crosspiece was of a white gold color, and while it was a plain and straight design, it still did not diminish the weapon’s beauty.  Vir picked up the blade and unsheathed it.  

Two long groves were cut in the metal, and the blade itself was wickedly sharp.  As he lifted the weapon, a small note fluttered from where it was tucked in the shealth.  Frowning, Vir bent down and read it.  

Activate the blade by pressing the rune near the hilt.  Be careful, as it can cut through almost anything.  

He turned the blade over in his hands.  A small button, inscribed with a strange symbol he didn’t recognize, was located on the hilt near the crosspiece.  He pressed it.  

Instantly, the blade was surrounded by a crackling corona of blue energy.  He jumped back, slightly startled, but still kept his grip.  Spinning the sword through the air, the energy field hummed and sparked.  

It can cut through almost anything…

He deactivated the sword, pressing the button and putting it back into its sheath.  Turning on his heel, he half-walked, half-jogged out of the room...only to return three minutes later with a length of heavy metal pipe.  Once more, he pulled the sword from its scabbard, and activated the energy field.  Slowly, carefully, just in case he had misinterpreted or Drake was mistaken, he lowered the edge of the pipe onto the edge of the blade.  The energy field, supported by the blade behind it, cut through the pipe like a razor through tissue paper.  Vir grinned, then stood from his crouch.    

He lowered the sword to knee length, then dropped the pipe on it.  The blade sheared straight through it with no effort whatsoever.  Vir deactivated the gift.  He knew he was standing there with an idiotic grin on his face.  He didn’t really care.  There was no one to see it and, goddamn it, he had just gotten the equivalent to a lightsaber.  The only question was: what to do with it?  His smile only widened.  

Sunny, the Chief Weapons Officer of the Omen, trekked into the bowels of the ship.  Her quarters were located deep in the engineering section, into the metal-plated, darkly-lit heart of the ship, as benefitted a weapons expert and engineer.  The walls of her quarters were metal, and covered with drawings, blueprints, and schematics.  Various projects and weapons, some in a state or repair of disassembly, sat on tables and workbenches.  The room was a cluttered mess, the type of space that belonged to someone who enjoyed tinkering. 

Despite the mess, Sunny knew her way around the clutter.  Every object had a place, despite the apparent lack of order.  So it was with great perplexion that she noticed something that shouldn’t be there.  Sitting on her main workbench was a large package.  Bemused, she wandered up to it, and read the small note attached to the black paper.  

To Chalan.  While hand to hand fighting is perfectly fine, sometimes the only way to win the day is through superior firepower.  Plus, I think you are one of the few amongst our fleet able to wield this with any sort of ease.  

From, Thomas Drake

Curious, she unwrapped the package.  Inside was one of the strangest weapons she’d ever seen.  Looking more like a massive box instead of a gun, it was painted black, with tubing underneath, connecting one part, which seemed to be the ammunition storage, to the frontal part.  Twin barrels, both extremely large, with vents cut in the side of them for better cooling, stuck out of the front, while an oversized trigger lay to the rear.  She hefted the weapon with a grunt.  Drake was right, it was huge and heavy.  In fact, it seemed to be created for someone about her size.  Odd.  Some sort of alien weapon?  

Looking down, she saw a sheet of paper with maintenance and firing instructions, accompanied by a small note. 

It’s called a multi-melta.  It fires massive, short-range blasts of thermal energy, designed to go through armored targets.  

Hmm.  Sunny wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.  On one hand, it seemed to be quite the weapon.  On the other, well, she much preferred her spear.  Eventually, she decided that it would probably depend on the situation.  Having a heavy weapon that shot balls of pure heat couldn’t hurt anyone...at least not on her side…

Commissar Ciaphas Cain trudged back to his quarters, a combination office and sleeping area.  Over his long career, he had been assigned to many different quarters, from massive suites in gubernatorial palaces to the cramped and dimly-lit rooms of Mechanicus exploratory ships.  His room aboard the Omen was neither.  It was of decent size, with plain walls and austere furniture.  Nothing elaborate, nothing terrible, they were simply average.  A normal room.  Nothing wrong with that, in his opinion.  

His desk was cluttered with papers and data pads, each describing new aspects of different universes.  He was assigned to report back to the Inquisition on exactly what went on in these galaxies, and, frankly, it made his head hurt.  Councils and Federations and Assemblies, where all species were treated equal, where no one wanted to go to war.  How incredibly strange.  And he used to think the Tau were odd…

He unlocked the door to his room (didn’t want any nosy Guardsmen or, Emperor forbid, xenos rummaging around his papers), but was immediately brought up short.  Laying on his bed was a small package, wrapped in black paper.  Cautiously, he approached it.  Written in cursive was a small tag.

To Commissar Ciaphas Cain, a man who understands that the best way to stay alive is to have a good defense.  

From, Thomas Drake

A frown creased his brow, and he opened the package slowly.  Inside was a black box, about fifteen centimeters by fifteen centimeters.  What the hell…?  Cain turned it over in his hands, then picked up a small note from the bottom of the package.  

My engineers reverse-engineered and combined the shielding from Mjolnir armor and kinetic barriers.  It should stop all but the heaviest weapons, including blows from hand-to-hand weapons.  For it to work, it must be on your person.  To activate it, press the button on the base.  If it starts smoking, sparking, or making funny noises, take it off and return it to me.  We haven’t ironed out all the kinks, but it should work without fault unless it’s hit with sufficient force or dropped from a significant height.  

Cain grunted, then set down the box.  He had a breastplate of carapace armor, worn only on dangerous missions, but this was a lot less bulky, and covered his entire form.  A very helpful gift, if, of course, it worked.  He sighed, picked it up, and walked out of the room.  Time to see if it did what Drake said it would.  He was fairly certain he could find someone willing to beat the pulp out of him.  

Aboard the Milano

Peter Quill’s quarters, were, to put it bluntly, an absolute mess.  Not an organized mess, either, mind you.  Clothing, trinkets, toys, weapons, and other miscellaneous items were strewn throughout the space as if a hurricane had blown through.   He never bothered to organize it.  After all, it took a lot more effort to clean things up and put them into place that it did to search for hidden items.  Despite the mess, he did have a vague idea where things were, so it was with great surprise that he flopped onto his bed, then immediately jumped up as his back struck something hard.  

Rubbing his spine, he peered down at the bed.  On top was a small box-like package, wrapped in black paper.  On it was a small note.  

To Star-Lord, a man who delights in interesting gadgets and weapons.  This ought to fit your fighting style.

From, Thomas Drake

Quill ripped apart the paper, and opened the box.  Inside, was a thin, sleek pistol.  He read the inscription emblazoned on the side: Smart Pistol Mk-6.  Resting on the bottom of the box was a sheet of paper with maintenance and set-up instructions.  Set up?  For a gun?  What the hell?  Neatly folded into the sheet was a small note, written by the same hand as the gift’s tag.

The Smart Pistol scans for hostile targets within a short range and locks onto them automatically.  Any rounds fired will then maneuver to hit the locked targets.  For it to work, you need to synch it to your visor.  Instructions are included.  

Quill rolled the weapon around in his hand.  He briefly considered testing it out inside the ship, but immediately discarded the idea.  Despite what others might think, he did not have a total lack of common sense.  

Re-holstering the gun, he smiled to himself.  This would definitely come in handy.  He didn’t even need to aim anymore!  What fun.  

Gamora stepped into her room aboard the Milano.  Much smaller than its counterparts aboard the larger ships of the Socundrels’ fleet, it was nevertheless comfortable and tidy.  Each piece of gear, each item, object and weapon were in its place.  Not bare and spartan, not large and elaborate, but it would suffice.  Everything was exactly where it should be, so it was with some surprise that she saw a small black package resting on her bed the moment she walked into the room.  Curious, she walked over to it and read the tag.  

To Gamora, a woman of a very particular set of skills, who can find you and will kill you.  I heard you express a desire for a device such as this.  

From, Thomas Drake

Her fingers deftly unwrapped the box, and drew out a silver disk approximately five centimeters across.  What the...

Resting next to it was another note.

Pilot’s Cloak.  Mount it on your wrist, tap the device, and disappear.  However, be warned: it can only last for a short time before it has to recharge, and sharp eyes can still pick out your silhouette.  

Gamora smiled to herself.  Excellent.  One more trick, one more thing to help her in battle.  While the master assassin was good, very good indeed, a little help never hurt anyone but the enemy.  

Aboard the Enterprise

Master Chief John-117 walked to his assigned quarters aboard the Enterprise.  They were grey walled, and though plain, had a simple elegance and comfortable feeling to them.  However, unlike many of the other quarters aboard the ship, they had no decoration or personalization whatsoever.  It was not because the Federation’s guest was not allowed to personalize his quarters.  No.  It was because the Chief had never known anything along the lines of personal items except his weapons and armor.  He was born for war, literally created at a young age to be the perfect soldier.  He owned no personal items of effects.  He did not need them to carry out his duty.  

As he walked into the room, he immediately noticed a black package laying on the borrowed bed.  How strange.  Attached was a small white tag; a note written in flawless cursive.

To Master Chief John-117.  A soldier with no equal ought to have a weapon with no equal.  

From, Thomas Drake

His heavy gauntlets fumbled over the creases of the paper as he unwrapped the package.  Inside was a huge weapon, painted black with hints of purple and red.  The stock and trigger locked normal, but the barrel was a strange cylinder, ending in a purple, cone-like object that looked like some sort of focus.  Surrounding the cylinder were three triangular black fins.  Master Chief turned the weapon around in his hands.  Painted on the side of the stock were the numerals M-490.  

Turning, he looked into the bottom of the box, and found a note.  

M-490 Blackstorm.  Fires miniaturized black holes at a target.  Requires advanced power cells to fire, so use sparingly, as I cannot easily replenish its ammunition.  

Unbeknownst to anyone but himself, Master Chief smiled under his helmet.  A gun that fires black holes at a target was nothing to be scoffed at.  He could put this to great use.  Great use indeed.  

Captain James Kirk looked across the bridge of the Enterprise.  The finest ship in the Starfleet.  He smiled to himself, though his outward appearance remained stern.  He was glad to command her, and even more proud to command her crew.  

“Engines online, sir.  Preparing for warp transition,” radioed the chief engineer, Scotty.  Kirk pressed a button on the command console.  

“Very good.  Proceed.”  After all the strangeness, all the craziness, all the new people, they were returning home.  His mission from the Starfleet had originally been to explore new places, to go bravely where no man had gone before, but that had all changed.  Now there were eight other galaxies.  Eight new places to learn about, and it was all overwhelming.  He was glad to be returning home, to Earth, to present his finds to the Federation.  

He very purposefully ignored the package next to him.  Drake had given him two things.  A suit of armor now hung in the armory of the Enterprise, most likely never to see use.  Drake had pointed out that “a shirt and pants aren’t going to stop any sort of weapon”, but Kirk had never needed armor before, and he wasn’t going to start using it now.  The second gift sat in its box, wrapping paper surrounding it, and left to rot.  It was a heavy handgun, a sleek, matte black .44 calibre monster.  The note accompanying it had been shredded, its mocking message destroyed.

“Stun” is for cowards and fools.  

While some of the people he had met were much like him, and others were simply products of their environment, others were not.  He was going to have choice words to the Federation about Captain Thomas Drake.  

Aboard the Millennium Falcon

The familiar lights and switches of the Falcon’s cockpit were a reassuring sight to Han Solo.  The past weeks had been some of the strangest of his life.  Or maybe not.  He had seen massive amounts of strange things that shook his understanding of the universe before.  This was just one more to add to the total.  He was a man who rolled with the punches.  

He turned and nodded to his furry copilot, currently seating in the chair next to him.

“Punch it, Chewy.”  The world around the cockpit streaked with stars, and the whine of the starship’s engines filled the air.  Another familiar sight in a changing universe.  He was heading back to his home galaxy, giving his report on the new people he had met.  Hopefully Leia didn't try to kill him for being gone too long.  

Before he had gone, Drake had presented him with two gifts.  A phaser, some sort of pistol-like weapon that could be calibrated to different energy levels.  He wasn’t going to ever use it.  His blaster was much more comfortable, much more reassuring.  He knew what it didn, knew how to use it, knew all of its ins and outs.  Something different would be an interruption, and perhaps a dangerous one at that.  The phaser now was resting in a forgotten box in an unused room.  But it was not that gift that was the most interesting.  

The second of Drake’s gifts had been a heavy metal box, about two feet by two feet.  More the size of a trunk than a conventional box, it had been accompanied by strict instructions.

This box is to be delivered to Luke Skywalker in person.  Under no circumstances is it to be opened by anyone else.  While I’m sure your reading skills are fine, and you can understand directions with crystal clarity, allow me to be perfectly clear about this.  This box is not to be opened by anyone other than Luke Skywalker for any reason whatsoever.  

The box itself was sealed and locked, the keys given to Solo along with the instructions and a letter addressed to Skywalker.  Solo turned in his chair.  It emanated a faint aura of dread, as if some dark secret was locked inside.  Although, that could just be curiosity or paranoia playing with his nerves.  Or maybe it was something else.  Luke was a Jedi.  Some dark secret…

Enough.  It’s perfectly fine.  That didn’t stop him from wanting to get it off his ship as soon as possible, though.

And there you have it.  If you have any comments, concerns, criticisms, questions, explanations, or requests, feel free to ask!  

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my writing #crossover #fanfic #crossover story #sci fi #sci-fi #warhammer 40k #guardians of the galaxy #titanfall #star trek #halo #star wars #mass effect

[meggannn]

i would also like to see post sidonis + backstory wip info

the backstory fic: this was an attempt to write my shepard's life pre-enlistment, explaining her relationship with the gang and the girl she took under her wing who was eventually killed in a gang war. but trust me that it was really bad and that's why i abandoned it a long time ago! lmfao

the post-sidonis thing: this is a rewrite of the conversation with garrus following the sidonis quest, where garrus is pissed that shepard prevented him from taking the shot. but the reason that’s sat on the backburner is because i eventually realized (as you and i have discussed lol) that i hate garrus’s loyalty quest and i’ve rewritten it in my head, so any attempt to write a post-sidonis fic will have to come after i’ve written my actual sidonis quest rewrite, and i just have too much going on to think about that at the moment lol.

it’s not very long, so here is the entirety of the document, from back when this was just about garrus being angry. be warned this is old and unedited, gdrive tells me that the last time i looked at this was in 2017:

Garrus storms into the battery, jams the lock, and activates the privacy shields. He narrowly avoids driving his fist into the wall, but -- after a split-second of consideration — doesn’t feel assured he wouldn’t break a bone against Cerberus’s bloody top-of-the-line warship. Instead, he slams his hands against the console, ignoring the flashing lights as the screen awakens from sleep, grips the edges, and sighs.

What the hell had she been thinking?

The thing that gets him — the thing that bloody gets him is that it had come down to the line, to the second he’d seen the pinpricks of his dark eyes, a single trigger keeping him from putting the ghosts of his team to rest --

No. Suddenly there was Shepard, too, and she was harder to budge than his own conscience.

Even in his own mind, he struggles to find the line between the commander, the friend he knows her to be, and the help -- the accomplice he nearly made of her. He knows that Shepard has always, always trusted the evidence and her gut in tandem. And the facts are that he asked her to take him at his word, without proof. The detective in him knows it isn’t for lack of trust that drove her to step into his shot, it was out of necessity: to question the suspect personally, to hear it straight from the source without bias or filter. Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

If he asked her why, Shepard would certainly explain. She would spin him some bullshit about taking the high road, or about revenge not being the answer. What he’s worried of, what he’s terrified of, is that she would explain, and he would let her, and that she would convince him it was for the best. He didn’t want to be convinced -- he wanted to be right on his own terms, he wanted her help with this one fucking thing --

A faint beep from the other side of the door snaps him back into the present.

“Override,” comes Shepard’s voice from the other side. A swish of the lock and a rush of air at his back.

Garrus clenches his teeth.

There’s a tense sort of silence for -- he counts -- about a minute and a half. She cracks first.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you,” she says finally.

“Shepard -- ” He pushes off the console and turns around. He vaguely registers that the door is closed again behind her; good. No reason for any of the crew to hear this. “Don’t feed me any crap on revenge getting the better of me. You waited until the moment I had him in my scope to toss it all out the window to satisfy your conscience. I asked you for help. You agreed.”

Even as he says it, he knows it’s not entirely fair. She hadn’t kept her disapproval secret; it had weighed on him through the scuffles in the warehouse, like a weight around his neck, knowing this was his mission and Shepard had disapproved -- and he can’t rightfully claim he had given her room to argue her case.

“I didn’t wake up this morning planning on putting myself in between a sniper and his target,” Shepard snaps back. She scrubs a hand over her face; Garrus has the presence of mind enough to notice she looks exhausted, like she’s been wrestling with the decision herself. “It happened in the moment. I stood there. I listened. I’d heard the story from you, but I needed to hear it from him.”

“And what, exactly, did that piece of filth say to change your mind?” Garrus snarls. He feels full to bursting with some unnamed energy and stalks the length of the corridor in two quick strides.

Shepard is still staring at him, so infuriatingly calm. “You know exactly what he said. If you still think I blocked your shot out of kindness for him, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Right,” he spits, and he needs to nip this pseudo-moral bullshit at the root before the conversation gets sanctimonious again. “It was for my benefit. That explains why I feel so much better, you know, now that he’s still alive.”

“Don’t turn this into a joke. You know why I didn’t move. The galaxy wouldn’t have lost a decent man if you’d pulled the trigger.” She pauses for a moment, assess him, and something goes cold in his chest as he wonders if she finds what she sees lacking. “Then again, maybe it would have.”

He takes a step closer to her. He didn’t intend the move to be intimidating, but he realizes just how much he towers over her in this moment, with his neck bent down. Her eyes close, in a tense sort of irritation. “I’ve killed before, Commander,” he says, not aggressively. “We wiped out a few dozen mercenaries between the two of us just today. And you draw the line at a degenerate bastard that cost my men and half my face?”

“To tell you the truth,” she runs fingers through her hair and laughs in the sort of half-hearted way that says nothing about this is funny at all, “I’m still not entirely sure I do, Garrus.”

“Do not,” he says lowly, “tell me you’re regretting it.”

Shepard drops her hand and stares at him. He’s never seen her attention fixed on him with such hard, determined purpose. It’s the look she normally gives mercenaries they’re shaking for information, criminals they’re convincing. Something about it makes clench his jaw further, a pool of shame and anger mixing equally in his chest.

“Vakarian,” she says his name slowly. “I could stand here and give you a laundry list of reasons why you shouldn’t have committed cold-blooded murder in the middle of a public square.” Shepard stares at him, all five feet of her, and despite himself he feels like a fresh recruit again, fifteen years of age with markings fresh-painted across his face, staring up at a livid drill sergeant. “But you’re not interested in listening and I’m not interested in fighting with a wall. Come talk to me when you know who you’re really angry at.”

She turns and moves to open the door.

“I took him on my team,” Garrus growls. “I put my faith in that asshole. He let me down. He let his team down. It cost their lives.”

“You imagine you’re the only one who’s been betrayed in the galaxy?” Shepard looks at him over her shoulder but doesn’t turn around. “The only one who’s seen their entire team dead on a commanding officer’s mistake?”

Garrus has a flash of remembrance that Shepard has seen two of her crews slaughtered; once at Akuze, and again over the blistering snow and wind of Alchera. He grapples with another sinking feeling at the knowledge that she is heading a team through the Omega-4 relay against odds so impossible that most of the ground team had taken to jokingly calling it a “suicide mission.” Garrus has used the phrase himself more than once in conversation with the crew, in that half-serious tone he seems to have adopted after Omega when joking about the probability of his own demise.

Looking at the mission’s leading officer now, it suddenly doesn’t seem so amusing.

“You know it’s not the same,” he says around a dry mouth.

“No, it’s not,” she sighs and rests her forearm against the door, forehead leaning against her wrist. “…And if my CO on Akuze had survived, I can’t promise I wouldn’t’ve wanted to put a bullet in his head myself.”

“Then why, Shepard?” He’s tired of arguing. The burst of adrenaline from earlier is gone, anger fading into the kind of bone-weary exhaustion that he’s only known to follow a failed mission. He can't help but think that is exactly what this is, the disconcerting feeling that the justice hasn’t been seen to, that the responsible party got away, and it stings something else in him that he’s feeling it with Shepard for the first time.

Some tension in her body seems to evaporate. Shepard slowly looks up at him. “I don’t know, Garrus,” she says calmly. “You tell me.”

And that’s the part he can’t understand, and he hates himself for not understanding.

Shepard had stood aside, in that last second. It hadn’t been an accident. The gap between her skull and Sidonis’s had extended about a meter. Garrus is a good enough sniper that Lantar’s brains would have smeared the floor without Shepard feeling the whistle of the bullet pass by her forehead. She’d said her piece, woven her magic, and then stepped aside, and damn her for making him feel guilty in that moment for wanting what he’d needed. What closure could come from letting him go? What benefit could come from letting a murderer, a betrayer free to roam the galaxy? What good could it do his own conscience?

And yet --

He could’ve pulled the trigger anyway, and he didn’t.

He could’ve moved position. He didn’t.

“Go. Just -- tell him to get the hell out of here.”

Fuck it. Just -- fuck.

#writing notes #perihelions #fic snippets

[anderwhohn]

@smokedanced asked: “Please tell me you didn’t hear that.” / wren for garrus

Mandibles fluttering in indecision, he almost makes a quip in retort, except… there it is again. His mandibles still then, pulling tight into his jaw as he glances at his human commander briefly before trying to find the source of the sound.

"I wish I didn't," he mutters as he scans the darkness ahead of them. "Whatever it is, I doubt it's friendly. Are you sure about going in there, Shepard?"

#smokedanced #smokedanced ( wren shepard ) #dreams of elsewhere ( ic ) #scoped and dropped ( garrus vakarian ) #mainverse || don't know what to do with grey ( garrus ) #wren shepard || smokedanced ( garrus ) #there was a point to this story ( answered ) #dutyworn #wren shepard || dutyworn ( garrus ) #shipverse || wren shepard / dutyworn ( garrus ) #connection / dutyworn ( garrus & wren shepard )

[nobloodneeded]

So in my first playthrough I used a pistol the entire time. This playthrough I decided to use a sniper rifle (and I will never use any other weapon). To be cheeky, I added the visor. I mean, I did it for the added specs, of course. 

That being said, I now have a personal headcanon that during a particular mission when the two are hunkered down avoiding blasts and Lara snipes someone expertly, Garrus fucks with her and points out, “Hm. Notice you started using a sniper rifle. Of course you sacrifice reload speed for precision, but it’s a better choice overall. Wonder what - or maybe who - convinced you to switch? Scoped and dropped!”

Lara would come back between shots with, “Hey, not my fault I had to pick up your slack, Vakarian. What? Jealous I’m a better shot than you with your own weapon of choice?”

“Right, right. And I suppose the new visor is... also unrelated?”

“You always said they improved your sight, and I gotta be honest, I like what I’m seeing.”

“You’re not looking at the enemy right now, Shepard.”

“No I am not.”

#lara shepard #kj plays me #oc headcanon

[spxctrixmru]

Headcanon #001 --- Garrus Vakarian

Lantar Sidonis...EVERYTHING SIDONIS IS IN THIS POST, VERY IMPORTANT H/C

- This gets LONG.

This post goes into full specifics as to the changes to canon for this AU, how it affects Garrus’ Loyalty mission, what happens afterward, etc. I made a small IC post hinting at this Headcanon post becoming a thing, well, here it is.

-

Lantar Sidonis, in lack of a better term, was used as a scapegoat for the Blue Suns, you see--they knew the base location for weeks before they even captured and tortured Sidonis. Tracked purchases, took their suspicions on the same group of people going everywhere together, eventually tracked two drunk squadmates of Garrus speak about their base of operations in the Kima district.

All this time, They KNEW the location of Archangel’s base, which should go as said that it isn’t just Garrus who was Archangel, it was the entire squad. The two squadmates that were eavesdropped on aren’t known to anyone (not even to myself as of right now), But, the Blue Suns eventually came up with a plan to capture one of their squadmates, it didn’t matter who, it was just whoever they suspected first. Sidonis was there at the wrong time and place, but it was either him or any of the other squadmates.

That being said, they tortured him and interrogated him for a location they already knew was their base of operations. Even when they acted like this was their target when Sidonis caved in and told them a false location for their base, and let him go. I just want to tell that Sidonis TOLD Garrus that Blue Suns had tortured him for a location and they gave a false one, and that he wasn’t going to be going to their base for a couple of days to stay low, only getting closer and closer whenever there wasn’t a single Blue Suns merc in sight.

Garrus was out on a solo intel mission that wasn’t actually fake, they did get solid information out, the tricking never happened, Sidonis put Garrus onto an intel mission that did yield important information. Now--here’s where canon and AU diverge greatly. Sidonis finally feels like he’s in the clear but little does he know he’s being stalked by Blue Suns from miles away, there’s a Turian Blue Suns merc with a sniper, scoped in on Sidonis’ head the entire time, and they close in on him once they approach the door to their base, Everyone, being on break, didn’t have any of their armor on, well, except for the Batarian tech expert and their Salarian friend, who I h/c were the only two somewhat alive other than Sidonis when Garrus had returned.

Everyone was dead but the four of them, Sidonis had been knocked out but a Human Blue Suns merc had a gun held up to their head, legitimately holding the other turian hostage. Sidonis wakes up and tells Garrus to shoot Sidonis--that he doesn’t deserve to be alive, that the Blue Suns found out where he was going despite staying low, the Blue Suns don’t reveal that they knew the entire time. Instead--the Batarian shoots the human merc in the head, who drops Sidonis, Garrus doesn’t know what to believe, but as he’s unable to save the final two Squadmates, they stare down in Sidonis in disbelief.

Out of anger, agony of loss and frustration. They walk away from Sidonis, not a single one of them say another word, and Sidonis goes into hiding, trying to disappear as soon as possible--and Garrus is back to being alone, just himself in the battle against the merc groups on Omega.

So what happens in ME2 / ME3 that’s different than canon, how does his loyalty mission go, and what other events happen?

Now I know loyalty missions can be done in really any order, but in this timeline, here’s how the loyalty missions go, in order from earliest to latest: Grunt, Mordin, Jack, Jacob, Zaeed, Miranda, Kasumi, Thane, Samara, Garrus, followed by Tali, then Legion.

By the bold, Miranda’s loyalty mission is ironically where Garrus begins to learn the truth about his squadmates’deaths on Omega and how Sidonis was never truly at fault. While on Miranda’s Loyalty mission, some Blue Suns that were there on Omega had then joined the Eclipse, and Garrus, had well, gone off in a different direction, and had Kasumi lock him into Eclipse comms to help out Miranda, instead of actually finding any helpful information for locating Niket, Garrus listens to ex-Blue Suns talk about how they knew the location of Archangel’s base for weeks before they captured that turian, who is Sidonis, how they used the poor guy as bait and a scapegoat, betrayal, wasn’t truly a betrayal.

Timeskip to Garrus’ Loyalty mission, specifically when Harkin is giving Sidonis a meetup spot, It’s now a completely empty room they they’re going to meet in, completely secluded, Sidonis agrees, and Garrus heads up to a sniper spot, the things those blue sun/eclipse merc weighing down on him, his past laying down on him. Sidonis has hardcore survivor’s guilt, and blames himself the entire time, it’s nearly identical to Garrus sparing Sidonis until Sidonis says that the Mercs knew the base location, that he found out from a dying Blue Suns Merc that had tortured him weeks prior to the killing, “Thanks for being our scapecoat, you’re welcome for ruining your life” plays on the omni tool that Sidonis has, and Garrus drops his gun, and rushes down to Sidonis

Garrus has been utterly selfish, blinded by loss and grieving the teammates who died that day, and hadn’t even thought about the possibilities that Sidonis was INNOCENT. They rush up to Sidonis and.. beg him for forgiveness, blaming himself for doubting Sidonis, blaming himself for almost killing Sidonis under the false narrative that it was all their fault.

So what happens after? Well, here’s a summary of it all... Garrus and Sidonis fully rekindle their friendship, going out and just.. talking everything out with each other after they destroy the collector base. Just another timeline thing, Overload is the one DLC mission pack to take part in Act 1, Lair of the Shadow Broker and Arrivals happen Post-Collector Base Suicide Mission, This rekindling happens during Lair of the Shadow Broker, Garrus and Sidonis talk it out, and become close friends again, they spend the better part of the time Shepard is away with Liara just constantly apologizing to each other.

Garrus Spends his time Pre-Reapers popping up with Sidonis, noting they’re both still not dating or anything, and Garrus is single (even though the two of them were pining each other for several months on Omega before the whole disaster happened) During the Reaper War, Garrus’ family is primary rescued by Sidonis alongside a couple of other turians who are unnamed, they’re all taken to the Citadel until further notice, Garrus is forever grateful that Sidonis was able to safely get their Father and Sister off of Palaven.

From this point on, the pining has returned and they’re still mutually oblivious to it. It isn’t until Post-ME3 that they start to realize it, yeah, in this AU, a Fix-It ship because I’m already doing Kryterius why not grab another somewhat rare pair that’s stunted by canon grounds.

#[An Unjustice Galaxy fit for Archangel: Garrus Vakarian] #Everyone..Lives AU? I mean Homeworlds Garrus' Squad is still dead so #not fully #Out of Rifles: OOC #LONG POST #Lantar Sidonis my beloved this is the potential you desERVE

[razrogue]

Happy Birthday Garrus (FemShep/Garrus Vakarian)

"I'm far too old for this," he scoffed slightly as he glanced down at the festive colored bag she'd sat on the table before him.

Ryal raised her eyebrow at him as she finished off the neon red liquid in her glass. Garrus scurried to recover as she motioned behind him for a refill.

"Uhhh you know what I mean," he reached across the table for her hand, "I don't need a gift because I already have everything I need."

Smirking at him, she watched as he brought her hand up and kissed it.

"A wonderful wife, eight children, and countless grandchildren. Especially if the boys keep growing the clan at the rate they are." They both chuckled as she softened under the gaze of his blue eyes.

"Point is I have everything I could want and need already. Unless you have an Armax X22 mag scope in this bag. Then I'll really have it all."

Ryal laughed and pulled her hand back as the waiter arrived with her drink and their orders. She grabbed the bag, "Well you'll just have to wait until after you eat now to find out what's in the bag."

She took a sip and watched for a few minutes as he dug into his favorite meal at his favorite restaurant. She gazed over old wounds long healed but still present as faint reminders. Recalled that day on Omega and the way her heart dropped as he laid on the floor in a pool of indigo blood. The moment she knew she felt more than she wanted to admit at the time.

Continued on AO3

#Ryal Shepard #Garrus Vakarian #Shakarian #custom Shepard #Mass Effect #Mass Effect Trilogy #razrogue writes

[turixn-renegxde]

INCOMING TRANSMISSION FROM: @aleadamia​

MESSAGE: The tarnished air of Omega, tinged with the unmistakable flavor of violent intemperance, brings with it a haven for any running away from something—even themselves, if need be. Tracking a haphazard trail of rumors, each leading to more questions than answers, Nihlus finally arrives in a seedy back alley (not that any of Omega's sections aren't sordid in some way) and slips inside one of the smaller, nondescript bars strewn around the station.

There, he approaches the corner, one with a vantage point of each of the exits, and sits down. Faceplates relaxing—a subtle, cordial gesture afforded to another Turian—Nihlus folds his arms over the rickety table. "Vakarian. It's been a while, hasn't it?" Seeking out the other wasn't in his list of priorities, not at first; however, rumors, no matter how exaggerated or obscure, have a habit of piquing his curiosity.

"Or should I call you what the locals have titled you?" Lacing his subvocals with obvious humor, Nihlus glances around the bar. All but empty, it would serve its purpose as a point of reunion. "Truth be told, Omega was the last place I expected you to be after... Well, since Shepard's..." The words had begun well enough, driven by a familiarity born from fighting side by side. Yet, it becomes near impossible to acknowledge the death of the Commander, even now. "But, I wager we all have our ways of dealing with it."

     IT was in Garrus’s nature to be suspicious ; so when he had received a message from Nihlus, he was immediately cautious. The only thing that convinced him to set up a meeting was the mention of some of the conversations he and the Spectre had on the Normandy ; he doubted any of the gangs were resourceful enough to get information like that. Still, he picked a location with plenty of escape routes, and scoped out a spot that offered him a view of all the entrances. 

     AND after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Nihlus entered. Garrus immediately released the tension in shoulders, dropping his hand from resting at the pistol on his hip. 

     “ TWO years -- but it feels like a lot more. ” He returned the friendly expression, gesturing for Nihlus to sit. He let out a short laugh as the other jested ; but the joyful expression all but fell at the mention of Shepard’s name. Just thinking about the Commander was ... hard. Hell, he hadn’t even talked about it with anyone. 

     “ ...YEAH, ” he replies simply. Instinctively, he knows Nihlus feels the same way. They had both respected Shepard, and fought alongside him countless times. And then he was just ... gone. And it felt like the rest of the galaxy forgot. The Turian sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

     “ I never thought I’d end up here either. But after Shepard... ”. He’s surprised at how hard it is to say.  “ ... After Shepard died, I realized I wanted to make a difference; a real difference. I wasn’t getting anywhere at C-Sec ... hell, you saw what happened. Everything went back to business as usual -- and I couldn’t deal with it anymore. ” 

     THERE’S noise at the main entrance, and his gaze immediately snaps up. Just some drunks in the alleyway. But even in a secluded bar like this, he can never be too careful. 

     “ BUT here? ” His voice lowers a bit. “ I’ve stopped more crime than I ever did in all my years on the Citadel. I can finally do things my way; no regulations, no red tape. ” He lets out a sigh, leaning back a bit in his seat. 

     “ BUT how have you been? Still doing Spectre work? ” 

#::||:: thank you so much for this! sorry if garrus sounds a bit off I'm still trying to get a handle on his voice ::||:: #MESSAGES ::||:: ask #nihlus tbt #VERSE ::||:: codename: archangel #ON DUTY ::||:: rp #aleadamia