#circe shepard

Garrus’ finger throbbed as Shepard held it tight. Buoyant and eager, she was leading him down an alley of apple trees, so hastened that she was practically galloping. It wasn’t long into the night, but the waning summer sun was making its idle drift toward autumn, and Shepard was concerned it would be another seven to eight months before they had this chance again. “Come on,” she urged. “Where are we going?” “Just follow me.” “It’s too dark. I can’t see where the hell I’m going.” Garrus tripped on something small and hard, maybe a rock, and nearly tumbled into her. “Slow down, Shepard!” “The moon’s out, there’s plenty of light. Your eyes are just getting old.” “Need I remind you, you’re older than me.” “Older, schmolder!” she said dismissively. “This way. Watch your step.” They trekked along the the precipice and emerged from a thin stand of firs to reach the secluded beach. Garrus stopped at the treeline to appreciate the tranquil view. From here, the mountains were dark, jagged shapes against a cobalt dropcloth, and the lake their ward. Shepard continued to the edge of the water. Her puckish smile touched her eyes as she tugged her shoes off, then cast them away toward the trees. “What are you doing?” he asked. “What does it look like I’m doing?” “It looks like you’re taking your clothes off. All your clothes…” Garrus stared with his mandibles flapping. “You’re not going in like that, are you?” “Watch me!” Before stepping into the water, Shepard rummaged through her pants pocket and produced an elastic band. She bent over, throwing her hair forward, then combed her fingers through it to gather it into a rough ponytail. In the weak light, Garrus could make out the outer ring of her amp port; the connection at the base of her skull was covered with a standard soft plug, which had been in place for some time. He’d seen it so little since the end of the war, he’d almost forgotten it existed. The sight made him sad, and his shoulders fell as she finished tying the elastic around her ponytail. She stood up straight again. The moon cast a blue pall over her naked body; the raised scars on her shoulders seemed to throb at the edges, and the thinnest lines, where Cerberus had grafted new skin to her existing tissue, shone like the fine threads of a spider’s web. She stalked to the black lake and disappeared into it with ease. “Come on G, water’s fine!” Shepard’s smile was bold and bright as she looked over her shoulder, her body halfway into the water. “You’re kidding, right?” “What, not even a toe?” “You know turians and water don’t mix.” “Come on, Garrus, don’t be such a chicken!” The water had now come up to the undersides of her breasts. She cupped both hands and submerged them beneath the surface. She slowly brought them over her chest, letting the water fall and follow the curves of each mound, then did it again as if to make a point. “You’re a tease, Shepard!” he yelled after her. She grinned and dipped further down into the water. She was a ruthless crocodile, and through the darkness, Garrus could only see the whites of her teeth and the reflection of the moon across her forehead. She waved. Then she swam farther out, past the shallows and the buoys that demarcated the swimming area, and out of her lover’s sight. He listened for any indication she had turned around. “Shepard?” Garrus approached the lake’s edge and raised his chin as he strained to see what was happening. There was a faint splash. She was gone, and the water was still; only strokes of moonlight graced the glassy surface. Any evidence of Circe Shepard had plunged into the obscured depths with her. He listened again, and he began to grow nervous as the silence stretched on. A full minute passed, then another, and another. “Shepard?” he asked plaintively. “Shepard!”

His stomach churned—a rare feeling usually brought on by stones that had grown too smooth and useless in his gut. Garrus tore his boots off. He looked down at his feet as his talons gripped tight to the pebble-strewn beach. His breaths were short and nervous. As the water lapped over his toes, any hesitation he had washed away, and he trudged into the lake with clumsy steps, his thick soles pounding the rocky bottom. He continued until the water hit his spurs and wicked up the fabric of his pants.

The memory was so clear. The crew had encountered a derelict freighter adrift in the Maroon Sea, not far from the Perseus Veil. They boarded under the assumption that the crew were dead or MIA, but they soon discovered the ship was crawling with husks. The undead had rushed the squad at the initial turn, and Kaidan went down in the first thirty seconds, nearly dying at the entrance. Shepard drew the heat off him just in time by charging headlong into the the fray without a thought. It was a Geth deathtrap, and they’d fallen right in.

That night, safe aboard the Normandy, Shepard appeared at dinner like she always did. She was beat, but it was her policy to join her crew in the mess whenever she could. None of them had known it was her birthday, or at least they weren’t supposed to have known, but Liara—of course it was Liara—showed up with a high-cal muffin held aloft as she breezed through the mess. It was little more than an edible fuel cell with a candle shoved through, but she was determined to mark the day. She explained that she’d studied human customs regarding birthdays, and that she’d done her best under the circumstances, and she smiled shyly, apologizing for the meager offering before setting the plate down.

The tiny flame quivered under Shepard’s stony face. She smiled back, her smile sagging as she held it long past its ripeness. Garrus would later come to understand this close-lipped smile as the one she wore against sentiments; it was an expression of politeness.

Shepard blew the candle out and everyone congratulated her on another year. She didn’t say much. It wasn't long before she retreated to her quarters, almost as soon as dinner was over. Kaidan, who Garrus had already suspected was in love with the Commander, followed after her, but he returned as quickly as he’d gone, a disappointed sigh leaving his lips as he took his seat again.

Garrus had watched all of this happen and understood the meaning. The vacancy in her eyes that day. The tension in her shoulders. Even the way she pushed food around her plate as word of her birthday got around the ship. The observant eyes of a C-Sec investigator hadn’t missed a thing. She hated her birthday. Of course she did. Her parents had been dead for years. No real home since she was sixteen. Aside from Anderson, the only family she had were the crew aboard the ships she served on. He imagined all her birthdays celebrated amongst a rotation of comrades, some of whom would not survive the next year, or in the case of Akuze, none. Yeah, he would hate his birthday too.

When the next April came around, he made a point of not contacting her. He considered it his way of being thoughtful. Not that he would have received a message back; she had already been dead by then, and no one had thought to inform him. Those were the bad times.

Two years later, she came back from the dead. She came back from the dead and saved him. It was as close to a miracle as Garrus had ever experienced, and he wasn’t going to take her birthday for granted ever again, even if she did.

Outside the garden, he opened his eyes again. “What about me? It’s alright if I don’t hate your birthday, right?”

“I guess."

“It’s why you’re here.” He crooked a finger under Shepard’s chin and lifted it gently to see her face. “And I’m happy you’re here. Well, me and everyone else in the galaxy.”

A faint smile crossed her face.“You’re so corny. But thank you.”

“I promise I won’t say anything more about it.”

Garrus’ finger throbbed as Shepard held it tight. Buoyant and eager, she was leading him down an alley of apple trees, so hastened that she was practically galloping. It wasn’t long into the night, but the waning summer sun was making its idle drift toward autumn, and Shepard was concerned it would be another seven to eight months before they had this chance again. “Come on,” she urged. “Where are we going?” “Just follow me.” “It’s too dark. I can’t see where the hell I’m going.” Garrus tripped on something small and hard, maybe a rock, and nearly tumbled into her. “Slow down, Shepard!” “The moon’s out, there’s plenty of light. Your eyes are just getting old.” “Need I remind you, you’re older than me.” “Older, schmolder!” she said dismissively. “This way. Watch your step.” They trekked along the the precipice and emerged from a thin stand of firs to reach the secluded beach. Garrus stopped at the treeline to appreciate the tranquil view. From here, the mountains were dark, jagged shapes against a cobalt dropcloth, and the lake their ward. Shepard continued to the edge of the water. Her puckish smile touched her eyes as she tugged her shoes off, then cast them away toward the trees. “What are you doing?” he asked. “What does it look like I’m doing?” “It looks like you’re taking your clothes off. All your clothes…” Garrus stared with his mandibles flapping. “You’re not going in like that, are you?” “Watch me!”

Garrus’ finger throbbed as Shepard held it tight. Buoyant and eager, she was leading him down an alley of apple trees, so hastened that she was practically galloping. It wasn’t long into the night, but the waning summer sun was making its idle drift toward autumn, and Shepard was concerned it would be another seven to eight months before they had this chance again. “Come on,” she urged. “Where are we going?” “Just follow me.” “It’s too dark. I can’t see where the hell I’m going.” Garrus tripped on something small and hard, maybe a rock, and nearly tumbled into her. “Slow down, Shepard!” “The moon’s out, there’s plenty of light. Your eyes are just getting old.” “Need I remind you, you’re older than me.” “Older, schmolder!” she said dismissively. “This way. Watch your step.” They trekked along the the precipice and emerged from a thin stand of firs to reach the secluded beach. Garrus stopped at the treeline to appreciate the tranquil view. From here, the mountains were dark, jagged shapes against a cobalt dropcloth, and the lake their ward. Shepard continued to the edge of the water. Her puckish smile touched her eyes as she tugged her shoes off, then cast them away toward the trees. “What are you doing?” he asked. “What does it look like I’m doing?” “It looks like you’re taking your clothes off. All your clothes…” Garrus stared with his mandibles flapping. “You’re not going in like that, are you?” “Watch me!” Before stepping into the water, Shepard rummaged through her pants pocket and produced an elastic band. She bent over, throwing her hair forward, then combed her fingers through it to gather it into a rough ponytail. In the weak light, Garrus could make out the outer ring of her amp port; the connection at the base of her skull was covered with a standard soft plug, which had been in place for some time. He’d seen it so little since the end of the war, he’d almost forgotten it existed. The sight made him sad, and his shoulders fell as she finished tying the elastic around her ponytail. She stood up straight again. The moon cast a blue pall over her naked body; the raised scars on her shoulders seemed to throb at the edges, and the thinnest lines, where Cerberus had grafted new skin to her existing tissue, shone like the fine threads of a spider’s web. She stalked to the black lake and disappeared into it with ease. “Come on G, water’s fine!” Shepard’s smile was bold and bright as she looked over her shoulder, her body halfway into the water. “You’re kidding, right?” “What, not even a toe?” “You know turians and water don’t mix.” “Come on, Garrus, don’t be such a chicken!” The water had now come up to the undersides of her breasts. She cupped both hands and submerged them beneath the surface. She slowly brought them over her chest, letting the water fall and follow the curves of each mound, then did it again as if to make a point. “You’re a tease, Shepard!” he yelled after her. She grinned and dipped further down into the water. She was a ruthless crocodile, and through the darkness, Garrus could only see the whites of her teeth and the reflection of the moon across her forehead. She waved. Then she swam farther out, past the shallows and the buoys that demarcated the swimming area, and out of her lover’s sight. He listened for any indication she had turned around. “Shepard?” Garrus approached the lake’s edge and raised his chin as he strained to see what was happening. There was a faint splash. She was gone, and the water was still; only strokes of moonlight graced the glassy surface. Any evidence of Circe Shepard had plunged into the obscured depths with her. He listened again, and he began to grow nervous as the silence stretched on. A full minute passed, then another, and another. “Shepard?” he asked plaintively. “Shepard!”

His stomach churned—a rare feeling usually brought on by stones that had grown too smooth and useless in his gut. Garrus tore his boots off. He looked down at his feet as his talons gripped tight to the pebble-strewn beach. His breaths were short and nervous. As the water lapped over his toes, any hesitation he had washed away, and he trudged into the lake with clumsy steps, his thick soles pounding the rocky bottom. He continued until the water hit his spurs and wicked up the fabric of his pants.