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Chapter Text

Jayne dropped her armor again. She could have blamed it on the slipperiness of the blue blood covering it, or the fact that she wasn't used to carrying it instead of wearing it, but she knew the real reason.

Her hands just wouldn't stop shaking.

She left the pile on the floor, stretching her fingers out instead to watch them as they spasmed. Her nails were crusted with blue. Her skin burned where spots of blood remained. In her head she heard the explosion and the sound of Garrus crying out. Her inner eye saw his face turned to the floor as they dealt with the gunship, motionless and dreadful. She remembered his eyes opening, the fear, agony and incomprehension in them more terrifying than facing down Sovereign. Then the gurgle as he choked on the blood bubbling between his teeth. The mandible hanging by a thread of sinew from his jaw like an obscene corner joist.

Her hands shook some more, and her breath wouldn't come and she knelt on the floor outside the medbay, in full view of anyone in the Mess. She just dropped her head into those traitorous digits that hadn't been enough to save him from hurt. She tried not to cry.

She'd pulled him upright, into her arms, wiping the blood away from his mouth and nose, desperate for him to get air. She'd called for Joker and locked eyes with Miranda, who was applying Medi-gel liberally to the side of his neck, delicately holding the mandible in place as she did. The calm stare of the Cerberus agent had gotten her through those horrific minutes as a landing party from the Normandy came into Garrus's sniper nest, bearing a stretcher and Dr. Chakwas.

“I've got him, Commander,” she said in her no nonsense tone, pulling Jayne's hands away from their death grip on his keel. Her hands were steady then. Now...

Now that they were back on the SR-2 and Garrus was in surgery...

Now that there was time to process all the events of the day – he was here, he had held her and called her by name, she existed as something more than a figment of her own imagination...

Now that the fight was over and the debriefing could begin...

Now they shook.

Chapter Text

“Archangel! You think you can screw with the Blue Suns!” Tarak shouted from inside the Mantis. Garrus saw the gunship rise up into view through the windows and turned to throw himself into cover, but he was too slow. The ship opened fire, peppering his armor with machine gun fire. He heard the pop as his kinetic shield went down and for a few milliseconds thought he might escape injury, but then the pain set in, stinging, fiery. He had dropped to the floor with the impacts and crawled over to the relative safety of an end table, shifting his rifle to see how many shots he had left in it. He ignored the pain and ducked around to see the ship's position.

“This ends now!” Tarak cried, and before he could move, he saw the flare of the rocket. It hit the floor to his right and all around him was light, smoke and heat. He was thrown off his feet, searing pain blocking out any thoughts of Jayne, or her miraculous rescue, of the fight they'd already faced.

No, not yet...I'm not ready to die anymore.

He hit the floor, his face feeling wrong. He heard his name called from a distance, fading ever further. The world went dark.

When he opened his eyes, he couldn't see, couldn't hear. Couldn't speak. He gripped the muzzle of his rifle, his instinct still to defend himself. He could hear his father's voice in his head. When all else fails, Garrus, your training will take over. That is why we drill. That is why we test for combat readiness. That is why I push you so hard.

So you've taken on a rocket explosion, another voice threaded through the jumble of chaos around him. Her voice, light and teasing, a smirk on her lips, a glint in her eye. Nothing was real, she wasn't really here, was she? He couldn't even breathe around the agony, couldn't make sense of what his brain was trying to tell him. He felt himself being lifted, rough fingers in gritty gloves wiping at his face, burning him, scraping him where he was raw and vulnerable. His mouth didn't want to work properly. His lungs rattled and he gagged and choked, but he breathed.

You're not dead yet.

Chapter Text

Lights, in the wrong places and of the wrong hue.

Scent of antiseptic and metal. Blood and plastic.

Pain. Pain so encompassing it was impossible to think he'd ever known anything else.

Ghost at his side.

“Oh, Garrus, I just got you back. Don't you leave me now.”

It wasn't real. Couldn't be real. He was seeing things, hearing things. It wasn't possible that she was back. That she'd swooped in like the avenging seraph he'd been named for in that place, like a spirit wrought of dust and bone and memory.

Pressure on his talons. Skin on skin.

Whispers.

Murmurs. A hum so high pitched he couldn't tell if he was hearing it or feeling it in his teeth.

The sounds of a ship at night cycle. Metal on metal. Cloth on cloth.

One side was all mud, distant and muffled. One side was so clear it hurt.

He dreamed a dream of yellow hair shining under ugly lights in the Kima district. Of violet eyes lit up like stars in a face so familiar he could almost feel it under his fingertips, clenched tight on his rifle.

She's dead, he told himself. Gone.

She came, she saved you.

Breathing. Not his own.

Soft skin wrapped around his hardened digits. Too many fingers. So right, so...matched.

The pain ebbed and flowed, marking the hours, the minutes, the seconds.

The breathing slowed, familiar and comforting as the ghost at his side slept.

Wherever he was, he was safe, and that was important, wasn't it?

...your training will take over...

Shepard, I thought you were dead.

I was.

So...Archangel?

No, only me, only Garrus. Only yours, Jayne. Only yours.

Lights, in the wrong places and of the wrong hue.

Scent of antiseptic and metal. Blood and plastic.

Pain...

Chapter Text

“I didn't tell anyone, I swear,” Chloe cried, circling around as far as she could away from the thugs. They hadn't seen Garrus enter, she knew. And now he was behind her, hidden around the corner of the partition between the beds and the waiting room. Things would have escalated much further if they had seen him. She was trying to avoid that.

“That was smart, Doc. Y'know if Garrus comes around, you stay smart. Keep you mouth shut or we'll...” The unmistakable sound of her clinic door opening and closing cut off the enforcer and he drew a pistol, pulling her into his grasp, spinning her so fast she nearly stumbled. She caught a quick glance of a slender woman in Alliance armor, blonde hair curling close to her head, two more Marines at her side. “Who are you!”

“Let her go,” the woman said, aiming a pistol of her own at the thug, who was now using Chloe's body to shield himself. This had gone from frightening to petrifying. Any stray shot...

The thugs were distracted, and Garrus made his move, standing up from his cover and shooting the one holding her in the head. A splash of hot and wet hit her neck and hair and she cried out as she was suddenly released from the now dead man's grip. She knelt on the floor, out of the way and desperate to keep from vomiting as a firefight broke out with the remaining men from Fist.

It was over very quickly, and the clinic was quiet again. Garrus helped her to her feet. She was honest enough with herself that she knew she was gazing at him with longing. He was a very attractive turian, after all. It was no surprise... He turned away, to the blonde woman.

“Perfect timing, J...Shepard,” Garrus said.

The woman he called Shepard – was going to call something else, she noted to herself – smirked, then frowned thunderously. “What were you thinking? You could have missed.”

Well, at least this Shepard had thought about her. Of course, then she ruined it.

Shepard smiled and shook her head. “Yeah, all right, fine, it was a great shot, babe.”

Babe, a term of endearment. Oh no. The male Marine beside Shepard stiffened, drawing a hissing breath between his teeth.

Chloe pulled herself together. She'd never made her interest known before now, so she only had herself to blame if he'd already attached himself to someone else. She tucked her heart behind her professional mask and gazed steadily at Garrus as he stammered and apologized for putting her in such danger.

“I'm fine,” she said, coolly. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Shepard made a quick compassionate expression. Jealousy consumed Chloe for half a heartbeat, but then she let it go. She hoped this soldier made Garrus happy. Shepard stepped closer, calm and collected as only a veteran Marine could be surrounded by dead bodies.

“Dr. Michel, who were they working for?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

“They worked for Fist. They wanted information about the quarian.”

Chloe saw Shepard's eyes light up like she'd hit the jackpot at Quasar. Looking at Garrus, she saw that he was equally as triumphant.

“Tell us everything,” Shepard said.

Chapter Text

Honoria packed up the boxes of books and stacked them where Nick and Hancock could easily carry them to the wagon. Moving out of the Sanctuary Hills house to the Castle permanently was a good idea for all of them – more space, more privacy. But it was a bit heartrending to leave all the memories of before the war behind.

She pulled the last book from the bedside cabinet and held it. In the bright light of day, she could see the faint gilding along the letters of the title. She saw the frayed edges of the binding, the worn in spine and rumpled pages. It had been Stephen's copy, well loved and often read. She turned the cover to look at the first few pages and saw splotches on them. Written in faded ink was an inscription she'd never noticed before.

For my darling, my own. Think of me when you read, and know that someday I'll come home to you. ~ Nate

“Oh,” she whispered, tracing the round edges of the splotches. She could imagine when Stephen had received this from Nate, when he was away in Alaska and she herself had been stuck at home, growing large with another man's child. There were so many layers of complexity to her relationship with her husband's lover. But one she'd never considered too much was how horrible it must have been for Stephen, never knowing where Nate was. Never knowing how he was doing. And all because he couldn't openly announce that they were lovers.

She traced the tear stains a final time and closed the book, placing it carefully on top of the others in the next box. She hadn't intended to keep it – she wasn't interested in reading it, at any rate – but now she felt she owed it to their memories to have it close by.

“Sunshine? You in here?” Hancock called from the living room.

“Almost done,” she called back, wiping her cheeks and finding them wet. “I found Stephen's copy of Dune. You remember?”

The ghoul stopped in the doorway of the bedroom, taking in her kneeling form, the half empty box and the book that lay nestled inside it. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”

“It's probably silly, but I don't want to lose it.”

Hancock gave her a half smile, gentle on his face. “All right. We won't then.”

Chapter Text

It happened so fast, Val didn't even see it. One minute Hancock was by her side, shooting his mouth and his double barrel, the next...

She saw a flash of red from the corner of her eye, and turned to see him being dragged by the leg by the mammoth deathclaw. It roared a challenge and she lifted her arm – the new one, rigid with wires and coated with silicone skin – inside her power armor, threatening the beast with her Ripper. “Oh no you don't,” she cried and took off at a flat run after her husband.

The deathclaw stopped as she approached, the roar aimed at her now. Hancock lay still on the ground, dazed or injured, she didn't have time to see. She pulled the cord on the Ripper and reveled in the chainsaw sound as she barreled into the deathclaw's arms, going for the soft underbelly. A spray of hot blood covered her, making her momentarily blind as it covered her helmet. She was in so close the deathclaw couldn't swipe at her.

God, I hate the Glowing Sea, she thought.

Fighting off radscorpions on the way to the Sentinel Site was doable. She was used to those. Fighting both scorps and deathclaws? A quick memory of being in the Capital Wasteland washed over her, reminding her of a time when she was the one being carried away by massive claws and crooked horns. There was no power armor then. She ripped into the belly of the beast again, not even hearing herself scream.

Eventually – covered in guts and gore – she killed it. She wasn't injured, although she was sure she'd have some bruises on her from controlling the suit. Hancock sat up woozily, his shotgun a few feet away. He looked at her, awe and love and a little bit of fear on his face.

“You all right, Sunshine?”

“I'm fine,” she panted, hearing the tinny quality of her voice through the helmet. “You?”

“Not every day a ghoul gets to wake up to the sight of his beloved covered in blood, but I think I'll live.” He smirked at her, probably guessing the face she was making. “What made you come after it with a Ripper anyhow?”

“It had you.” She shook her head. “I wasn't about to go home and tell Gee her father got dragged off by a deathclaw when I could stop it.”

He hoisted himself off the rocky ground, stretching and loosening his joints in the rad laden air. “Fair enough. Now, let's get you cleaned up.”

Chapter Text

Alliance Command would have been nicer if the view didn't come complete with laser tripped glass in the windows, she thought. As if she was planning to break out from the whatever high story her detention cell was on and magically fly away. From her angle seated on the floor she could just barely see the lines crisscrossing the panes as the filtered sunlight passed through them.

“Commander?” Vega called uncertainly from the door. She didn't bother looking over her shoulder at him.

“You're not supposed to call me that anymore,” she reminded him for probably the hundredth time.

“Yeah...well...” He put something down behind her. She still didn't turn to look. Samara had been right. Meditation was a good way to pass time, especially when one was alone with nothing else to do. She didn't think her old friend would chide her too much for how often she engaged in other...solo...pursuits. Asari matriarchs still felt the drive.

“What are you doing here, James?”

“Your..uh...mail.”

Jayne snorted. Whatever hadn't been redacted wasn't worth reading. None of it was personal anyway, so none of it mattered.

Garrus, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice even and soft. Vega didn't like this detail any more than she liked being stuck in it. At first it had been too much hero worship on his part, then it had been too much anger at the powers that be on hers. She was a goddamned Spectre, after all. None of her decisions should have had any tangible consequences from Systems Alliance. Now...

Now it was just too much time on her hands. Too many hours alone with her thoughts. She felt like she'd rather be dead. The voice in the void hadn't been much, but it had been company. And not one bit of it was any reason to take it out on James Vega, although he consistently seemed to expect that she would. He didn't know her very well, even after three months.

“You wanna run?” he asked now, and she could picture him leaning on the open door, muscles bunched, face pinched with the weight of his duty to watch over her like a prison guard. He asked her that on the days she was allowed 'free rein' in the compound's track circle. It was just another way to mark the passage of time. It must be Sunday.

“Not today, James.”

“All right,” he said, no censure or sense of rejection in his voice. He had to know how much it galled to be so idle. And yet to have no way to release any pent up aggression because she was in essence a prisoner.

“Ask me again next week.”

“Another week of you not gettin' off your ass...I mean, uh...of not taking advantage of the facilities at your disposal...” He finally trailed off, probably seeing how he wasn't getting a reaction. She heard him sigh. “It's not good for you to be just sitting here all the time, Com...Shepard.”

“I appreciate your concern,” she said softly. “I'll be all right, James. I promise.” She finally turned her head and looked at him. Worry was written all over his mobile face. She even cracked half a smile at him. “Next week. And if I put you off, I'm giving you permission right now to drag me to the track, all right?”

He huffed and looked surprised. “Sure, I'll...uh...I'll do that.” He pushed an elbow into the door frame to lever himself to his feet again. “I gotta go.”

“I know.”

The door closed behind him, the solid thunk of its locking mechanism sealing her into the detention center appointed to look like an apartment. It had worked for the first week or two. Now she could feel the bars of her prison even if she couldn't see them.

I miss you, babe. I miss you so much...

Chapter Text

The vault chick was kinda cute – if you went for that sort of clean cut, innocent type. Not normally his thing, but hey, they made better marks. He wondered if she even knew what caps were.

“How bout you hand everything over in those pockets,” he said, lighting a cigarette with an oily match. “Or accidents might happen. Big, bloody accidents.”

He tried on a leer, wondered if she'd give him bravado or cave.

Turns out, she did neither. Instead, she looked past him, where a glimpse of red could be seen coming up from the alley.

Goddammit, why did the Mayor always have to get in his business?

“Whoa, whoa, time out,” Hancock said and Finn turned to face him, belligerent and mulish. “First time through that gate, someone's a guest. I told you to lay off that extortion crap.”

Finn was done. Done bending over backwards for a chemmed up rad freak, in a rad freak town. It was time to do this his way.

Except...it didn't go his way.

He always forgot Hancock was quick as a snake, and skilled with that blade he hid in his belt. The first stab barely gave him any pain, but then next...that one knocked the air clean out of Finn's lungs, made him groan and made his knees boneless. He fell onto the cobblestone courtyard and just barely saw Hancock's booted feet step over him to the newcomer.

“You all right, sister?” he heard. He couldn't breathe, and all around him it was going dark. He might have twitched, might have made a sound. The conversation going on next to him stopped and he felt their eyes on him. He whimpered. No sympathy came.

“Pity about ol'Finn,” he heard the Mayor say, from a long way away...fading... “We'll miss him the next Super Mutant attack...”

The last thing Finn saw was the cigarette he'd lit burn out on the stones in front of his face. A tiny wisp of smoke escaped as it died. Just like him, eh?

Chapter Text

Even in her armor she weighed practically nothing. Garrus hauled her away from the rain lashed deck, away from the twisted monstrosities that had inexplicably begun fighting each other. He didn't spare much of a thought for them, just raced out and grabbed Jayne.

She was cold. She was so cold. Blood ran down her nose, down from her funny ears, so vulnerable and exposed. He laid her down on the floor of the shuttle, absently banging his fist against the hull so Cortez knew to take off and get them the hell off this water world. If there was one thing turians hated more than cold, it had to be deep water.

“Is she...?” Tali asked as he scanned her with his omni-tool. His visor wasn't giving him anything he wanted to see – blood pressure nearly non-existent, breathing barely there, core temperature far below optimal. But his omni-tool merely corroborated the readings from the visor.

“Shepard! Wake up!” he snapped, fear coming out like anger. “Dammit, she's freezing. What do they call that?”

“Hypothermia,” Tali whispered.

There was a moment, an endless moment, where he could only stare at her. Her hair was dripping on the deck plating of the shuttle, her eyes sunken on her face streaked with rain and blood. She was too pale, too quiet. He wondered if this was what it was like watching him bleed out on Omega. If so, he didn't like it. Not one bit.

He remembered coming into her conference room on the Normandy, all cocky swagger and bluster against the pain in his face, and her eyes had lit up like a sunrise over Palaven. There had been a bleak kind of acceptance in them before, a glimpse he'd managed to see before he quipped about mirrors and scars and krogan. He knew what it was now. It was the kind of terror that made your soul feel like a stone in an empty cup. It was empty and hollow and drenched in cold as surely as she was now.

And he had no idea what to do to make it better.

Before his indecision could torment him, she coughed, her vitals spiking on his visor. She rolled to her side, coughing up a bit of seawater, choking on her own spit. The relief that flooded him was so close to adrenaline that he snapped at her again instead of just being grateful.

“Never do that again!”

Chapter Text

What a cosmic clusterfuck, as Jayne would say. Garrus would say it too...except that he couldn't. A single lucky hit had gotten past his armor, had gotten over his keel. It had hit him right in his exposed throat.

“There's no permanent damage,” Dr. Chakwas said. “It just needs to rest and heal.”

He could still growl with impatience in his other voice box, so he did. Chakwas gave him an understanding smile, and he realized with a jolt that she could comprehend his secondary language. He looked at her with this new insight in play and thought back to all the times she'd treated his various wounds over the years – hell, the surgery she'd done that undoubtedly saved his life. How she'd always seemed to know what he needed even if he couldn't say it.

“How...know so...much...turian?” he rasped and garbled out. Chakwas shook a stern finger in his face.

“No talking. That shot might not have killed you the way it would have any other creature not completely encased in metallic plates, but don't think for a second you aren't injured.”

He grabbed her hand before she could retreat and pleaded with his eyes and subvocals, hoping she understood the way he thought she did.

She sighed. “During the First Contact War, I studied everything I could on turians. You were our first introduction to the wider galaxy, after all. Curiosity was high right along with the...animosity. I'm pragmatic, you know that. I was on the first ship that met with one of yours for possible parlay. Medical personnel are the same no matter the species. I was still a scrub then.”

“A what?” he whispered, not needing to engage his vocal chords with her so close.

She sat down next to his bed and looked off into the distance, remembering. “I wasn't a doctor yet, I was still in training. Hadn't even joined the Alliance Military.” Garrus rumbled a soothing sound; he could hear the pain behind her words. This wasn't something she talked of often.

The soft sound of the subvocal brought Chakwas out of her reverie. “His name was Arctus Orrian, if you must know,” she said briskly, even though he hadn't asked. “He was a field medic. Handsome devil, blue markings much like yours. He...”

She broke off, something in her closing off her expression and tightening the stance of her entire body. Garrus recognized grief when he saw it. Garrus knew his history as well as any turian, and probably better than most due to his father and C-Sec. The Relay 314 Incident, as it was known to their side, was a blemish on their records. It shouldn't have escalated to violence, regardless of who had fired the first shot. Humanity wasn't nearly at the level of technology that met the requirements for Council authority to declare war. The official censure the Hierarchy had received and the obligatory recompense they'd had to pay to the Alliance for it was a well kept secret, hidden away behind the public disdain for humans. At the time, though, it hadn't yet stopped the fighting.

“He was on Shanxi?” he choked out. He didn't need to ask to know that what she'd shared with the long lost turian was as deep as what he had with Jayne; it was written all over her.

Chakwas looked him in the eye, her face still and composed as always, but her eyes alight with a pain so intense he felt it in his marrow. “Yes. So was I.”

He stayed silent after that.

Chapter Text

Hancock watched Eleanor pull off her shirt, soaked with blood and sticking to her. In the firelight her skin was pale, marred by the jagged cut across her shoulder blade and down onto her ribs. It wasn't particularly deep, but the edges were raw and wide open. Her bra was in tatters and she pulled that off too, hissing with the effort.

“That could use some stitches,” he said carefully. He still wasn't quite sure where their footing was. Sure, she'd agreed to take him with her to Sanctuary Hills, but that didn't mean...

“Probably too late for just a stimpak, huh?” she said, breathing evenly despite the pain she must have been in.

“Heh, a bit, yeah. Shoulda said somethin' sooner, I'd've taken care of it then.”

“I'm not used to having someone around who has opposable thumbs.” She turned with her back to the light and took a slow, deep breath. “There's a kit in my bag.”

He found a bottle of purified water, a bottle of whiskey and a small kit packed with needles, thread and radstag sinew she'd painstakingly washed and rolled. He pulled out the largest needle – curved like the kind his mother used to have for repairing the carpets – and tugged a thread of sinew free from the roll. He poured some whiskey and water into a bowl and laid the sinew in it to soften.

“It ain't deep,” he said, brushing his fingertips along the edges. She stiffened but made no sound. “Long though.”

“Yeah. Fucking super mutants.”

“I gotta clean it. Those nailboards...they get rusty.”

“I know.”

“It's gonna hurt.”

“I know,” she repeated. She held her hands fisted tight in her lap and he urged her to take a swig of whiskey. She shook her head. “That'll just make me bleed more.”

“Not yet it won't. I got about fifteen minutes to work on it before that happens.”

She obliged him then and resumed her straight backed stance. “How do you know all this anyway?”

“Ghouls are hardy, but that don't mean we don't get hurt. Just means I know how to do my own first aid. Smoothskins...you're so fragile in comparison.”

She snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

He smiled, and checked the thread. It was as pliable as it was going to get and he threaded it into the needle. Too late he realized he should have sterilized it in the fire. He looked around their little camp, off the beaten trail and in the lee of a broken highway strut. There didn't seem to be much wildlife around – the super mutants took care of that – but unnecessary noise was still going to draw attention. He found a stout bit of wood and wrapped a clean rag around it.

“Here, use this if you need to scream.”

“I...”

“Don't try to be a badass. This is gonna hurt. Scream if you need to, but don't make me try to stitch you and defend you at the same right, ya dig?”

“All right,” she said and took the gag.

Hancock shook a canister of Jet, hit it hard, and pinched the savage tear between two fingers, stalwartly blocking out the sound she made. Stitch, knot, stitch, knot, stitch...hit the Jet...knot, stitch, knot...

He laid twenty tidy stitches across her shoulder and ribs in rapid succession, thanks to the Jet. When he was done, his hands were shaking and he saw tears glinting on her cheeks. Before he even bound up the wound, he had his arms around her, taking the gag from her mouth and drawing her against him so she could cry. Her sobbing breaths finally slowed and she was able to release the death grip she had on his arms and let him go. He took a steadying breath.

“All right, now we just gotta cover it up.”

“Oh, don't want me to walk around topless?” she retorted with something resembling her normal level of snark and he cocked a naked eyebrow at her.

“I enjoy the view, but I don't think that's how you want to greet your settlers.”

“Okay, fine, spoilsport. How are we going to wrap it?”

“Get on your stomach.” Once she was comfortable on their bedroll, he laid several layers of clean rags over the stitches, and wrapped them securely to her back with a length of cord. He injected a stimpak and some Med-X into her back and helped her into a shirt.

“All done.”

“Mmph.”

“Yeah, I thought you'd say that.” He hefted his shotgun and pulled the other sleeping bag up over her. “You zonk out. I got this.”

Chapter Text

She heard the beep just as Hancock's foot landed solidly on the slope of the berm. “Don't move a muscle!” she hissed harshly, as if either the whispering or emphasis was going to save him from having a foot blown off. Nora knew he liked joking about his missing toe, but this might be taking it to the extreme.

Hancock looked down and saw just how close he was to the mine, cleverly camouflaged in the grass. “Oh, fuck.”

“Just...just stand there. Look pretty or something.”

“Nora...”

“Don't distract me.”

Nora got on her hands and knees, her slight frame – slighter even than his – slinking through the underbrush. She had to hand it to these Children of Atom; they knew how to boobytrap. Kingsport Lighthouse was a strategic location, equidistant between Crater House and Salem. It wasn't too far from either Finch Farm or the Slog...or Croup Manor for that matter. She wanted it for her Minutemen. But that, of course, meant clearing out the 'locals' first.

The mine wasn't just a regular frag type. It glowed green in the grass. Small nuke, she thought. Fucking wonderful. If it went off, it wouldn't just blow off Hancock's foot, it would also likely kill her. And that would be a world of trouble for everyone involved.

She inched closer, steadily ignoring Hancock's breathing as he got impatient to move. Always on the go, that one. Too many chems, not enough ease. “I'm almost there.”

“Famous last words,” he muttered. She cracked a smile he couldn't see and move forward some more, careful not to jostle the twigs and blades of grass covering the thing. She was nearly within reach, her fingers just inches from the shut off button.

“Sunshine?”

“What!” she snapped, still whispering. This whole exercise would be pointless if they set off the Children of Atom.

“They've seen us.”

Shit.

She heard the buzz of their gamma guns and took a swift breath, slapping her palm down on the nuked mine. With a soft click the green light faded, rendering the deadly explosive inert. “I got it,” she said.

Hancock swung his shotgun down off his shoulder, tossed her a grin over his shoulder and took off. She let him. Even if they hit him with their gamma guns, it wouldn't hurt him. There were definitely some advantages to being a ghoul.

Meanwhile, she laid in the grass and just breathed. Once her heart was done trying to escape her chest, she got up on her knees, still hidden by the berm of dirt and rocks, and popped a Rad-X. She got to her feet and drew her favorite 10mm pistol, the one that Shawn had just made her an explosive mod for. No sense letting her husband have all the fun.

Chapter Text

The creature was huge. Like a cross between a wingless dragon and an archaic depiction of a demon. Honoria felt a jolt in her sternum, a flash of acid fire that spread outward from her heart to her limbs. The monster swiped at her, claws scraping across the dinged and rusted metal of the power armor. With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she lifted the minigun and held down the trigger with all her might. It took a second to spin up before spitting a multitude of bullets at the thing. Time enough for the creature to move out her line of fire. The bullets hit a car instead, igniting the fusion engine and making the Geiger counter on Pip-Boy tick when it exploded.

She swung away from the burning car and tracked the beast. Was this what the world had become? An endless hellscape of broken down houses, empty shelves and nightmare monsters? She pushed those thoughts aside. These people needed her help, and now she understood why. She understood Mama Murphy's vague warning that something angry was coming.

“Over here, monster!” she shouted, and the sound of her own voice coming from the helmet of the power armor shocked her. There was strength in it. She continued to fire on the thing, screaming inside the safety of the power armor. The hell beast ignored her, as if the peppering minigun was no more than an annoyance, but she could see blood on its hide. She followed it as it went after the raiders too dumb to get away. From the corner of her eye she saw one try to fight back with a pool cue. Really? Bold. Or stupid.

The minigun spun down – out of ammo. She felt another jolt run through her. Fear? No. She could not afford fear. She pulled the 10 mm pistol she'd found in the Vault from her hip and lined up careful shots, still breathless and reeling. The creature now turned to her, having done in all the raiders. Dogmeat leapt at the thing, teeth bared and growling. The monster swiped at the dog, throwing him across the road to land in a whimpering heap. Honoria saw red and discarded her gun in favor of slamming a metal fist into the face of the giant thing.

Again and again, screaming until she was hoarse, ignoring the battering the suit of power armor was taking. She knew she'd feel those hits once the rush wore off. Didn't matter. Nothing messed with her dog! It didn't matter one iota that she'd literally just met the animal half an hour ago.

The fingers of the suit caught on something solid in the monster's face, and she balled her fist, yanking back on whatever it was. The beast roared and blood gushed from the wound. She didn't stop until the creature lay still and the town of Concord was silent again. The sun was setting, she noticed. The air temperature was probably dropping – it was late October, after all – but she didn't notice. She stood over the body of the deathclaw (for that's what Preston would call it later, informing her of the new deadly dangers of this wasteland). She heaved for air and felt her heart hammering in her chest. Dogmeat stood up, seemingly fine. He shook his fur out and loped to her side, tongue hanging out sideways. She ruffled his ears, careful with the enormous gloves of the power armor.

“I did it,” she said, surprised at herself.

Chapter Text

“Evidently even Commander Shepard gets sick,” Garrus said, bringing her a cup of steaming tea. Jayne huddled in the bed, teeth chattering, body aching.

“I'm so cold,” she moaned. Garrus laid the back of his hand on her skin and shook his head.

“You're warm,” he contradicted. “Humans are weird.”

“It's a fever,” she said, clenching her teeth against the shivers. “It happens.”

He gave her a look that in a better situation would warrant laughter. Now it just made her exasperated on top of the shivers. She closed her eyes and tried to just let the fever wash through her, as if that would speed up its duration and she could get better again. Instead, she sneezed.

“That sounded like it hurt,” Garrus commented.

“Shut up and keep me warm.”

He obliged, crawling into the big bed with her and wrapping her securely in his arms as she shuddered. He murmured a soft subvocal, rather like a cat's purr, although she would never dream of telling him that. She didn't think she'd sleep, as tense and muscle locked as she was, but her eyes drifted shut in the presence of his scent and cocooning strength. She knew it was going to get worse before it got better.

Sure enough, she woke in a sweat, her eyes burning and head aching from the pressure. She pushed weakly against him, waking him. Even the air around her felt hot. Too dry, too warm, too thick.

“Anything I can do?” he asked, rolling away from her radiating heat. For just a second she shivered as her sweaty skin was exposed to the air, but it was covered over fast with a fresh wave of hot.

“I'm sure Chakwas has something I can take. And a cold compress works on the back of the neck...”

“Won't that make you more cold?”

“Not now. Now I'm just burning up.”

“Humans are weird,” he said again, but dutifully got up and soaked a washcloth and handed it to her. She couldn't tell if he was more fascinated with her body's vagaries in temperature or of her being so vulnerable and needing help. She let her head flop over to look at him, tacitly reminding him to go to Chakwas, and his mandibles fluttered with a smile. “I'll be right back.”

“Yeah, okay...”

She closed her eyes again and drifted on the waves of heat and ache, miserable as only a human with a head cold could be.

Chapter Text

The blue glow of the fish tank was enough for Garrus to see by. He watched Jayne sleep, her face smooth and peaceful, no longer marred by the angry orange lights peeking through the cracks in her skin. She'd finally let Chakwas heal her. She'd done it after the Collector Base, in fact. But it had been so chaotic then, on the run from the Illusive Man and then on the run from the batarian Hegemony, and finally apart for so many months, that he hadn't really had a chance to just observe until now.

It was strange to see her so perfect. Unblemished by the toils she'd put her body through, willing or not. Just because he couldn't see the scars running across her shoulders, legs and body didn't mean he didn't know they were there. He missed her old ones, though. The dimple in her shoulder from the surgery she'd needed to repair a torn rotator cuff, the one that continued to give her trouble until she'd been rebuilt. The streak across her eyebrow, gotten in childhood from a branch to the face of an unwary girl who loved to race through the trees on Mindoir. The tiny nick behind her elbow. That one was from him, if he recalled correctly. A sudden bump while working on the old Mako together.

And now those marks were gone too.

He slid away from her, careful not to disturb her as she slept. She got precious little of it these days. Reapers on Earth, on Palaven, on Tuchanka and Thessia. And where there weren't Reapers, there were Cerberus cells, the last gasping remnants of the organization that she'd vowed to destroy. And where there wasn't either of those, there was constant planning, negotiating, scavenging. He'd had to drag her here to bed nearly by force, had to feign his own exhaustion to get her to curl up with him. Turians didn't need as much sleep as the frail creatures upon whom the fate of the galaxy rested.

That weighed on her, he knew. More than she let on, more than she would ever admit. Scars weren't always visible. He would know.

He took his visor from the nightstand next to their bed and ran his primary finger over the edge, feeling the names etched there. Hers had never been one of them, but sometimes he wondered if it should have been. If the constant reminder of her would have made him a better man during his Archangel days. She didn't judge him for actions taken during her...absence. But he was proficient at judging himself.

“Gar...?” she murmured, rolling into the spot he'd been, huddling into the lingering warmth.

“I'm right here,” he murmured back, hearing her sigh and fall back into deeper sleep. He watched her again, the visor forgotten in his hands. He was afraid of losing her. Again. Afraid of what this final push was going to do to her. Crucible didn't translate the same way for him. Or maybe it did. He hadn't asked.

A vessel, in which a solid is made molten or liquid, changed, purified or destroyed.

She had so little left to give of herself, and he worried. What would be left after she burned away?

Chapter Text

Geth swarmed from all sides. Krogan burst from the breeding facility. Ash saw the dropship pass overhead, heard Kaiden's frantic voice calling for Shepard to continue on, that he could do it, to save her ass instead of his.

“Screw that,” she shouted into the commlink. A quick visual assessment told her that the addition of her Commander and the 'boys', as Shepard affectionately called them, wasn't going to make much of a difference. They were all going to die on this beautiful planet. Better to keep the nuke safe than try to rescue Ash...again.

It was Eden Prime all over again. No way out, no way through. Comrades in arms dying all around her. Ashley Williams, Marine and Gunnery Chief, knew exactly what the score was. She'd known it as soon as they split their teams to distract Saren's allies from their real purpose. Kaiden was a superior officer, she was a grunt. There was no way Shepard was going to unpin her from this FUBAR. It wasn't logical. It wasn't strategic. Soldiers die, that was the cost of war.

She didn't get a chance to hear the rest of the exchange between the Commander and Kaiden. She was too busy picking off geth from her salarian team. Kirrahe went down, shot in the shoulder. His eyes met hers for a moment before another round of chattering machines took the place of the fallen. She grimaced.

Pray God it's quick, she thought. She didn't want to know if she became a husk afterwards. She didn't want to know how the universe was going to die.

She thought about her mother, her sisters. Her father. Her grandfather. She passed a thought that maybe Garrus wasn't so bad after all. He kept Shepard's six safe, in more ways than one. Wrex was loud, taking up too much space in the cargo bay where they all worked while on the Normandy. But he was a soldier too, after a fashion. He knew the hard decisions and real world consequences. Ash trusted him, something she never thought she'd say about an alien. Tali was a good kid, a bit naive, but good. Liara was sweet and sympathetic and had no place in this ugly galaxy. She'd miss them all, and that was almost more shocking than knowing she was going to die.

A crossfire of pulse rifles and sudden electric blue glow caught her attention and a whole squad of geth lifted into the air, floating out of the fight and giving her room to breathe. Shepard, Wrex and Garrus raced around the curve of the AA gun platform, guns blazing, biotics firing. Ash felt a sting in her eyes.

She didn't know if it was for her or for Kaidan.

Chapter Text

“I don't want you to die,” Jack said. Thane didn't answer, his breath coming too short and with too much effort to spare for words. The slender biotic had her angry face on and he knew without asking what it was for. “Dammit.”

He took her hand in his, their fingers not laced – since that wasn't something he could do – but twined. Her hand was cold. Kolyat had given them space, and Thane could hear him now, talking with Shepard outside in the corridor. It wouldn't be long now.

“Fuck this,” Jack snarled, her voice garbled by tears she was refusing to shed. She dashed her free hand across her face, angrily wiping them away. “Why did you do it? Huh? Why step in front of a blade for her?”

His black eyes sought and found hers and while he said nothing, she understood just the same. She sighed. “Yeah, I get it. I would have too.”

There was an irony in dying not directly from the Keplar's Syndrome, but from a wound he shouldn't have taken. He'd lost too much blood, and the Keplar's simply made it too hard for his body to get enough oxygen. In some ways, he felt it was better this way. He would go out as he planned before he'd met the Commander. Before he'd met this tiny woman made of anger and passion. He would go out fighting for the greater good. Still...it would be hard to leave Jack. Hard to leave all of them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't draw enough air and started to cough. Jack's fingers tightened on his and her face grew frantic. Wide eyes and loose lips, no scorn or customary bravado on them. Just fear.

“Stay with me, now! You have to stay...”

“Jack...” he managed to wheeze out. “I will always be with you. Here.” He lifted a hand and placed it on her heart. She dropped her gaze from him, dropped her head towards her chest. A hot splash hit the back of his hand as a determined tear fell from her cheek.

“Damn you.”

He gripped her fingers tight, as tight as he could. She returned the pressure. He heard the door of his room open and saw Kolyat and Shepard enter. He wished there was a way to capture this moment, to freeze it in time and keep it preserved. All those he loved best at his side. Forever entwined with his soul.

“My siha...” he whispered. He was a lucky man, he knew. Not just one but two avenging spirits watched over him in his dying moments. Jack lifted her eyes to meet his a final time. He smiled at her, wished he could kiss her goodbye. But that was not in Jack's nature. He settled for keeping her hand in his and watched her cry. He drew strength from her, feeling her will it into him alongside her anger at the circumstances. He rested against the comfortable bed and forced the air into his ruined lungs. “There is something I must do,” he said softly.

He saw Shepard come to stand at Jack's shoulder, her hand hovering for a moment before it landed on the young woman in comfort. He smiled to see it. Shepard echoed it, a promise made without words. She would look after his Jack for him.

“Don't waste your air,” Jack said, drawing him back, chiding him for speaking when he should be resting. But the urge was growing stronger. He had to speak these words before he left them.

“Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths...”

Chapter Text

Megaton was different than Valara expected. Oh, she knew other places weren't as rebuilt as the Commonwealth was by the time she left it. Still...it was strange to be in a city without gardens, without workshops or generators clanking and humming. It was strange to be alone.

Not so strange, considering what she'd left behind. And not really alone. She looked over to the sturdy wooden crib where Genevieve lay, her chubby arms and legs sprawled out in blissful surrender to sleep. Val wished she could do the same, but she ached. Her skin ached and her bones felt wrong and her mind wouldn't shut off in the dark hours of the night with no one to talk to, to one to touch.

A year was a long time in the wasteland to go without touch. And the arms she wanted were long gone, memory nearly as blurred as the time itself. Saucy black eyes, dancing fingers and angular movement, graceful nonetheless. She closed her eyes and hugged her arms around herself, wishing she could forget. Wishing she could erase the memory of touch as thoroughly as she had walked away from it.

There were ghouls in this town. Pre-war, stable and steady. She found herself drawn to them as she always had been. They were the epitome of survival instinct. Besides, she'd always had a soft spot for the downtrodden. That's what she got for being a disability lawyer, back when that mattered.

Gee shifted in her sleep, making baby cooing noises. She was the one and only bright spot in Val's life, more precious than all the rarest components left in the world combined. Val would likely be dead without her, she knew this and accepted it. But her daughter couldn't hold her the way she wanted to be held. Couldn't touch the core of her that sobbed in its loneliness. No one could.

No one.

Charon could.

No, she argued with herself. That was unfair to him. She could see how he looked at her, how he wanted her. And all she craved was the rasp of leathery skin, the heat of it. He was a good man who deserved someone who loved him for him, and not just because he was ghoul.

But it was tempting, oh so tempting. And getting harder to resist. It was like staring at the bottle across the room, knowing all you had to do was walk to it and take hold of it. Sooner or later, she would give in. She just hoped she didn't hurt him too much when it was over.

Chapter Text

Jayne ran on the treadmill. Her feet pounded the rubber surface, her arms held onto the sides.

Garrus's eyes were stormy. “I know you want to talk about it, but...I don't.”

Sweat poured down her sides, down her back. Her lungs burned, but her legs kept going. She wondered which would give out first, the nanobots or her ability to get air.

Garrus shook his head. “I don't know what to do with gray.”

She kicked the treadmill up a notch, the pounding of her feet picked up speed to match.

Wrex's voice from across a stony, dusty room. “You talked him out of it, didn't you? Shepard, when will you understand a little ruthlessness isn't a bad thing?”

She ran, sweat stinging her eyes. Surely it was sweat? It wasn't tears. No. Commander Shepard didn't cry.

All or nothing. She stepped out of the shot. Hoped he wouldn't take it. Knew her presence in it was never more than an excuse. Sidonis had nearly a foot on her, and she'd seen Garrus take harder shots without missing his target.

She started to pant with the exertion. It started to burn. The treadmill began to protest softly, a quiet buzz in the silence of the hangar bay. Her breath sounded harsh, echoing in the corner she'd newly designated for workout purposes.

“Tell him...tell him he can go. I don't ever want to see his face again.” Unspoken but just as present: I don't want to see your face right now.

She changed the incline, running uphill now. There was some basic irony.

“Can it wait? I'm in the middle of some calibrations.” The first time had been funny, so like Garrus. The second time had been less so. The third time it cut her to the quick. He seemed to have forgotten how to say anything else.

She scrubbed at her face, wiping away the sweat. Yeah, the sweat. She didn't miss a beat on the treadmill, her feet sure and steady under sure and steady legs that could now go for miles without tiring. She heard the elevator door open above her head, heard the slight pinging sound of feet on the metal walkway that ran around the edge of the hangar. Heard them stop behind her.

“Commander,” Jacob said. “You've been down here for hours. You'll wear that thing out before anyone else gets a chance to use it.”

There was concern there, and a bit of awe. Jayne let the treadmill slow and stop, leaned her arms on the rails and hung her head. She gulped air, only feeling the effort to breathe deep enough now that she'd stopped.

“You should get some rest,” Jacob said.

“I need some distance from this place,” Garrus said. From you.

Jayne put on her professional mask and smiled over her shoulder at Jacob. “Just a little while longer.”

She punched the treadmill back into motion, her feet pounding the rubber surface.

Chapter Text

She couldn't move. She couldn't look away.

The scene was icy and cold and sort of blurred at the edges, like a picture burning, but not from fire. It seemed to move in slow motion, each step a graceful arc, each word a hiss. She could trace the pattern now, knew what would happen next.

“I won't let you take Shaun!” Nate cried, struggling as the baby wailed.

“I won't ask again,” said the other.

Kellogg, his name is Kellogg.

A single shot, deafening, shattering. Nate slumped, blood barely oozing from the wound as she panted, entombed on the other side of the aisle, helpless. Trapped.

Kellogg's eyes, knowing she was awake, knowing she was watched. They weren't nearly as cold as they should be. They held no sympathy, no remorse.

“Least we still have the backup.”

NO...no...no...no...

She woke, gasping for air, struggling to free herself from the blankets, shuddering from the cold of memory. She could play it over and over, forwards, backwards. She knew each sound, each footfall, each action. Waking or sleeping, she could see it happening, could see them take her baby, could see the ice drawing around her like an embrace. Sometimes she wished she'd never left it, since the waking was more hellish than the remembering.

She walked now, in the dark, in the staticky heat that never went away, that left her skin itching and dry. A green glow lit up the distance. Drawing closer. She needed Rad-X. There was a crackle of electricity and a feeling like she was drowning as the air grew thick with a miasma of rads.

No night terror could compare to the waking nightmare of the Commonwealth. Twisted trees, bent at strange angles and scrabbling. Plants too big or too wrong. Animals with too many eyes and legs, not enough fur. People with despair inscribed into their skin, into their bones. Empty buildings, crumbling stone, cracked pavement, deadly water.

She walked by the creek, careful to step around the jutting cobblestones that had shifted on the once pristine walkway. The water gurgled as it flowed towards the pond, a soft whisper that should have been a soothing sound. But there was no soothing her. There was no waking from this. She held her arms around herself and watched the night sky disappear behind a green cloud of slow death. She turned her face to it. An arc of static lit up the night for a second, the strange thunder it made following a few seconds later.

She walked back to the rusted out walls and empty windows of her house, curled up in the chair she'd scavenged because it still had a cushion. She took a Rad-X and sat in the glowing dark.

No, there was no waking from this.

Chapter Text

“What's that? A noise,” came the grumbling voice. Honoria shrank into the shadows, holding her breath. Already she'd faced grotesque, hairless, mutant things that popped up out of the ground and attacked her. They looked like oversized rats. At least they'd been easy to kill as long as she kept a cool head. Dogmeat had helped.

As if the thought of him conjured him, the shepherd dog bounded up to her, tail wagging and whining with glee.

“Shh,” she hissed. “Stay.” Heavy footfalls punctuated the silence and she pushed herself further into the nook between the overpass and some rotting junk. “Quiet!”

Dogmeat crouched down too, his face snarling, although not at her. He'd smelled the green creatures. Honoria found herself silently praying he'd stay quiet and they wouldn't be found.

Nothing about this place made sense. There was no green life – except for these brutes – and nothing grew – except everything that shouldn't. She'd been forced to shoot people until she ran out of ammunition. And when she'd found more, she'd been forced to kill even more people, although those had been...

Well, Preston had warned her about feral ghouls. She hadn't known what he meant, until she met them.

Irradiated people, she thought. More like melted.

She was completely lost, turned around and unable to find anything like a map other than what her Pip-Boy held, and that didn't help her since there were no markers on it of apparently known coordinates. It didn't pick up new ones until she crossed some invisible line, arbitrary and often distracting. She'd left Diamond City because the noise and crowds of unwashed survivors had been too overwhelming. She'd wanted to get back to Sanctuary Hills, but had evidently gone the wrong way. She could hear another settlement nearby, low voices, a thread of a radio show she remembered from before all this, opening and closing doors on sturdy buildings. But she couldn't find an entrance and now she was turned around again, and hiding from green monsters that loved to hunt down and kill everything that moved.

She heard shots ring out above her head; the mutants had found something. Someone. The course language and staccato sound of bullets made her think Raiders. She let them have at it, hunching in on herself under the bridge. The firefight went on a long time, with occasional thumps of bodies hitting the cracked and broken pavement. If she looked up, a pair of glassy eyes met hers. She stopped looking up.

It felt like hours passing, but the Pip-Boy said it had only been about fifteen minutes. But it was quiet again. The remaining mutants moved off, and the Raiders were all dead. She knew she should probably climb up there and scavenge the bodies, but her distaste for that bordered on nausea. Still, they usually had caps and bullets, two things she'd rapidly learned were good to carry. Their weapons were terrible, and their armor was frightening and they had either prepackaged food – full of rads – or charred bugs and mystery meat. Already the Vault suit was a size too big on her frame. She couldn't face it, not today.

“Go,” she whispered to Dogmeat, gesturing with her hand. She followed him out of the dark corner, leaving the scene of the carnage untouched. She didn't care where she ended up, as long as it was safe.

There. She caught a glimpse of neon in the gloom as night fell. There was the entrance, finally.

Goodneighbor.

Good enough.

Chapter Text

Hancock didn't even know what combination of chems he'd taken. He didn't pay much attention to those kinds of details anymore. But when she appeared to him, he wondered. He wasn't sure if he wanted to recreate it or prevent it.

“John,” she said. “You have to let me go.”

“Nah, Sunshine...just a little while longer.”

“Oh, John...”

Her image wavered, tattered like a cloud in a high wind. Her face blurred, no longer old and worn, but young and vibrant again. Green eyes like grass, hair like fire. The wicked gleam of her teeth as she smiled ferociously down the barrel of a modded out combat rifle.

She moved in time with his heartbeat, slow but steady. Already she'd been perched on a chair, on the bookshelf where he'd yet to take down all her beloved collection she'd spent years finding, and the bed itself. The bed he no longer could stand to sleep in.

“John Hancock, you are a sorry excuse for a ghoul.”

“Pfft, never said any dif'rent, now did I?”

“There's still a life worth living out there.”

“Nah, Sunshine, there ain't nothin' left without you.”

He sank deeper into the threadbare cushion of the sofa, the striped one she thought was hideous but wouldn't let him get rid of. He felt a canister in his hand. Jet. More Jet would be good, he thought and took another hit.

“I don't want you to end up dead like me,” her voice said, the image drifted away like smoke.

“Long life ain't worth shit alone,” he mumbled morosely.

“You aren't alone, my love. You have Shaun and Marlee, and all their children.” Her face was back, impatient and frowning, so close to his own that he thought he could reach out for it. “This mourning is hurting them, you know.”

“Yeah, I know it. Why you think I came back here?” He waved an arm around the State House, the ragged edge of the frockcoat dancing before his eyes, in and out of her image. He hadn't worn it in years, but it was still holding up after all the ballistic weave she'd put in it.

“John...go home to them. Remember me with gladness. We had a long life together. And I am at peace, at last.”

“Not long 'nuff.” He pouted. He could feel his heart picking up speed again as the Jet wore off. “Never long enough.”

He shook the canister of Jet again. It was almost empty. He hit it anyway, tasting aerosol instead of sweet chemical release. He threw it across the room, heard it clack against the wall.

“John, let me go...” she whispered a final time. And then she was gone. But so was he, lost in a dream of the past, a happier place where she was still alive.

Chapter Text

The shot felt like nothing at all, at first. The Illusive Man still held him bound, held him upright and unable to react. Cold began in his gut and spread outward, to his legs, his fingertips, up his spine. Jayne looked at him, saw what she'd done. Fury and guilt and tears were in her eyes. He smiled, no harm, no foul, child. She shook her head, denying the grace he would give her in this moment.

He could only stand there and listen to her talk the Illusive Man down. He'd read the reports from Noveria, from the Battle of the Citadel. His little girl was a master manipulator with words. She should have been a lawyer instead of a soldier. He had no doubts she would do it again. Use words to break through indoctrination, get through to the soul beneath the tightly woven lies.

He was bleeding; he could feel it. His skin itched and prickled where the blood was running down him under his uniform. He still couldn't move, couldn't barely sway in place under the Illusive Man's control. But he was getting tired. Lightheaded.

He missed what she said, missed what was replied. A sudden shot rang out, drawing his attention away from the wandering his mind had started doing. Jayne still stood where she had been, but now her face was fierce and triumphant. The Illusive Man fell and the invisible iron around him dropped, as he did.

He was able to crawl and drag himself to lean on the edge of the platform where it had separated. Jayne slid down next to him, her wounds nearly as bad as his. Her beautiful face was covered with bruises and blood. Her violet eyes stood out like jewels and he smiled for her. His little girl. They watched the view of the planet below, the fighting continuing on regardless of the drama they'd enacted here.

“You did good, child,” he murmured. “You did so good. I'm proud of you.”

“Stay with me, Uncle David,” she said, a tremor of fear in her voice. But he was so tired, so tired and faint. He couldn't even hold up his head anymore. He could tell he was sitting in a puddle of blood, felt it seeping more and more, no way to stop it.

I love you, Jayne Ann Shepard. I love you...

“Uncle David!” he heard, distant and growing further with each weakening beat of his heart. She was starting to sound frantic and he wished he could comfort her, but it was too late for him. “Uncle David...Anderson...!”

Chapter Text

Keelah, it hurt. At first she'd been able to ignore it, push on through the fight without thinking about it. But every breath was starting to hitch, every movement from cover to cover was making her ache. She knew her suit had partitioned, since there was a strange feeling of disconnect between her ribs and her gut, but she was still worried. Not that she would say anything to the Commander. She so rarely took Tali along, she didn't want to appear weak.

She hadn't counted on Garrus, though.

“Tali,” he said in a quiet moment of the fight, hunkering down next to her. Sometimes he scared her. He was too big, too...turian. And then there were times when his voice was like a caress and his concern was palpable, like it was now.

“What?” she asked, keeping her shotgun close and waiting to hear Shepard call the all clear. These Cerberus cells were often crafty, and Tali didn't think they were done quite yet.

“How bad is it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

He aimed a look at her, one that was both exasperated and kind simultaneously. She was once again grateful none of them could see her face. She was sure it was flaming.

“I'm not an idiot,” he said, tapping the side of his visor with his primary digit. She should have known it was pointless to lie to Garrus about an injury when he could read her vitals as quickly as any medical tech.

“I'll live,” she said sourly. And she knew she would too. The suit rupture was small, and the wound was merely a scratch, although the bruising was bad. Nothing too much to worry about. It was the secondary infection that was going to be worse, they both knew that.

“You need to tell her.”

“And have her send me back to the ship like a child? No.”

“Tali...”

“I'll be fine, Garrus.”

He sighed. Before he could say anything more, another round of Cerberus agents poured out of a room Shepard had just picked the lock on, their faceless helmets making her wonder if that's how everyone saw her. Garrus moved with lightning precision, lining up a shot that went over Shepard's shoulder and into the mask of the nearest one, dropping him like a rock. For an instant, Tali was envious of such a connection, wished she had someone looking out for her like that. But it passed when she realized she did. She had the two of them.

“I'll see Dr. Chakwas as soon as we get back to the ship,” she promised between rounds from her shotgun. The spray was wider than his sniper rifle, but more effective at taking on a crowd. Shepard hit them with her biotics, and several of them started to float towards the ceiling, easy pickings.

“I'm going to hold you to that,” Garrus replied. “Or I'll tell Jayne myself.”

Keelah, the way he said her name. “Fine.”

He moved on, covering Shepard with defensive fire as the Commander worked through the room full of agents. Tali's eyes lingered on him for a moment. The pain intensified, then faded. She was honest enough with herself to know it wasn't from her injury.

Chapter Text

He always forgot how dry Tuchanka was. So thirsty. No, no time for thirst.

“Mordin, no! There has to be another way.”

“No...no time...” He coughed, his throat dry and choking. The Shroud rocked, pieces tumbling down around them. “Remote bypass impossible. Suggest you get clear. Explosion likely to be...problematic.”

“No!”

“Shepard, please. Need to do this. My project, my work, my cure. My responsibility.” He coughed again. Even his eyes were beginning to feel dry. He cracked a smile for her, saw a whisper of it echo on her face. “Would have liked to see how it ends. Sure it will do fine without me.”

“Mordin...I'm sorry.”

“I'm not.” He faced the Commander as he got in the elevator, the slight smile still on his face. “Had to be me,” he said. “Someone else might have gotten it wrong.”

She stayed, he saw, until the elevator was out of sight. He hummed, trying to remember what he knew of STG sabotage tactics. He wouldn't have a lot of time. The building was coming apart, but the ride up was smooth and fast. Good. Time running out.

The control room opened for him, bracketed on all sides by uncontrolled fires. He crossed as quickly as he could, hacking and rasping. He started to gasp as his lungs dried out. Pity. Too late anyhow now. He reached the console and overrode the programming sabotage the STG had put in. Clever, clever. This node here, this sequence there...

Small explosions rocked the tower all around him, but he didn't spare a glance. He entered the final bit of code and stood straight, admiring his work uploading to the console. He hummed a little stronger.

A last sip of water would have been nice.

“Dispersal commencing,” the computer voice announced and he smiled.

“My xenoscience studies range from urban to agrarian...I am the very model of...”

He didn't really feel the blast, only had a moment to know his skin was searing away, his bones shattering from the concussive force.

Yes...a sip would have been nice...

Chapter Text

They roared. Honoria had never heard anything like it. She backed away, the pistol empty but still in her hand. She bumped into a countertop and looked down to see an intact cupboard, the door swinging lightly on its hinges. She scrambled to fit herself into it, kicking the dirt frantically to make more room, debris and scrap flying in her face. The dust cloud that rose from her efforts threatened to choke her.

She pulled the door as closed as she could, just as the first feral ghoul slammed against the outside of it, shutting it all the way. For a moment she felt the same horrible closed in feeling she'd had in the Vault cryo pod, but it passed as sheer terror took its place. She could hear them scrabbling and squawking, their hissing cries multiplying as more of them came into the room. In the distance she heard shots as the resident raiders took up the fight. She hoped they would finish off the ferals and never think to look for what the ghouls had been hunting. It was likely; raiders weren't smart based on her limited experience with them.

Just stay here, nice and quiet, Honoria, she thought to herself, wedged with her shoulder against the back of the cupboard, her feet tucked under her and her knees bent until they ached. They'll forget about you in a minute, just like they've forgotten they can open the door with their hands.

She had no way to know how long she stayed there. The arm wearing the Pip-Boy was tucked into her side and she couldn't maneuver around to open it to see a chronometer. Not to mention, the light from it would have given her away. But she counted in her head. When she reached two hundred, the sounds of the ferals had died away. She risked opening the cupboard door. The room was empty, save for a few bodies trampled in the dust. They turned on each other sometimes when they were frenzied, she knew. She was relieved to be out of her hiding spot, but she wasn't ready to try sneaking away from Lexington just yet. It was getting dark, and she figured she should just hold until then to make her escape. She needed to wait for Dogmeat anyway.

Chapter Text

“Detective Vakarian,” Executor Pallin greeted him. He waved him into the embassy office and closed the door, locking it peremptorily. Garrus didn't know what he'd done this time, but he was mentally prepared for another dressing down by his boss. It happened all too frequently since his return to the Citadel. Months of being with Jayne and the Normandy crew had changed him. The red tape and rules were suffocating now, where before they had been merely irritating. He was considering just resigning and looking into the Spectre program again.

Pallin was still watching him, his mandibles drawn in tight. Not in anger, or even displeasure, but...sorrow.

Something's happened...Mom, maybe...

“I don't know if you've seen the Galactic News today,” Pallin said.

“No, I came straight from home. I was running a bit behind...”

“Garrus. The Normandy has been attacked.” A cold flush started at the base of Garrus's neck and spread across his body. “Alliance Command released a statement.”

“The crew...”

“Most of the crew escaped. Life support pods have been tracked and picked up.”

“And Ja...Commander Shepard?”

Pallin gave him another sorrowed look, one that surprised him as much as it pained him. Pallin didn't like humans. But he'd worked with Jayne. He knew her. He liked her.

Pallin shook his head. His voice was carefully dispassionate when he spoke, his subvocals toneless with the sort of rigid discipline their race was known for. It made him sound flat, incomplete. Grieving. “Commander Shepard is reported as Missing In Action, Presumed Dead. Her pilot told the Alliance that she got him into an escape pod and was blown out through a hull breach before the ship exploded.”

There was suddenly no air in the room. He stumbled and hit the edge of Pallin's desk, falling to his knees with a boneless thump. He didn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything. He was frozen. Nerveless and disjointed. His brain a blank, wiped utterly clean by the sudden shock.

He heard a sound, but didn't know where it was coming from. It was high pitched, past where most other races could hear it. It thrummed in his chest and he realized it was himself. Keening. The sound grew in intensity until it burst from him in a cry. His whole body felt like it was on fire, but cold. His hands didn't want to work, or his legs. He could only keen and feel a vast chasm where his heart used to be.

“I'm very sorry, Garrus.”

Chapter Text

Garrus hadn't expected there to be fanfare when the Normandy touched down on Earth, but there was.

He hadn't really expected the line of journalists, flashing vid drones hovering overhead. He was exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. He was hungry and weak and his armor was so loose on his frame he'd given up wearing it. The cheers that spontaneously erupted from the onlookers were just as shocking as the abrupt silence that fell as soon as they got a look at him, skeletally thin with flaking plates.

“C'mon, big guy,” Joker said, limping to his side and offering him an arm. “You can lean on me if you need to.”

Garrus turned to the pilot and gave him the kind of stare that usually made lesser men scurry away to hide. Joker just grinned at him. Figures, he thought. Never worked on Jayne either.

He scanned the crowd, looking for her. He knew she should be there. Their last vidcall had just been last night, as the ship entered the Sol System and was finally headed home. She'd promised to meet him at the tarmac.

Home. Not his, although if she wanted to stay here he'd damn well make it his too.

He didn't see her.

He and the crew walked down the pathway held clear for them by sturdy ropes fastened to rebar posts – a frail imitation of more formal gatherings he remembered before the Reapers came. As they all emerged from the ship, the cheers began again. It didn't even matter that the great Commander Shepard had not been aboard at the time the Crucible went off. It was her ship. Her crew. They were home and it was cause for joy.

At the end of the walkway stood a line of Alliance officers. Garrus recognized Admiral Hackett among them. Primarch Victus was there too, standing a small distance away from the others. And next to him, an unfamiliar turian behind a wheelchair...

“Jayne,” he breathed, hardly aware that he spoke aloud. He began to run, heedless of the propriety, of the others walking with him. He saw nothing but her.

The crowd had fallen silent again, as if collectively holding their breath to see this reunion play out before their eyes. Jayne struggled to stand, accepting a silently offered hand from Victus. The other turian handed her a pair of crutches, and for an instant Garrus wondered why; she said she'd gotten the missing leg fixed.

Then he saw.

Her right leg ended at the knee. Below it now was a new prosthetic, and not one of human build. It looked eerily like the one Sol had for her missing foot. She began to move forward, overly careful on the new leg, the crutches keeping her balance steady. In a blinding flash, he reached her only to draw up short. He panted, completely out of breath after so much activity in such a short time. His withered stamina couldn't carry him much longer. His heart felt like it was going to burst right through his keelbone.

“Hey, babe,” she said, her voice in life so much better than across the distance between stars, no matter how good the QEC was.

“Jayne,” he said again, only now she could hear it, could hear his subvocals thrumming with all the anguish of their time apart, all the love he felt, all the unspeakable emotion of seeing her with his own eyes.

She opened her arms and he stepped into them, wrapping his own around her so carefully. Around them, the shouts were deafening. He didn't care about that. Didn't care that their picture was being taken by a thousand drones, that questions were being hurled at them like stones.

“I'm home,” he said. She held him tighter, the crutches clacking against his back.

“You're home,” she agreed. She looked up at him, her vibrant violet eyes twinkling. “You're late for dinner.”