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Archangel

ME2: What it says on the tin.

“CHAKWAS!” Shepard cried out as the airlock opened, her throat and lungs burning with a different name than the one on her lips. Distress had her vision swimming, but she managed to find the doctor’s silver hair in the crowd that greeted them on the other side. “It’s Garrus,” She explained helplessly, indicating the unconscious turian over whom she kneeled. Was he recognizable? Shepard didn’t know. The telltale blue of his tattoos was upstaged by a darker, slicker, more worrying shade seeping from the right side of his face, smeared across Shepard’s hands and falling in heavy droplets through the metal grating on the floor.

Chakwas, with thinned lips and a set jaw, sprung into action, beckoning a few crewman forward with a stretcher. It swayed when one pulled back. Shepard couldn’t recall his name or his face, but his expression was one of disgust and horror.

“Is that-?” he sputtered.

He could have been reacting to the wound; it wasn’t pretty. But running hot in defensive mode, Shepard could only imagine a Cerberus hire would be taken aback by the first non-human aboard. Her lip curled with immediate, raging disgust for the crewman, but words of vitriol died on her tongue with the reassuring pressure of a gloved hand on shoulder. “Focus, Commander,” Chakwas gently instructed. “We need to move him to the stretcher.”

The doctor’s words brought her halfway back. She looked down to the bloody mess of a friend in her hands, over to the grizzled, grim-faced merc standing behind her with arms crossed, and then finally to Jacob who was propped up against the opposite wall, face glistening with beads of sweat. That was something to remember: despite all her reservations toward him, Jacob had shown none of his own when he’d pushed his biotics long and hard to provide support and stability for a fallen soldier he had very little reason to care about.

She was grateful, but not so grateful that she wouldn’t ask again. “Taylor, can you-”

“I’ve got it, Shepard.” Miranda’s voice came from… somewhere. Shepard tried briefly to find her in a world of blurry panic, but gave up when the body beside her began to shimmer an electric blue and rise, slowly but carefully, over to the mobile cot. Gripping on to Chakwas’s sleeve, Shepard pulled herself up to follow. Someone protested, but she didn’t listen. It wasn’t hard; her heartbeat pulsed loudly in her ears and a seething, despairing rage howled in her head. This shouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. Life just couldn’t be that unfair, could it?

---

She hadn’t made it more than ten paces into Omega before she’d decided she hated it. It could have been the stench, or the damp, or dirty red smog coloring everything. More likely, though, it was the ugly sneering mug of the Batarian sent to greet her. To say she had history with the Terminus systems was to put it… diplomatically. As it turned out, she hadn’t missed them or their inhabitants one bit.

Afterlife, the eyesore of a club and apparent throne room of the station, was at least better climate-controlled. Like the rest of Omega, it was also eye-achingly red and hazy, but the these features seemed to be a more sanitary mimicry of its surroundings for the sake of aesthetics. Shepard was reminded of Chora’s Den, taken to it’s obnoxiously dramatic but logical conclusion- right down to the shady businessman running it.

“I heard you’re the person to talk to if I have questions,” Shepard began. She watched the brightly colored lights of the central holographic display dance around Aria T’Loak’s dark, lithe silhouette. “I also heard you wanted to see me. You run this place?”

“I am this place,” the asari corrected her. “Boss, CEO, queen if you’re feeling dramatic. It doesn’t matter. Omega has no titled ruler and only one rule.” She turned, and Shepard could almost make out her sharp markings in the ambient light, distorted by a smirk and a frown. “Don’t fuck with Aria.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Shepard answered earnestly. Plans could change, but for now the plan was get in, get out. She didn’t want to be here any more than it seemed like anyone else wanted her to be.

“Good.” Aria sank down onto her luxurious couch, spreading her arms wide and crossing her legs. She thrust her chin towards an unoccupied spot on the short end, just barely close enough to talk over the loud music. “So. What can I do for you?”

Shepard sat as near to the edge as she could comfortably manage. “I’m looking to recruit a couple of men. I was hoping you could point me in their direction. Mordin Solus, and a guy who calls himself Archangel.”

Aria snorted, her lips curling into the smuggest of smiles. “Isn’t that an interesting pair. I would get rid of whoever put together that list for you; they’re obviously setting you up.” She looked Shepard up and down, somehow both keen and indifferent. “Or maybe you like challenges.”

Weary lines formed in creases across Shepard’s forehead. “Not really, no.”

“Smart. Challenges are for people who are too sloppy to nip problems in the bud. Unfortunately, you’ve already got two big problems on your hands.

“Mordin Solus, the salarian doctor? He’s good. As likely to heal you as he is to shoot you. Used to be part of the Salarian Special Tasks Group. He’s brilliant and dangerous, but don’t get him talking. He never shuts up.” The asari’s smile softened, but only barely. “Last I heard he was trying to help plague victims in the quarantine zone. If you really need him, take a shuttle there. No guarantee they’ll let you in, of course.”

Shepard waited the offer to help--or more likely, to make a deal; if Aria was Omega, she could certainly get them through. The silence that settled between them spoke loud and clear. Shepard moved on. “And Archangel?”

“Archangel,” Aria’s lip curled slightly, her voice carrying a tincture of contempt, “is in a bit of trouble right now. Ally yourself with him, and you’re going to make a lot of enemies.”

“Why? What kind of trouble is he in?” Shepard frowned.

“You’re not the only one looking for him. Half Omega wants him dead. He thinks he’s fighting on the side of good, but there is no good side to Omega. Everything he does pisses someone off. It’s catching up to him.” The balance Aria walked between disinterest and disdain was something to witness. “The local merc groups have joined forces to take him down. They’ve got him cornered, but it sounds like they’re having trouble finishing him off.”

“What about you, are you after him?” Shepard shifted in her seat. “If he’s stirring up so much trouble…”

“If I were after him, he’d be dead already,” Aria answered with a practiced apathy. “If you make your own laws--which everyone here does--he makes life difficult. He’s reckless and idealistic. But he seems to know enough to stay clear of me.

“No, Archangel’s up against the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and the Blood Pack. All of Omega’s major players, working together. They’ve even started hiring anyone with a gun to help them. If you want to find Archangel…” the asari nodded over her left shoulder. “They’re using a private room for recruiting… just over there. I’m sure they’ll sign you up.”

“So we’ve got a way in,” Jacob piped up. “That’s something.”

It was something the way Afterlife’s climate control system was something. Shepard entwined her fingers together and pressed her lips to her thumbs while she thought. The doctor had been Cerberus’s first priority, but if he was any good he could last a little longer in quarantine. Archangel was… a similar sort of something. Obviously brash and pigheaded and sloppy enough to land himself in this mess, but by the sound of it the skills he used to survive it this long were downright impressive. Bad strategy could be solved with good command, and he already seemed a little suicidal, so convincing him to come along would hopefully be relatively easy, and relatively cheap.

“Sounds like we don’t have time to waste,” she conceded.

“You’ve got all the time in the world,” Aria corrected her. “Archangel… not so much.”

“I appreciate your help.” Shepard stood. Aria was much more compliant than Fist had been, though Shepard was sure the information she’d been given had strings she just couldn’t see yet.

“See if you still feel that way when the mercs realize you’re here to help him,” the asari snorted.

“Right.” Wearily, Shepard looked over her team. For all her supposed expertise, Miranda looked woefully unsuited for this job, or any job on the station really. She did look competent, dangerous even, but with such a polished sheen that no one who’d been touched by Omega’s grime--metaphorical or literal--would trust her, let alone mistrust her. Jacob had similar problems, with the added bonus of the stiff Alliance posture anyone in the Systems could pick out from lightyears away.

“One more thing,” she said, turning back to Aria. “We’ve already signed on Zaeed Massani, but he had some business to finish up. Any idea where he’d be collecting his reward?”

---

“You know, Shepard, you’re not nearly as green as you look.” Shepard guessed that was high praise, coming low and gravelly from the mouth of Zaeed Massani.

“This isn’t my first tour in the Terminus Systems, Zaeed,” she grunted, shutting the greasy door on a batarian and a gunship, hoping both had been sufficiently fried.

“Oh I know, but you’ve got eyes on you like a lost kitten. Ever use them?”

“Less often than the toe end of my boot.” Her quick glare was met with an admiring bark of a laugh.

“I like you, Shepard,” the old merc cackled.

Shepard locked the door behind her. “That’s fine, Zaeed.”

They weren’t the perfect team, but they would do: the old merc was exactly that--an old merc, while she and Jacob were convincing enough as military gone private, smart enough for good muscle and naive enough to take the job. It turned out Aria hadn’t been exaggerating; the recruiters would have taken anyone stupid enough to sign their name to the list. Still, even the rag tag mess of unaffiliated mercenaries meandering around them had a certain unifying… something. If the three of them didn’t quite blend in, at least they hadn’t really stood out.

“Seems like you’ve run into a few familiar faces today. Is that going to be a problem?” She asked, glancing over at her newest ally. The idea in bringing Massani along was having someone well acquainted with the mercenary world; she hadn’t anticipated just how well acquainted with the gangs he actually seemed to be. Her idea of a cover story was turning out to be closer to the truth than she was feeling comfortable with.

Zaeed crossed his arms and planted his weight. “Not if we get the job done, it won’t.”

She gave him a scrutinizing squint. He was in it for the money, she knew, and Cerberus would pay a hell of a lot better than the measly sum the Blue Suns recruiter had promised--but who could say if a familiar face had changed things? “Their job, or our job?”

“Our job,” the old merc snarled, his scarred lip turning up. “Never worry about any love lost between me and the Blue Suns, love.”

Shepard shrugged, mentally putting a pin in that hot button for later. “Had to be sure.”

“So, unless Archangel takes us out, getting in looks like it’ll be pretty easy,” Jacob said, dark eyes fixing themselves on two freelancers down the street, huddled behind the their makeshift barricade of tables, benches, and scrap metal. “Getting out though, that’s gonna be interesting.”

The situation, as far as they had gathered, was this: Archangel had been cornered by the gangs in a building at the end of a boulevard for over a day. He’d fortified his position, blocking all entrances except one: the bridge just beyond that barricade. His defense was solid; anyone attempting to cross it was likely to be picked off by a bullet originating from his second-story sniper’s nest. That was where the freelance recruits came in. Shepard, Zaeed, Jacob, and every other idiot with a gun were employed solely as cannon fodder, expendable distractions while the gangs pursued other methods of attack.

Talking and listening to the mercenaries hadn’t yielded much more than that. Shepard still lacked a good read on her intended recruit. On the one hand, he was legendary: he was the ruthless hunter that killed one leader’s brother, the tireless scrapper that nearly took out another boss one-on one, the master tactician that disarmed the third’s favorite gunship with only a few shots. On the other hand, the hopeful subtext of their dismissive grumbling was that despite all of his deeds he was still the idiot vigilante who riled up the biggest gangs in the Systems and let them chase him up into his loft, nowhere to run and time running out. Word was, whoever he was, he’d be dead soon.

“We’ve done what we could. Their mech’s bugged, Cathka’s… indisposed... “ Shepard blew a few strands of hair out of her face. “We’ll just have to anticipate Garm and the Blood Pack from below, and hope the gunship repairs weren’t that far along. If we’re lucky we’ll find an exit before then, but if we don’t, at least we know what’s coming for us.”

She looked over and nodded toward a small band of ragtag freelancers coming up the street toward the barricade. “Time to get going. Use these guys as shields, move fast, aim wide. We do not want to be perceived as a threat. Ready?” she asked, throwing on her helmet.

“Ready,” Jacob answered, following suit. Zaeed grunted and gave a nod. The three drew their weapons and merged into the team passing them. They were greeted with slightly more gratitude than indifference; the larger the group, the more people Archangel had to pick off before getting to you. In their last act as a team, they all helped each other scale the barricade. Once they passed over it was every man for himself.

Shots rang out before Shepard’s feet hit the ground. One man--just a kid, really--fell immediately, crumpling lifelessly onto a growing pile of corpses. She’d barely found her own footing when a glancing shot hard off the side of her helmet. Quickly, she dropped down and moved to cover, noting an odd break in the mysterious sniper’s rhythm.

Reloading? Injured? Dead? Shepard cloaked and peered carefully around the corner at the sniper’s nest. He was still there, gun aimed loosely in her general direction, barrel swaying with uncertainty. The helmet was definitely turian, deep blue with a small dark visor carved out of the face. Shepard smirked as a thought that had been pulsing faintly at the back of her mind since her talk to Aria finally crystallized: whoever this guy was, she should introduce him to Garrus someday. Brash, jaded, but also hopelessly idealistic, and a fan of the color blue: they’d definitely get along.

Her cloak went down and she instinctively shrunk back to cover. Reaching into her armor, she pulled out a small, white piece of cloth and held it up as she peered around the corner once more. The sniper hesitated for another moment, then fired a shot wide before picking off two more mercs. Shepard took that as Archangel accepting her peace offering and started to dash across the bridge, waving on her team to follow.

One or two shots came dangerously close to her feet, another glanced off her arm and she thought for a moment maybe the sniper hadn’t understood after all. But the other mercs fell left and right while she, Jacob and Zaeed remained relatively untouched. Ahead, two freelancers who’d made it into the apartment huddled over a chunk of machinery presumably being rigged to explode. Shepard picked off one, Zaeed the other. Jacob’s biotics took care of one more freelancer on the stairs, and the way to the nest was free.

Shepard slowed her team outside the door. It almost felt too easy. Archangel was incredibly quick to trust for someone who’d been fighting off every sort of infiltration attempt for more than a day straight. She shifted the her grip on her pistol and remembered Aria T’Loak’s smug words. Was someone setting her up? Or did she, in reality, prefer a challenge?

She glanced over at Zaeed, meeting his mismatched eyes and finding her own look of suspicion mirrored. “You think you might be in for another reunion today, Zaeed?”

“Are you kidding?” Zaeed scoffed. “Not unless he’s a goddamn ghost. Anyone I’ve met stupid enough to try something like this is already dead. Half of ‘em I put down myself.”

“Not this one, you won’t. My teaching style is a little different.” Shepard’s brows knit, wrinkling against the padding of her helmet. Next to her, the door lock changed from red to green. She strained to listen, but couldn’t hear anything inside beyond the occasional rifle shot. Reminding herself that this was supposed to be the easy part, Shepard pressed the door control and motioned Zaeed and Jacob wordlessly inside.

No surprises. The loft seemed to be occupied solely by the lone gunman, hunched down atop a sniper nest fortified with a mess of couches, tables, and a large metal panel. There was a room full of bunks to her right that Shepard couldn’t quite give the clear on, but it was looking likely at this point that the lone vigilante really had been on his own.

“Archangel?” Shepard called out warily when the figure failed to stir. His blue helmet cocked slightly toward the sound and he raised one finger in a call for patience. Returning to his scope, he took one last shot before turning to greet his new allies.

Bracing himself on his knee, then his rifle, he rose to his full height and started a stiff amble over to them. His movements were achingly slow and deliberate, almost arthritic. Shepard began to spin identities for him, most of them old and grizzled and all of them proved completely wrong when he pulled off his helmet to reveal a relatively young face with familiar blue tattoos.

“Garrus?” Shepard yelped. She fumbled with the release for her own helmet, yanking it off with one hand. Her face split with a wide, unstoppable grin. “Garrus!”

Garrus set down his helmet and began easing himself onto a nearby table. His armor, heavier than what he used to wear, was filled with nicks and scratches. Smudges of medigel and scraps of material stuffed into holes in his undersuit told stories of close calls and glancing shots. The worst of it, though, was the way he sat, stiff and still, too tired to even lift a finger. A turian’s plated face would never show signs of fatigue like the more malleable human’s, but there were still hints in the heavy, baggy skin around his eyes and the deadened droop of his mandibles. He looked briefly to her companions before returning to her, those blue eyes usually so sharp and focused now bleary and suspicious. “Shepard,” he murmured, not much louder than a whisper. His head pitched forward and for a second Shepard thought she might have to catch him, but he only gave it a slow, disbelieving shake, the rest of his body holding steady.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, words as reverent as a prayer. I was, she didn’t reply. It seemed like asking him to believe that now would’ve been unkind; of the two of them, he looked closer to it. What she’d mistaken for age was a being on the last reserves of his consciousness, worn to the bone in body and spirit.

“I take it this jackass is one of yours, then,” Zaeed interjected with a smug sneer.

“Took down Saren with me,” she replied simply, holstering her gun. “Zaeed, Jacob, this is Garrus Vakarian.”

“In the flesh.” Garrus craned his neck to look out at them from under his browplates. He chuckled. It was a terrible sound, weak and raspy, dancing on the edge of a cough. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

“You look like hell, Vakarian,” Shepard agreed. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh you know, just keeping my skills sharp killing mercs… Target practice.” Garrus shrugged with great effort and little effect. “There’s plenty to go around, if you feel like joining me.”

“How could I refuse,” she smirked. A few steps closed the remaining space he’d left between them, either too weary or wary cross. She sank down into a squat and squeezed his leg gently just above his knee. He stared at it for a moment before looking back to her. “Hey. You okay, big guy?” she asked.

Garrus blinked slowly and tilted one of his mandibles in a weak, lopsided smile. “Been better, but it sure is good to see a friendly face.”

“Sure is.” Shepard returned the smile, beaming and earnest. “Even an ugly mug like yours, Archangel.”

He chuckled again. “That’s just a name the locals gave me. For all my good deeds.” The mirth slipped away from his eyes and he glanced away, embarrassed. “Ahem, I don’t mind it, but please… it’s ah, just ‘Garrus’ to you.”

“Uh-huh,” she grunted skeptically, giving him a good look-over to better assess his injuries. Fatigue still seemed to be the most debilitating of them. “Here’s the situation: we just exterminated their infiltration team, so we should start seeing Eclipse colors crawling over that barricade soon. And we’ll probably want to keep an eye on the basement; Blood Pack’s working their way back through those passageways you collapsed.”

Garrus groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Damn. I knew it wouldn’t hold out forever, but…”

“We can handle it.” Shepard gave him a curt nod of encouragement. “If we see the Blue Suns, that’ll be the last of it.” She paused, looking at him curiously. “Garrus, how DID you manage to piss off every major merc organization in the Terminus Systems?”

His body shook with a rough laugh. He rolled his neck. “It wasn’t easy,” he finally answered in a sing-songy voice. It carried the melody of a man brought close to hysteria by his own bad luck. “I really had to work at it.”

Snorting, she gave his knee a couple of hard pats and stood up. “Well, good job, Vakarian. Don’t do it again.”

“Aye-aye, Commander.” Garrus gave her a weak mock-salute.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Jacob spoke up from the doorway, “But what’s the plan? We can’t just sit here and wait for them to come to us.”

“It’s not all that bad. This place has held them off so far,” Garrus replied defensively, looking towards the window facing the barricade. “That bridge has saved my life… funneling all those witless idiots into scope.”

Zaeed snorted. “And now you’ve got three witless idiots to cover your sorry ass.”

“Indeed,” Garrus shot back dryly, giving the old merc a watered-down glare. “I’ll stay up here. I can do a lot of damage from this vantage point.”

“Good idea,” Shepard agreed. “I’ll stay with you. Jacob, Zaeed, you take the interior and watch for Blood Pack. Let us know if you get bored, and we’ll let a few Eclipse slip through.”

Jacob saluted while Zaeed made a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff and lumbered back out the door. Shepard turned back to Garrus and extended her hand. “Whad’ya say, Vakarian? Time to spill a little merc blood?”

Garrus, with more pride than energy, rose slowly and carefully before taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze. He looked into her eyes, chasing away the bleariness with a few hard blinks, and twisted his left mandible outward in a turian smirk. “Just like old times, Shepard.”

Her heart swelled with the same feeling of hope and comfort she’d felt reuniting with Joker and Chakwas. They were too young to have old times, but the idea behind his words- that she might yet regain the life she lost- thrilled her. It was good to have him back.

--

They were going to lose him. Shepard couldn’t keep that thought at bay, not with all the blood and the thick, wet sound of his struggling breaths.

“What can I do?” she asked, running a shaking hand through the limp, sweaty locks of hair that had fallen into her field of vision. She was vaguely aware of the smeared sticky blue left in its wake, plastering her hair back into place . “Doctor,” she snapped, restless for a response. “Tell me what I can do.”

Chakwas didn’t even look up from her patient. The doctor had gone quickly to work stripping the armor from Garrus’s hand and forearm, then cutting away the undersuit. Now, much to Shepard’s muted amazement, she’d inserted an IV into the crook of his elbow, somehow finding a vein under the thick skin and freckled plating. “You can take a step back, Commander, and let me do my job.”

Shepard quickly swallowed a reactive burst of indignant anger and dutifully stepped backward-- right into the next cot. She winced and steadied herself, the rattling sound of jostled equipment coming from her flank. Chakwas had also heard the commotion and slowed, now watching the Commander with a curious, pitying eye.

The doctor sighed. “Come over here and help me remove his chestpiece. Carefully,” she ordered sternly, picking up a scalpel. “I’m hoping all those plates of his came in handy, but heat like that is bound to fuse things together.”

It had. The armor itself came away with as much ease as carefully maneuvering the dead weight of an unconscious turian would allow. His undersuit, however, had melted in several places that had to be cut around. Chakwas worked quickly and diligently while Shepard’s useless hands fell to the relatively undamaged side of the turian’s chest. With mindless curiosity, she traced over the muted contours of his alien plating. He was lean under all that gear, even leaner than she remembered. Then again, she didn’t think she’d seen him before without some sort of armor on.

“Thank you, Commander,” Doctor Chakwas said, stepping back to dab at her own forehead with a towel. “I’ll take it from here. You should go wash off.”

Shepard nodded, numb and solemn. Her eyes wandered the unmarred side of her friend’s face, noting with amusement and frustration that he was still wearing his visor. Should they remove it?

“Commander,” the doctor spoke again, more forceful but not unkind. “Please. It’s not going to get any prettier.”

With another wordless nod, Shepard forced herself away from the table and sidled toward the door, sparing a few glances back at the two-toed feet splayed lifelessly on the table in bulky armored boots. She stepped back into the open area of the crew deck and braced herself against the outer wall, taking a few deep breaths and waiting for her mind to come back to her.

Kelly Chambers found her first. Shepard saw her come around the corner from the elevator, slow for a few hesitant steps, then continue her approach with a cautious determination. “No,” Shepard barked, pushing herself off the wall. “I know why you’re here, and I am not in the mood for any shrink shit.”

She stalked up to the redheaded yeoman with a growing, refreshing fury in her veins. Anger was good. Anger was familiar. Anger was her sword and her shield, wielded expertly even when the rest of her was whittled to the bone. She could direct it and misdirect it, use it to cut and jab and burn. Anger was the weapon no one could take away from her, and she would not let Chambers take it apart to examine all the pieces. Who has goddamn kitten eyes now, she thought, glaring at Kelly with the full force of her ire. “Get a link up to your boss. He and I need to talk.”

Chambers, to her credit, was unflinching. Her eyes traced the mess of drying blood smeared across Shepard’s face and her lips pursed momentarily. “Are you sure you don’t want to clean up first?”

“Cerberus never worries about getting dirty; don’t tell me the Illusive Man can’t stand the sight of a little blood.” she shot back coldly. “Get a link up. Now.”

---

“Here we go,” Garrus muttered from his makeshift nest. “Looks like Eclipse scouts.”

At the other side of the window, Shepard brought her rifle up and peered through the scope to see a growing number of Eclipse-branded LOKI mechs making their way down the bridge while lower-level mercs scaled the barricade behind them. “That looks like a lot more than scouts…” She caught the head of one mech in her crosshairs and fired. “But one less now.”

“Nice shot,” her turian friend conceded with an appreciative chuckle. Shepard dropped into cover to reload and watched him take aim. She noted, with some concern, how he blinked hard several times through the scope, how he adjusted his rifle to find a more comfortable position where the subtle tremble of his hands had less impact.

“Want to make a contest out of it?” she asked. “Keep a tally? I know you’ve been up here a while, we can give you a handicap to keep things fair.”

He took his shot, and by the sound of it hit a mech square in its facial display. “Hah!” he scoffed. “No offense, Shepard, but you could take down every one of these mercs and you wouldn’t even be close to catching up with me, if we’re keeping things ‘fair.’”

“Uh-huh. Got any way to verify that, Vakarian?” Shepard hit another mech, then quickly reloaded to take down an approaching salarian. “That’s three.”

“Hm.” Garrus squinted down his scope, mandibles moving tensely against his face. “Take whatever estimate Tarak gives you, think about how embarrassing this is for him, and double it.”

Shepard watched an asari walk into her sightline, only to be taken down from a different trajectory. She grinned and repositioned her rifle to scope out a new target. “I don’t know about you, but I see Tarak and he’s not going to have time to give me a-” another shot rang out from the sniper’s nest. “-number.”

Garrus reloaded with succinct, efficient grace, despite his shaking hands. “I don’t need a number. I see Tarak and the length of his life depends on how long it takes him to learn eleven names.” The sound of his rifle echoed as another bullet found its mark.

She hesitated, granting some lucky merc another minute or so of life when she abandoned her scope to glance over at her friend. He remained pointedly focused on the bridge. Shepard had a distinct feeling there was some part of the equation she was missing. The batarian recruiter had mentioned something about a team. Now he’s just one guy, he’d said. “...How’d this happen, Garrus? How’d you let yourself get into this position?”

He fired again. The plates across his nose flexed. “It’s a long story, Commander. I’ll make you a deal: you get me out of here alive, and I’ll tell you the whole damn thing.” Garrus dropped into cover to pick up more heat sinks, using the opportunity to lock eyes with Shepard. “You’d better get to work. That was five.”

--

“Twenty-four,” Shepard announced, one endless wave of mercs later. She slid back down below the window and rested her head against the sill, relishing a moment of peace. The last straggler of the Eclipse had finally been gunned down and there were no signs of Blood Pack--yet. “I think that makes me the winner.”

“You’re kicking ass, Shepard,” Garrus admitted, leaning into the metal panel he used for cover. “They barely touched me. Just like you barely touched my real count.”

She laughed and looked over at Garrus, slouched and clinging to his rifle. The energy he’d recouped from their friendly competition appeared to be ebbing, not that Shepard could blame him. Holding three gangs off on his own for more than a day straight was amazing; that he was still on his feet at all was astounding. As much as he deserved every ounce of admiration anyone could give him, it wasn’t the time or place. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, and Shepard was determined he get there first.

“Keep talking, Vakarian. You still haven’t given me the number to beat,” she retorted, wearing a wry smirk.

“I’ll tell you when you get there,” he assured her. Closing his eyes, he sunk the rest of the way to the ground, punctuating his descent with a sigh. “I can’t believe we got Jaroth. I’ve been hunting that little bastard for months.”

“You know what they say, catch more flies when you’re bleeding out,” Shepard joked.

Garrus snorted, his eyes still shut. “Do they?”

“Oh-- no. It’s catch more flies with honey. It’s about how being nice gets you further than being mean,” she explained, scratching the itch of embarrassment running along her jawline.

“Hm. I like your version better.”

“You would.”

“Having a nice chit-chat up here?” Zaeed’s gruff voice came from the doorway. Shepard looked up while Garrus merely acknowledge him by opening one eye. The old merc folded his arms across his chest and looked down at them sourly. “Didn’t forget we’re trying to get the hell out of Dodge, did we?”

“It’s pretty quiet,” Jacob added, coming up behind Zaeed. “This might be our chance, Shepard.”

Shepard looked over to Garrus, ducking his efforts to meet her gaze, then back to her team. She felt the turian’s single open eye bore into her, daring her to pity him, to tell him he couldn’t. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said. “The Blood Pack might be occupied, but we take off down that boulevard and we’re going to run into the full force of the Blue Suns. I don’t like our chances. Not yet.”

“Besides,” she continued, glancing back at Garrus and daring to face his stare, “I’ve got someone’s secret body count to beat.”

“You’re the boss,” grumbled Zaeed. “But just remember the two of you are still small fish. My last gun, Jessie, she killed more men alone than died in the Skyllian Blitz.”

“Yeah, but who was using her, old man?” Jacob crossed his arms, snickering.

“Ha-” Zaeed’s sarcastic laugh was cut off by a cracking rumble that shook the whole building. It faded seamlessly into the pulsing bleat of an alarm. The two men standing steadied themselves against the nearest structure they could find while Shepard and Garrus sprung up from the floor.

“Damnit!” Garrus snarled, trying to keep himself upright after overcompensating against the weight fatigue had added to his bones.

“What the hell was that?!” Jacob asked, still braced against the back of a couch.

Zaeed pushed off a nearby pillar and put forth an educated guess. “Sounds like Blood Pack burrowed through your little cave-in.”

“Well, they had to use their brains eventually,” the turian huffed dryly. After a hesitant shift of his weight, he leaned back against the cover of his nest. “You better get down there Shepard. I’ll… keep the bridge clear.”

Shepard holstered her rifle on her back and drew the pistol from her hip. “You think I’m going to leave you on your own up here again?” --to die? The words never passed her lips, but her meaning was clear enough in the look they exchanged. She shook her head. “I didn’t come all this way to do that. We’ll split up two and two -- keep one of my team here.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Who knows what you’ll find down there.”

“I have an idea,” she said blithely. “And I can handle it. Zaeed, stay with Garrus. And keep him alive, whatever that costs.”

The old merc frowned, a growl of frustration escaping his lips. Shepard wasn’t sure if the problem was taking orders, missing out on the action, or being relegated to bodyguard- but she didn’t particularly care. “You know your bill will be paid. Just add this to the tab.”

“...Roger that,” Zaeed grunted.

“Thanks Shepard,” Garrus said, lowering himself slowly back into a crouch. “You’d better get down there quick.”

Shepard gave him a parting nod. “On it. Keep your ass in cover.” She started for the stairs, motioning Jacob to follow. “Come on, Taylor.”

---

Shepard paced back and forth in the communications room, holding on to her anger as best she could. She wouldn’t let a stalling tactic lull her into submission. There were questions she wanted answers to. Words she wanted off her chest. He was slimy, but he would not slip out of this. He would not-

She stopped and turned, looking into a holographic projection of a dying star, then down at the shadowy figure sitting in front of it. “Shepard,” it greeted her calmly. “What’s the matter?”

“Garrus Vakarian,” she snarled, taking a lunging step toward to point an accusatory finger at the man who wasn’t actually there. “What did you tell me when I asked you about Garrus Vakarian.”

The Illusive Man took an excruciatingly long drag on his cigarette. letting it out in a slow, easy exhale. “I believe I told you he’d disappeared.”

“You told me you hadn’t been able to locate him. You said that even you couldn’t find him. Then you handed me the dossier for someone who by all accounts existed for less than a year, and it just so happens they’re one and the same?” Shepard shook her head. “What was this, another ‘unexpected’ run-in? I don’t buy it. Either your damn cells are so isolated and incompetent they can’t put two and two together, or you’re yanking the chain everyone keeps insisting I don’t have. Neither of those options gives me much confidence.”

“I fail to see the problem,” her benefactor replied, remaining cool as ice in the face of her hot-headedness. He tapped his cigarette over the ashtray on the arm of his chair. “You wanted your old team back, and here you are. One of your own. You should be happy.”

“‘One of my own’ is on a table fighting for his life. I’m ecstatic,” she snapped. “I want answers.”

“Nothing in Vakarian’s records indicated he had the level of tactical skill displayed by Archangel on Omega.” Still calm, the Illusive man brought the cigarette back to his lips, strange blue eyes fixed on Shepard.

“You’re saying you didn’t know,” Shepard said flatly, balling her hands into fists. He was too slick. Even through the holographic interface, she felt an oily film building on her skin from simply talking to him.

“I’m saying it wasn’t intel we were able to confirm,” he corrected her. “As angry as you might be now, think of how you’d have felt if we told you it was him, and we were wrong? Better a happy surprise than a bitter disappointment.”

“I’m a big girl,” she sneered. He made sense on the surface, but beneath the calm waters of his words was a dark depth Shepard couldn’t bring herself to trust. “Next time, spare me sparing my feelings and tell me what you know. Are there any other ‘happy surprises’ waiting for me out there?”

The lights of his eyes dimmed, halved by heavy lids. “Not that we know of. What’s your status on recruiting Mordin Solus?”

Shepard chewed her lip, biting back a few expletives. “I assessed the situation. ‘Archangel’ had a smaller window for recruitment.”

“Go find the Good Doctor, Shepard.” The Illusive man took a finishing drag on his cigarette before extinguishing it. “We’ll need him.”

The line cut out and Shepard was once again surrounded by the cold, bare com room. She closed her eyes sank back against the conference table, bracing against a dizziness that grew as her anger faded. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to root herself in the present and forget the creeping feeling that nothing since waking up had actually happened, that she was still careening through space, running out of air.

---

“Fuck,” Shepard gasped, letting herself fall back against the garage wall for support. Two back doors closed, one to go. The lengths Garrus had gone through to fortify his base were more than a little impressive, even as they failed. Had his skills developed this much in two years, or had she let the extent of his talents fly completely under her radar?

“They sure are tough bastards,” Jacob agreed, steadying himself on a crate. He nodded at her. “You alright there, Commander?”

“Huh?” She followed his eyes to her side and found a bloody tear in her undersuit. “Damnit. It’s fine.” That glancing shot a Krogan took at her must’ve been less glancing than she’d realized. Taking out a packet of medigel, she tore it open with her teeth and slapped the jellied bandage over her wound.

Grimacing, she pushed off the wall and forced herself forward and began moving back to the main area of the basement. Jacob fell in step behind her. “Alright, should just be the one last shutter. How are we doing up there, Garrus?” She called into her com.

“Not too many… yet. But they’re coming.” The crackle on the line was not quite enough to disguise the rough, breathy fatigue in his voice.“I don’t want to rush you, Shepard, but if you can… Hurry.”

“Hold on, Vakarian. I’ll be there before you know it,” she promised through gritted teeth, quickening her approach to the last, far door. She darted to the side of it for cover and waited for Jacob to do the same.

“You do this much for all your friends, Shepard?” Jacob asked, pressing his back to the wall.

“I’d do this much for any and all of my men,” she corrected him. Shepard strained to get an aural read on what lay ahead of them, but the doors were thick. “What happens in the field is a matter of responsibility. Garrus is a good friend, but that relationship exists entirely outside of what we’re doing here.” Not too long ago those words would have been a steaming pile of bullshit, but as soon as she said it she knew it was true. There would never be another Torfan; she placed too much value in life and loyalty now to repeat her actions there.

Jacob chuckled, shaking his head.“It’s an honor to be one of your men, then.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” She glanced down at the yellow Cerberus logo painted on his armor. “You ready?”

He sobered, irritation passing through his features before they settled into something neutral and determined. “Ready,” he replied with a nod.

Shepard hit the door control and peered into a long hallway crowded with waist-high barricades, utility piping, and vorcha. Her frustration hijacked the groan in her throat and crumpled it into a growl. They didn’t have time for this.

“You die!” One vorcha cried before promptly following its own recommendation. Shepard barreled down the passage, shooting three more as she went. From behind her, Jacob pushed mass effect fields forward, throwing the vorcha into pipes and out of their way. She’d barely realized she’d come to a corner when the appearance bright hot light and hissing roar at her right sent her dropping to the floor.

She rolled behind away from the intense heat. “Damnit! You okay, Jacob?”

“Fine,” he shouted from a yard or two back. “Bastard’s got a flamethrower!”

“No shit!” Shepard snarled, squinting up at the horizontal pillar of fire where her head should have been. The heat was quickly conjuring beads of sweat on her upper lip and across her brow, matting her dark hair to her skin. Staying in cover, she scooted to the side and brought up her omni-tool. “Get down!” she called to Jacob as she cued up a plasma shot.

The ensuing explosion billowed up in a fiery flash, burning her cheeks but warming her heart. She’d never noticed how much burnt vorcha smelled like satisfaction. “Still with me, Jacob?” she asked.

“Still with you, Shepard. Nice one,” Jacob called back, crawling out from behind a storage cabinet. A quick dash delivered him safely through open space to join her in cover. He offered his hand and she took it, using him to pull herself up off her back.

“Is everything okay down there?” Garrus’s voice crackled through their coms, quick and clipped.

“We’re fine,” Shepard responded, sitting with her back to the crate. “How’s the situation upstairs?”

“Tough but-” Garrus paused, interrupted by a strange noise that was too coated in static to identify. “Damn! Get back here, Shepard. They’re coming through the doors.”

“Shit. We’ve still got the third shutter,” she breathed, wiping the sweat from her brow. She looked to Jacob, stone faced and waiting for her order.

“Shepard-” his voice came again, tinny and panicked.

“I read you,” she hissed into the com. “Hang in there. We’ll be right up.” Shepard took a slow breath, then leaned carefully around the crate to assess their situation. There seemed to be mercifully few Blood Pack footmen between her and the shutter, but more coming from beyond. She looked back to Jacob, and pressed her mouth towards the com mic again. “Garrus, I’m sending Jacob up. I’ll take care of this last shutter and join you soon.”

“Alright,” Garrus huffed after a pause.

“You sure about this, Shepard?” Jacob asked.

Shepard’s jaw set, the muscles in her cheeks flexing under her skin. She nodded. “Get going, Taylor.”

“Commander.” Jacob saluted her. They rose in tandem; Shepard opened fire on the remaining vorcha, covering Jacob as he sprinted back to the door.

Without him, the Blood Pack was a little harder to manage. She darted between cover, eliminating the easier targets before facing down enemies with shields. Vorcha were frustratingly hardy, worse than Krogan when it came to pushing through injuries-- though a lot less intimidating when they rushed you. By the time she reached the shutter, she’d worked up a sweat that surpassed the sheen conjured by the flamethrower.

She hit the control and hugged the wall, taking heavy breaths as she waited for the shutter to come down. It was slow, just as the others had been, but with the new urgency of Shepard’s situation it seemed like it was moving at a snail’s pace. Blind, haphazard shots around the corner were just about the best Shepard could do to keep the Pack at bay while the shutter continued its leisurely descent.

The sound of metal on metal as it finally hit the floor was euphoric. Shepard took off immediately, sprinting down the hall and vaulting over the clutter she’d used for shelter. “I’m on my way up,” she shouted into her com. “What’s the status?”

Jacob, not Garrus, was the one to come through with a reply. “Better get here quick, Shepard. Garm just showed up.”

Shepard’s mind was nothing but a string of curses and the instinctual process of putting one foot in front of the other as she made a mad dash through the basement. She cued up her omnitool on her approach to the door, opening it from afar for a seamless transition into the cacophony of battle. It was chaos; the sound of guns firing was most prevalent, an almost continuous staccato that all but drowned out the screams of vorcha and snarling of varren beneath it.

The first vorcha to greet her at the doorway was put down with a few shots. She spun around to aim her pistol at a varren charging at her from her left, but halfway to her it began to shimmer blue and rose weightlessly into the air. “Jacob?” she called out, slinking up to a bookshelf at the back of the stairs for cover .

“Over here,” he answered, crouching behind some oversized planters across the way. “I’ll cover you, but you should get upstairs. The Krogans-”

Garrus’s voice cut in on the com. “Garm’s up here,” he hissed, his voice squeezed thin by heavy breaths. “He’s got me pinned down. If you don’t mind, Shepard, I could use a little help.”

Shepard nodded to Jacob and peered around the stairs to get a count of their enemies. “What’s Zaeed doing?” She asked.

A concussive shot from the top floor hit a vorcha square in the chest, bringing their number down by one. “The best he fucking can with two goddamn Krogan on his back and all of you yammering in his fucking ear.” No distortion on the line could’ve obscured the snarl in Zaeed’s voice. “You’re fucking welcome.”

“Not going to thank you for doing your job,” Shepard grunted. “Hold on you two, I’m coming up.”

“Just give me the word, Commander.” Jacob had risen, ready to jump into action with both hands on his pistol and mass effect fields coming to life around him in wisps of blue.

Shepard nodded at him solemnly. She would admit, he was a good soldier and they were working well together. Too bad he was Cerberus.

When Shepard gave the order, Jacob dove into action. Between their pistols and his biotics, they carved out a clear path to the stairs that Shepard made no hesitation in taking. She launched herself up the steps and down the open-faced hallway. Sneaking up on Krogans was generally a fruitless endeavor; your first hit rarely packed enough punch to make it worth the effort, and she was pressed for time. She flipped on the electric charge on her pistol and slid into the room, firing at the first hulking red armor shell she saw.

It wasn’t Garm. He was further into the room, nearly on top of Garrus who was scrambling to keep away. The lackey she hit had been engaged with Zaeed, but his attention quickly turned to Shepard--as did all 300-plus pounds of his body.

“Get Garm!” She shouted urgently to Massani as she continued to shoot at the now charging krogan merc. Shepard backed up to the doorway and ducked behind it, quickly loading up another explosive plasma round on her omni-tool. At the first sign of red she fired, hitting the krogan directly in the side. Lit up with flames, he stumbled blindly away into the half-wall and tipped over it, plummeting down to the main floor. Shepard approached the balcony as fast as the cooling heat would allow and fired a round of shots to make sure he wouldn’t get up to cause Jacob any unnecessary trouble.

Wasting no time, she darted back into the room. She had no idea how she’d failed to hit Garm the first time; he was massive. He had an easy 150 pounds on his lackey, more if the extra girth was all muscle. With one meaty hand he maintained a vice grip on the front of Garrus’s cowled chestpiece while the turian struggled wildly to get away. His other hand barely bucked under the kickback from using his shotgun to keep Zaeed trapped in cover. It was no wonder he had a reputation for being a tough son of a bitch--two on one, and he still had the upper hand.

“Hey Garm!” Shepard shouted, ejecting a heat sink from her pistol. Garm turned with a growl, putting Shepard in the line of fire. Zaeed took advantage of her distraction and fired a high-powered round that struck the krogan squarely in the shoulder, sending waves of blue-tinted distortion rippling over him as his barrier strained under the impact. With a pained shout, he dropped Garrus and charged Zaeed, who remained much calmer than any sane man in his situation should. The old merc wedged the butt of his rifle between his shoulder and chin, continuing to fire on the fast-advancing battlemaster while using the hand he’d freed to conjure a knife from somewhere on his person.

Shepard took up the assault from behind, firing continuous rounds into Garm’s back as she crossed the room to Garrus. The effect seemed minimal, but by the time Garm had reached Zaeed their collective offensive had all but shredded his biotic barrier. Zaeed ducked with the speed of a man half his age, sinking the knife expertly between pieces of armor and into the krogan’s leg. Garm stumbled, allowing Zaeed enough time to put some good distance between them.

“You okay there, Vakarian?” Shepard called down to the turian taking cover behind the couch she sidled up next to, unwilling to take her eyes off Garm.

Garrus groaned, sounding tired, in pain, and out of breath. “...Yeah.”

She didn’t believe it--not that she was supposed to--but it allowed her to keep focusing on the fight for a while longer. When Garm regained some semblance of balance and came stumbling toward Zaeed, Shepard lit him up with another explosive plasma fired from her omni-tool.

“Rah! I’ll rip you all to shreds!” Garm roared, fighting through the flames licking at his armor.

“Sit down!” Zaeed snarled, compounding the damage with another high-powered blast from his rifle. It sent Garm reeling back onto his bad leg which promptly crumbled beneath him. A quarter-ton of krogan bit the dust, his impact sending a small quake through the upper floor. Jacob came running in through the door with his pistol ready, slowing to a halt when he saw the massive battlemaster struggling to rise.

“Damn,” he said, not bothering to hide his awe. “I guess you guys got this?”

“He’s not so tough,” Zaeed bragged, taking out another knife and sauntering up to Garm like it he was a beached fish. Garm raised his shotgun to Zaeed with a trembling arm, but a few successive shots from Shepard was enough to wrench it out of his grasp.

“Look at you. Pathetic,” the old merc taunted him. Zaeed shifted his grip on the knife, fixing his mismatched eyes on Garm’s headplate. “You’re a shadow of Gesark, and he wasn’t that hard to kill either.”

The krogan battlemaster actually trembled, fear sucking the menace from his growl. “Damn you,” he swore at Zaeed. “I’ll see you in the Void.”

“Zaeed,” Shepard warned, her tone stern and commanding. The merc seemed to be confident enough in what he was doing, but Shepard was more inclined to treat the krogan like a wounded dog playing possum, and kept her pistol steadily on him. “We don’t have time for this. Finish the job.”

“Fine,” Zaeed sneered and sheathed his knife, raising his assault rifle instead. “Not even worth a goddamn trophy anyway.” He put a round of slugs at close range into the krogan’s head until Garm’s massive form slumped against the floor, then fired a few more for good measure. Shepard holstered her pistol with a sigh of relief and tucked back her sweat-dampened hair.

“Who’s Gesark?” Jacob asked, nudging the krogan corpse with his toe.

“Leader of the Blood Pack here about 20 years back.” Zaeed bent down to retrieve his first knife from Garm’s leg. “Still got his helmet. Come take a look at it sometime and I’ll tell you the story.”

Shepard snorted and left her teammates to join Garrus. She found him sitting up against the couch where he’d taken cover with his rifle at his feet, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in deep but relaxed breaths. On her approach, he opened his eyes and looked up at her, his mandibles flaring in a wincing smile.

“First Jarrod, now Garm? This day just gets better and better,” Garrus chuckled, letting his head fall back to rest against the square patches of black leather. “Where’d you find these guys, Shepard?”

“You get what you pay for,” she shrugged. It wasn’t entirely a lie. It wasn’t entirely true either, but the whole truth needed more time than she was currently willing to risk. “Jacob’s ex-Alliance. Zaeed’s an old merc.”

“Hm.” Garrus tried to glance back towards the team, but the couch was in his way. “Rounding up another ragtag crew?” he chuckled weakly. “What sort of crazy high stakes mission are you pulling us into this time?”

“I’ll make you a deal, Garrus,” she said as she squatted down beside him. “Get out of here alive, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He accepted with a small, sharp nod. At a closer look, Garrus appeared to be in fairly good shape, considering the time he’d spent in arms-length of Garm. One of his eyes looked a little puffy--Shepard wasn’t sure turians could get black eyes, but she supposed there wasn’t really any other place on their heavily plated faces for swelling to go. There was some chipping on his right cheek that was most noticeable where it scuffed his colony tattoo. But the worst and most worrying injury was the extra bend in his mandible below it, bisected by a fissure in the plating. Sucking in air through her teeth, Shepard put on a sympathetic grimace.

“It’s not so bad,” Garrus assured her quietly, drawing the broken mandible slowly in toward his cheek. His efforts had him wincing. “Hurts like hell,” he admitted with a bitter half-chuckle half-cough, “But there are worse bones to be break.”

“Good to hear. Do you think you’re up for an escape?” she asked. Worry drew lines across her forehead. The Blue Suns’ attack was imminent. They’d held off everything to this point, but they were worn down and the Suns would be comparatively refreshed. From where she stood, those odds didn’t look good. “If we go back down through the basement, I’m thinking we’ll only have some Blood Pack stragglers to deal with, hopefully avoiding the Blue Suns all together. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Hm.” Garrus dropped his head and looked thoughtfully down at his rifle. “So close… As good as it would be to take out Tarak… I shouldn’t get greedy.” He picked up the gun, pulling it in towards his body possessively, and raised his gaze to Shepard once more. “I can do it.”

“You sure?” She asked, trying to keep her concern from sounding patronizing.

Garrus nodded. “With you here, I can-” The rest of his words were drowned out by a swell of noise from outside, culminating in the ringing clatter of broken glass.

“Shit!” Jacob swore over the commotion. “Here come the Blue Suns!” Shepard’s heart sank as she rose and saw Tarak’s gunship hovering outside the shattered east window. Fear beat against her chest, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She reached down to grab Garrus’s cowl and help pull him around the couch and into cover again.

“Damn it! I thought I took that thing out already!” Garrus shouted as they scrambled around the corner. A spray of slugs from the ship’ machine guns flew over their heads, leaving a path of bullet holes scattered across the west wall.

“They must’ve fixed it,” Shepard grunted, her thoughts a stream of curses that never reached her lips. She should’ve taken the time to make sure it was out of commission, sabotage Cathka’s repairs. “How many do I get for taking it down?”

The shock in Garrus’s eyes diminished for a moment as he gave her an admonishing squint. “One.”

“Only one?” Shepard raised her eyebrows at him. “Come on, Vakarian. Give me something to get out of bed for.”

His squint turned into a good-natured glare. “If that huge mech I took down was only one, so’s the gunship.”

“Hate to interrupt your cutesy little pissing match,” Zaeed growled, crouched between a planter and the interior window, “but they’re offloading the goddamn clown car! Watch your backs!”

Shepard’s hand stopped halfway to the grenade launcher at her back and dropped down to retrieve her pistol. When she peered out from cover, she saw five mercs positioning themselves by the east window, including Tarak’s commander Jentha. She’d caught sight of Zaeed and was giving him an ugly scowl, almost as if she was taking their betrayal personally. It couldn’t have been much of a surprise--any alliance between mercs was uneasy at best, and taking unknown guns into your rank was always a risk.

After the frustratingly resilient Blood Pack, taking on the Blue Sun troops almost seemed easy. Jentha was the worst of them, but even her shields went down eventually and she fell like the rest. The biggest threat to Shepard’s team was that gunship lurking outside, making intermittent bullet-peppered sweeps across the windows.

They had nearly finished off the second wave of Suns upstairs when a crash sounded below. “They’re rappelling down the east wall!” Jacob shouted, dashing out into the hall to defend their position. “Ground floor!”

“Zaeed! Go hold the stairs!” Shepard commanded, reloading her pistol.

“Roger!” Zaeed growled, firing one last shot at the remaining merc before turning to go.

Beside her, Garrus huffed, following the last merc with the end of his rifle. “Look Shepard, I can handle this. Go with your team and secure the first floor.”

“Oh, yeah, you think I’m going to leave you up here alone now that there’s a gunship hunting you?” Shepard snorted. “The mercs were right. You are crazy.”

“I took it down before,” Garrus argued. He put a bullet between the last footsoldier’s eyes and dropped back into cover to reload. “I know where it’s weak, I can do it again.”

“Weren’t you just saying something about not getting greedy?” She furrowed her brow at him. Was it pride? Obligation? Was he being noble or suicidal?

Garrus was spared his response by a change in the sound of the ambient gunfire. It grew louder, bouncing down the hallway, trailed by a gruff yelp. “Shepard! One coming at you!” Zaeed shouted from the stairs.

Shepard growled and pushed herself up on to her feet. “Stay in cover, Vakarian,” she snapped forcefully before moving to the door. She was barely two feet out, merc in her sight, when the rapid-fire staccato of the ship’s machine guns blared from the room behind her.

“Archangel!” Tarak’s jowly voice crackled from the ship’s speakers, barely audible over all the gunfire. “You think you can screw with the Blue Suns?”

“Goddamnit,” Shepard swore under her breath, unloading into the charging merc as she stepped back toward the doorway. “Stay in cover, Garrus. Stay in-”

She didn’t even know what the sound was at first, but it was deafening. It hit her hot and hard, a prickling rash flushing across her neck. Her face caught the back half of the heatwave when she turned, and she had to blink clear her watering eyes before she could make out the scene before her.

Her gaze traced a path of bullet holes across the floor to where they mingled with scorch marks. At the end, Garrus lay face down, actual smoke rising up from his torso. “Garrus!” she yelled and moved instinctively toward him, but another round of fire from the ship’s machine guns cut off her path. She dropped into the nearest cover and took out her grenade launcher, bracing it against her heaving chest.

He was probably fine. She didn’t have that good a look. He was probably playing dead-- but that would be stupid; if she hadn’t come bounding in Tarak would have blown him to smithereens with no hesitation. Fuck, her mind screamed. Shit. He’d had eleven names. Shepard didn’t know them, and she wouldn’t have the time. Tarak wouldn’t have the time.

Shepard gritted her teeth and jumped up, taking a blind shot. Luckily, Tarak’s gunship nearly filled the window, making it a hard target to miss. The recoil knocked her back a few steps, but she found her balance and fired again. Another hit. If Tarak was smart he’d have moved, but maybe maneuvering around the smoke and fire now streaming from the ship was as hard as it looked.

“If the devil asks you who sent you to hell, Tarak,” Shepard snarled, planting herself firmly in position, “this is the name you give them: Garrus Vakarian!” She fired.

The explosion knocked Shepard off her feet. She hit the ground with a grunt, held there as the heat washed over her. When she was finally able to sit up, the only view out the north window was a pillar of black smoke rising from the wreckage below.

“Garrus!” Shepard shouted, launching herself upwards and scrambling over to his body. One of her hands slipped on the slick floor and the other had to clutch his arm to keep her from face-planting into his cowl. It was blood. Her hand had slipped in blood, thick and dark blue, pooling out from beneath him. She tucked her hair back behind her ears, feeling a wet smudge she’d left on her cheekbone. Concentrate, Shepard, she thought. Garrus was warm, but everything was warm right now. Was he breathing?

“Come on Garrus,” she pleaded, squeezing his arm gently. He couldn’t leave her, not when she’d just gotten him back. Her panic overlaid the image of his body with so many other’s--Pressley’s, she’d had to step over it to reach Joker in the cockpit--and she wished she had a god to pray to. She wished she believed in the devil she’d taunted Tarak with. She wished that something, anything was awaiting her friend at the other end of the off switch, but having been there herself she doubted it.

Garrus gasped. Shepard didn’t know if she’d ever heard a sound as welcome as his gasp, thick and gurgling but still there. “Garrus!” she yelped, running a shaking hand over his fringe. He shuddered under her touch, eyes blinking frantically and chest heaving with the effort of his laboured breathing. One of his hands moved, grasping blindly through the pool of his own blood until it found purchase around the barrel of his rifle. He pulled it to himself like a safety blanket. “Hold on, big guy. We’re getting you out of here” Shepard murmured. “Just hold on.”

Her eye caught the light of an omni-tool, and she glanced up. She hadn’t even heard the fighting stop, much less Zaeed and Jacob returning to her side. Jacob’s hand fell to her should in a gesture of consolation. Zaeed knelt down on the other side of Garrus and began running the omni-tool over his injuries.

“Radio Joker!” She snapped at him, swelling with an impotent fury. “Make sure they’re ready for us.”

Zaeed looked up from the holographic display and met her gaze. “He’s not going to make it,” he said solemnly. Below two wide, distraught, “lost kitten” eyes, Shepard’s lips curled in a defiant snarl. Unacceptable.

--

The doors to com room opened and Jacob stepped through. “Kelly said you’d be in here,” he explained, tossing Shepard an immaculate white towel, slightly damp. “Thought you might want to stop looking like the chick at the end of Talons. You’re scaring the crew.”

She didn’t know how many hours it’d been since her call to the Illusive man. Two? Ten? It still wasn’t long enough. Shepard frowned at the towel before bringing it reluctantly to her face. “Thanks,” she muttered, closing her eyes to avoid seeing the white turn blue. Jacob sidled up next to her, crossing his arms.

“Rough mission, are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she lied, pressing the towel against the back of her neck. She doubted there was any blood there, but it felt good.

“Jacob, I-” Shepard hesitated, picking her words carefully. “Thank you. For your help out there. Garrus is a good friend, and what you did--it means a lot to me.”

Jacob shrugged. “You’re my commander, I’m your crew, and bringing in your turian friend was our assignment,” he explained. “I do my job, Shepard. You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I do,” she insisted. “I still don’t-- I can’t make myself trust you, not yet. But I can let you know I appreciate what you did for me. For Garrus.”

He frowned at her, more pensive than angry, like he’d been back in the basement. “I guess that’s fair,” he said. “Speaking of Garrus…” His eyebrows rose, with good reason; she’d snapped to attention, watching his face with eager eyes.

“We’ve done what we could for him, but he took a bad hit, you know that,” Jacob continued, watching her almost warily. Shepard decided a safer place for her eyes was focused on the floor, where she could check her optimism in private.

“The doc’s corrected with surgical procedures and some cybernetics. Best we can tell, he'll have full functionality, but…” Shepard frowned, trying to figure where the bad news was in there, but everything was derailed when the door opened again and a turian in scorched blue armor came swaggering in.

“Shepard,” he greeted her casually. Shepard’s jaw dropped slightly. His facial plates were marred, shattered and shredded on the right side to reveal a shiny purplish knit surface beneath. A quarter of his face was covered by white bandaging, probably tailored more for a human face judging by the way a good few inches of his jaw remained exposed. But he was standing. Talking. His eyes were bright and blue as ever, and he was still wearing that fucking visor.

“Tough son of a bitch,” Jacob chuckled. “Didn’t think he’d be up yet.”

She shook her head in shared disbelief, looking him over again and again with wide eyes. It had to be the drugs, and they had to be good.

“You look good in blue,” Garrus offered her a little dark humor, gesturing to all the mess she’d missed. Shepard let slip one short, barking laugh before biting down on her face-splitting grin. The turian’s left mandible twitched with self-satisfaction.

“Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad is it?” He asked, cocking his head to give her a better look at the bandaging.

Shepard snorted, shaking her head again. “Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly,” she replied, gesturing to the uninjured side of his head. “Slap some face paint on there, and no one will even notice.”

It was his turn to laugh, and Shepard’s turn to rest smugly on her laurels. “Ha-ah! Ah, don’t make me laugh, damn it,” Garrus complained, fighting against a chuckle even as he spoke. “My face is barely holding together as it is.”

“Some women find facial scars attractive,” he pointed out with a roll of his shoulders. “Mind you, most of those women are krogan…”

“And I think that’s my cue to leave,” Jacob interjected. He pushed off the table, saluted Shepard, and exited behind Garrus, giving the turian a pat on the arm as he passed.

“Did the doctor give you the all clear, big guy?” Shepard asked once Jacob was gone, her continuous disbelieving study of Garrus turning skeptical.

“Ah, don’t worry about me,” Garrus replied flippantly, coming over to rest against the table where Jacob had been He leaned toward her conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “I’m more worried about you, frankly. Cerberus, Shepard? You remember those sick experiments they were doing?”

Shepard sighed. At least she didn’t have to break the news to him; all that was left was to defend herself. She didn’t want to. The speech she’d conjured in her head while she was daring to hope that Garrus would make it through sounded uncomfortably like Jacob’s explanations, which were, ironically, the biggest obstacle for her in trusting the man.

“What did Doctor Chakwas say when you asked her?” Shepard challenged him.

Garrus faltered, a look of confusion passing over his face. He straightened, fidgeted for a second, then said, “Chakwas? Karin Chakwas is here?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Shepard snorted, shaking her head. She slid off the table and took hold of Garrus’s arm, pulling him gently along. “Let’s get you back to the medbay, and we’ll talk deals with the devil later.”

“Ah- I was just kidding. Shepard-” Garrus protested, but didn’t fight her pull. “Come on, I’m fine. Fit for duty. In fact, I thought I’d take a look and see what I could do at the forward batteries..”

“Nice try, Vakarian.” She smirked as they stepped through the doors. “Bedrest for now. I’ve got another doctor to recruit. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll clear you when we get back.”

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