Chapter Text
I wake up early, feeling like shit.
No part of me wants to get up, but my body’s given up on pretending sleep’s an option. There’s no point trying to rest when my brain’s already spent the last twenty hours tearing itself apart.
I tried going to Mika last night—right after she took the elevator up to her loft. Summoned it back down, pressed the button, waited. Nothing. Tried again, harder this time. And then came EDI’s voice:
“Shepard has requested privacy. Please return to the crew deck.”
That was it. No argument, and no way through. Just a sealed door and a wall of silence. Haven’t heard from her since. Not a ping, no chat requests, no replies to the ones I sent. She hasn’t wandered into the batteries. Hasn’t so much as glanced my way.
And it hurts more than I want to admit.
I sit on the edge of my bunk, scrubbing a hand down my face, undersuit still clinging uncomfortably to my plates. Out of habit, I pull up the mission brief on my omni-tool. Don’t even know what I’m hoping to find—something solid, maybe. Something handfast to focus on instead of… this.
Status: Inactive
Assignment: None
Authorization: SHEPARD, M.
I blink once. Then again, but it doesn’t change. I stare at it like maybe the system’s going to fix itself, like it’ll realize it made a mistake and put me back where I belong. But it doesn’t.
She benched me.
And I don’t even blame her.
I see her face in my mind, clear as if she’s standing right here. The way she looked at me before she turned around and walked away. No fire, no ice, just… emptiness. Like whatever spark we lit the night before didn’t mean a damn thing anymore.
And that’s on me. I let this happen.
I didn’t move, and I didn’t say her name. Just stood there, blinking like an idiot, while Tali touched me like it meant something. Like I’d been caught in the middle of something I didn’t even realize I was doing.
And that’s it, isn’t it? I didn’t do anything to stop it.
Not on purpose—I didn’t even register that Tali was talking to me, much less touching me. But that’s my mistake. I should’ve seen it, felt it, done something about it, well before Mika had to walk back down and watch me act like an oblivious dumbass.
Again.
Now the consequences are here. As much as I hate it, I can’t fault her for pulling me off the roster. To her, it must’ve looked intentional. So she retaliated. Childishly, maybe, but still. And yeah, I know it’s wrong to even think that—it’s her right to be pissed. But it still hits like a gut shot.
My claws flex against my thigh, scraping just enough at the edges of my plates to sting. If it hadn’t been for that slick fuck yesterday, none of this would’ve happened. Mika didn’t do anything wrong—I know that. Saw it in the way she touched his hand: support, nothing more, nothing less.
But Thane? Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.
And it wasn’t for her. It was for me. A precision strike, his hand on hers, eyes locked with mine. A silent, pointed message:
You lost your chance. I’m what comes next.
And it worked. It got to me. Doesn’t help that, apparently, everyone thinks drell are attractive. Like, universally. Big, dark, expressive eyes, soft voices, that whole mysterious lethal predator vibe. I get the appeal—I just don’t feel it. Always preferred turians. So far, Mika’s been the only exception to that rule.
My eyes linger on the inactive mission tag a few seconds longer before I shut the omni-tool off with a flick of my wrist. I lean back against my too-small cot, exhaling hard through my nose.
I know one thing: this isn’t something I can fix from the batteries.
But if there’s even a chance I can fix it—do I give her space? Or do I go now, insist we talk before this spiral gets any worse?
She’s about to convince a justicar to join the mission. Timing couldn’t be worse, but the longer I wait, the heavier it gets. Still, if I know Mika, barging in right now would just… make everything worse.
Besides, I’m starving.
I scrub a hand down my face again, then push up from the bed. Maybe food will help. Or maybe I just need to move, do something other than sit here dissecting every mistake like it’s a crime scene.
The mess hall’s quiet at this hour, mostly empty except for Gardner, already throwing ingredients together for breakfast. We exchange a polite nod while I wait for my coffee to finish brewing, rolling my shoulders to loosen the stiffness in my neck.
What I wouldn’t give to sleep in Mika’s bed… but there’s no way I’d ask. Especially not when things are this tense.
My gaze drifts across the empty room—until it lands on a familiar figure, sitting with his back to me. Thane. Composed, hands folded around a mug, posture perfectly unreadable. Only thing I am sure of?
He’s already clocked me.
I almost head back into the batteries.
Almost.
Instead, I walk over and stop short of the table. The drell doesn’t react, but I catch his left brow quirk slightly.
“Vakarian, was it?” Thane says, monotone.
“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” I say. “You knew exactly what you did.”
Thane doesn’t blink. “I often do.”
“You touched her,” I say, voice low. “And you looked straight at me while you did it.”
“Mm.” A faint smile touches Thane’s lips, like he’s pleased I noticed. “Then I suppose the message was received.”
My mandibles flare slightly, teeth glinting in the light. “I’m not in the mood to play games, Krios.”
“I can see that,” Thane says, standing slowly, finally meeting my gaze. “But I suspect you’re in the mood for regret.”
There’s no threat in his tone—just that irritating calm, like he’s already two steps past whatever I might say next. Our eyes lock, neither of us blinking, sizing each other up. Then his lips curve into that smirk again, the same one from yesterday.
“You should be careful, Vakarian,” he says. “People notice things. Like who shows up. And who doesn’t.”
“She asked for space.”
“Did she?” Thane asks mildly, like it’s just a philosophical question. “Or did she simply give up waiting for someone to fight for her?”
I stiffen. That lands closer than I want him to know.
Thane nods. Not cruelly, not kindly—just knowingly. “I understand she matters to you now. That makes this ship more interesting than I expected.”
I don’t mind drama. I enjoy it, as long as I’m not the one stuck in the middle of it. Some smug bastard thinking he’s got the upper hand on me? That doesn’t bother me—I’ve got nothing to prove. But dragging Mika into this? My best friend?
“Fuck with me all you want, Krios. I’m fair game.” My voice stays level, but then it shifts into something quieter and colder—just for him. “But if you ever use her like that again just to piss me off… I won’t stay polite about it.”
I leave him hanging and walk back to the coffee machine, grab my mug, and head back to the batteries without looking over my shoulder.
By the time mission deployment starts creeping in, I’m already in my armor. I know I’m going, but being prepared feels like I’m at least doing something. The ship hums differently now, louder and more awake. Conversations pass by in clipped tones, weapons get checked, routines repeated. I don’t speak to anyone.
Instead, I linger near the CIC. Out of sight, of course.
Mika’s right there by the airlock, standing with Miranda in her Predator armor, arms folded, face calm, expression unreadable. Kasumi’s a few feet off, leaning against the wall, watching her like she always does.
I don’t approach them. I just keep my distance and watch, unmoving. Instead, I lift my omni-tool and check the mission roster again—just to see if something’s changed.
It hasn’t. Still benched.
I exhale, slow. There’s no jealousy or anger—not really. Just that dull, familiar throb of not being chosen. Of knowing she thinks Miranda’s a better option than me right now.
When Mika turns slightly toward her X.O., something in me tightens. I almost step forward and say her name. Almost explain everything right there, almost beg her to change her mind.
But I don’t.
I sigh, turn away, and head back down to the batteries. Distracting myself with calibrations feels like the right choice. And when she gets back? I’ll talk. Explain everything and try to make it right. I’m just not sure how.
I’m no more than three meters from my hideout when someone speaks behind me.
“You’re really not going?”
I turn and see Tali standing there alone, arms folded. Her posture’s casual, but her voice is anything but.
“She benched you just like that? Cold, even for her,” she says. “Guess that’s what happens when you let someone get too close.”
I exhale through my nose. “It’s not your business.”
“She made it mine,” she snaps. “The way she looks at you like you’re orbiting her, like she expects you to just be there? And then she’s cutting you out like it never mattered?”
Silence stretches for a beat.
“Maybe if she wants to act like a child,” she adds, stepping closer, “you should stop waiting around for her to grow up.”
My eyes narrow. She steps closer, her hand brushing my arm, but I step back immediately.
“Don’t,” I say, flat and quiet. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing.”
“I do,” she insists, voice rising. “I’m right here, Garrus. I see you. I’m not the one playing games.”
My jaw clenches. Another round of consequences for poorly chosen actions, and I kick myself for not being firm with her from the start. For not seeing what her touches meant immediately. For assuming they were all platonic.
No more.
“What you want is just a story. You want the part where I walk on the ship, trip over my feet, and realize it’s you,” I say. “But it’s not. It never will be.”
Tali flinches, fists curling slightly.
“She won’t choose you,” she says, voice like glass. “She’ll just use you until she doesn’t need you anymore. Ask anyone.”
I don’t even blink. There’s no satisfaction or victory in what I’ve said. But there’s clarity now. A line drawn that should’ve been carved into the floor weeks ago. I let this linger. Let Tali believe there was something soft between us to build on, but there never was.
I should’ve said it sooner. If I had, Mika would’ve never needed to walk away.
“Don’t touch me again, Tali,” I say. “Not like that.”
Then I turn, calm and silent, and walk away, leaving her alone.
I’m not sure what impresses me more. The fact that I just watched Samara break an Eclipse merc’s neck with her foot, or that she did it without messing up her eyeliner. Either way, Step on me, Mommy definitely crosses my mind, and I hate that I don’t hate it.
Samara is gorgeous. There’s no way for me to guesstimate her age, but she seems older. Definitely younger than Benezia, but a lot older than Liara. Piercing gray eyes, angular face, regal vibe—the kind of woman who makes me want to say Yes, Mommy and commit a war crime in her name.
She’s been in custody ever since I stumbled onto her. The local officer doesn’t care that it was Eclipse; murder’s still murder on paper. Samara didn’t resist. Not because she respects their laws, but because her Code allows for patience. She’s giving them a day—maybe less—before she stops playing nice.
And that’s why I stepped in when I did.
That Spectre authority? Knew it was going to come in handy someday. It can magically poof this whole mess away, as long as Samara agrees to become my problem. Which she will… as long as I can go back in and get the name of the ship the person I’m tracking escaped Illium on.
Tit for tat at its fucking finest.
I step away from the makeshift holding cell, leaving a meditating Samara sitting on a table. Officer Anaya was clear: Samara’s not allowed back in. This all rests squarely on my shoulders—just like everything else. I sigh loudly when I’m out of earshot.
“Right. Infiltrate Eclipse territory, take out everything in our way, and get the ship manifest,” I sum up. “Just a regular old Tuesday.”
“It’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before,” Miranda says.
“True.”
But it still feels like it. Feels like I’m doing something wrong. I know exactly why that is, but I don’t wanna admit it. Not yet. All I know is I feel… incomplete. Like I’m missing something crucial. Something no one else can replace, not Kasumi and especially not Miranda.
“All this investigating,” Kasumi says lightly. “Kinda makes you wish we had a cop handy.”
I don’t turn around to face her. And she doesn’t even try to hide the smug little tone in her voice.
“Like… someone good with evidence, you know? Records. Crime scenes. Interrogation.” Kasumi pauses, milking it. “You know… maybe a sniper. A detective. One wearing blue armor.”
I exhale. “You’re not exactly subtle.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
Kasumi drifts into view, brown eyes sparkling under her hood, easy smile on her face. Her gaze flicks toward Samara, then back at me.
“You gonna ask him to come?”
“He’s benched.”
“Mhm. But are you mad at him, or mad at yourself?”
I don’t answer that. I just watch Samara sit there and meditate without a care, radiating calm Mommy-energy like she’s born to do it. Detective Anaya keeps shooting glances at the justicar, awe and fear tangled in her expression.
Kasumi shrugs. “Your call. Just figured you’d want someone watching your six who knows how to make a shot count.” She smiles. “Also… you’ve been kinda off since this morning. Thought you should know.”
She slinks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts, staring ahead at the view like it might hold the answers to the universe.
Of course I regret benching Garrus. Not right away, of course, and not while I was actually doing it. That had felt right in the moment. Pure retaliation, controlled and deserved. But five minutes later?
Yeah.
That’s when the guilt set in for real. When the weight of what it meant started pressing down, when the regret and shame of being so fucking childish surfaced. It was never about the mission. It was punishment, plain and simple. An action done only because I wanted him to feel what I’d felt.
Left out and unwanted. And what better way to do that than cut him off right where he wanted to be?
And now I’m being reminded of what a bad fucking idea that is. Kasumi is great in the field. Strong damage dealer. Glass cannon, but she keeps herself safe in cloak. Miranda? Strong, sure, but I can’t help it—I don’t trust her to have my back.
There’s only one man I trust like that.
Only Garrus watches my six like it’s a damn reflex and works with me like he reads my mind. No one knows my rhythms quite like he does. No one’s steadier, sharper, or more likely to pull me out of the fire when I’m too proud to ask for help.
I exhale slowly through my nose. That’s the thing, isn’t it? I’m letting my ego get in the way of making the right call. But changing my mind now… it’ll look weak. Like I can’t even hold the line for one full day.
On the other hand, letting him sit down there—fully armored, benched, and waiting? That’s not strength. That’s petty. And if I fuck up today because I let my pride drive the roster…
Well, I won’t forgive myself for that either.
So, I activate my earpiece before I regret it.
“EDI, please tell Garrus to gear up and meet us at our location ASAP.”
“Message relayed, Shepard. ETA ten minutes.”
“Thanks.”
I end the call, exhaling hard. This isn’t forgiveness, I tell myself, and it’s not weakness either. It’s just… logistics.
Yeah, that’s right.
Mathematically, it makes sense to want Garrus here, because no one does this better than him.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Seems like the Nile isn’t just a river in Egypt.
I hear him before I see him—footsteps too heavy to be Miranda, and too confident to be Kasumi. There’s also the subtle whirr of armor joints I could pick out in my sleep.
Garrus stops next to me, keeping a bit of distance, and says nothing. I don’t look at him—not yet—because I’m still very firm on the fact that I just called him here because of— what was it again?
Logistics.
Yeah.
“Glad you made it,” I say, voice clipped and professional.
Like I haven’t spent the last ten minutes spiraling, preparing for his smug little attitude when I inevitably backtracked on benching him.
“No problem,” he answers, quiet and even.
I finally turn, and there he is. Blue armor, custom blue M-92 ready to go. He even brought his Vindicator, just to be safe. His jaw’s tense, but his eyes are calm.
I give him a quick rundown of what we’ve figured out so far, and what’s still gray. How we’ve already talked to Pitne For, what leads we’ve got, and what we’re looking for.
“…There’s a facility up ahead. Eclipse-controlled. We’re heading in to retrieve dock records. Should be quick if we’re clean.”
My voice doesn’t waver—not even once—and I mentally pat myself on the back for that little victory.
“Might stumble on another gunship,” I add. “And mechs, I’m assuming.”
Garrus nods once. “Understood.”
That’s it? No questions? No commentary? Not even a flicker of I told you so? I hate how much that steadiness settles me, so I turn away before it shows.
“Let’s move out.”
The rest of the mission unfolds like muscle memory. Moving, clearing, pushing forward; it’s nothing we haven’t done a hundred times before. Miranda dispatches targets cleanly, Kasumi darts in and out like a shadow, and Garrus never leaves my flank. Not once.
Not even when the gunship creates chaos and we’re forced to deal with it.
We even stumble across a volus high on the drug these mercs are dealing: Minagen X3. I don’t know how it works, but Cal’s biotics look strong. High off his ass, though; he definitely acts like a man with a god complex. All he needs is a little divine intervention in the form of a push, and he decides godhood might not be so tempting after all.
Just a regular Tuesday afternoon.
But just as we hit that final room—just as I start to think maybe I’m in control again and I’m about to get Captain Wasea to cooperate—
That’s when it hits me.
The asari flings a canister at me, one I already know is full of Minagen X3. I make the wrong call, sidestepping left instead of right, and glide right into danger. My boots scrape as I pivot, but it’s already too late. The canister bursts next to me.
A cloud of fine red powder explodes outward, coating my front like rusted snow. It hits my face, fills my lungs, and clings to my skin like glitter. I barely have time to register the burn before someone yanks me behind a wall.
“Shit,” Garrus mutters. “You alright, Mika?”
It burns.
Fuck, it burns.
Not like a wound or like fire. Worse. Like every cell is boiling. Like my nerves have been pulled to the surface and soaked in acid. My spine snaps straight, a strangled noise tearing from my throat. I clutch at my chestplate, fingers clawing for stability that isn’t there.
“I—what the fuck—”
The words rip out, half-choked, barely formed. My knees buckle, and my vision fractures. Not just blur, but color, heat, and motion. Everything warps, like my bones are screaming.
“Mika, what’s happening? Talk to me,” Garrus says.
Something crackles at my fingertips, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels like power, though not something that belongs to me. It surges up my arms, down my spine, across my temples, and then something ignites.
Everything turns blue.
It coils in my chest and thrums against my skull, wrong but alive. And then it breaks. The pain doesn’t stop, but it seems to… mutate. Sharp becomes buzzy, searing becomes electric. My mouth drops open on a laugh I don’t mean to make. No, not a laugh. A giggle, too loud and too bright.
“Garrus,” I wheeze, clutching his arm. “Garrus—look at me.”
He does. And I watch it hit him. How his eyes widen, the way his shoulders stiffen, mandibles twitching. Not recoiling—anchoring. He doesn’t look away. Not even when I’m laughing like a maniac.
“I think I’m dying.”
And when his breath catches—just barely—I gasp, grabbing him tighter.
“No, wait.” I grin wider, manic and breathless. “I think I’m a fucking god.”
Garrus exhales, slow and steady, like he’s recalibrating his whole worldview. Is he shaking his head or nodding at me?
“Of course you are,” he mutters under his breath. “Why wouldn’t you be?”
At least I’m pretty sure that’s what he says.
I let go of Garrus and hold up my hands, staring at them like I’ve never seen fingers before. They’re glowing in this brilliant blue, like a nova, and it makes me giggle again—completely gone.
“Garrus,” I say, voice dazed and delighted. “Garrus, look. Look at this.”
“I’m looking,” he says.
Then I start giggling. Even more.
Not because it’s funny—I’m actually panicking. Who the hell gets biotic powers out of nowhere? But my brain has decided this is hilarious. Because panicking and being scared isn’t how I deal with incomprehensible issues.
“Garrus,” I say, dragging his name out like it’s a joke. “Are you seeing this, Garrus?”
Before he can stop me, I fling my hand forward on instinct. A biotic pulse slams out. It’s too wide and sloppy, catching the edge of a random crate and launching it backward into a wall. The crate explodes on impact, and I whoop, staring at my hands in awe.
“Gravity’s scared of me now,” I whisper, eyes wide as if the truth just dropped into my lap. “I can feel it running.”
I turn to Garrus, expression luminous and unsettling, and press a hand to his chest like he’s the only real thing left.
“You’re the only thing anchoring me.” My fingers flex, bracing against the collapse of reality. “You feel that? Even gravity listens to you.”
Garrus doesn’t laugh. He just nods and says, “Then I guess I’d better hold on.”
I snort. Then giggle. Then cackle—loud and wild and echoing like it’s trying to escape my chest.
“Oh shit,” I wheeze between fits of laughter. “Oh god, I have no idea what I’m doing!”
I’ve already decided I need to enjoy what it’s like being a biotic for a day, so I stumble to my feet. And what happens next isn’t tactical. It’s pure chaos.
I charge out from cover, practically skipping, waving my arms and sending half-formed shockwaves in every direction. One arcs too low and throws Kasumi off her feet.
“Ha! Sorry, Kasumi!” I shout over my shoulder, absolutely not sorry. “Did you see that, Garrus?”
“I saw,” he says.
Every merc that comes near me either gets thrown too hard, half-lifted, or sent spinning into the air like they’re on some kind of weird rollercoaster. I duck behind cover only to accidentally toss it sideways, leaving myself completely exposed again. Garrus has to drop one clean shot to keep me from getting lit up.
“Thanks, big guy!” I sing-song, right before biotically yeeting a mech leg through someone’s chest. “Learning curve!”
By the time I make my way to Captain Wasea, I’m glowing, twitchy, and giggling like a war criminal with a glitter cannon. Wasea narrows her eyes, darting around the room like she’s regretting every single life choice she’s ever made.
“Hey, Garrus.” I grin at Wasea. “Garrus. Garrus?”
“Right behind you.”
“Garrus!”
“What?”
“Look at me!”
“I’m looking.”
I hold out my hand, concentrate with everything I’ve got, and launch myself across the room.
Splat.
Right into Captain Wasea.
I slam into her so hard she’s knocked against the wall. There’s a sickening snap from somewhere in her body. Her eyes widen once before violet blood starts dripping from her mouth. My own eyes widen, locking on hers, and her expression seems to ask one simple question:
Why?
“Whoops,” I murmur, a chuckle breaking past my lips. “Okay, that wasn’t what I meant to do.”
And that’s when Kasumi finishes the job, giving the asari a clean headshot to put her out of her misery. Wasea crumples to the floor, erased from existence. I stare at the body like it’s not real. Like she might get back up and clap, or throw another Minagen X3 canister at me. My grin falters—just slightly. And when I open my mouth to speak, the words don’t come.
“Th—That was…” I start, then trail off, blinking too slow.
My voice sounds wrong in my own ears, slurred and syrup-thick. My mouth is dry, tongue heavy. I try again, but forget what I was going to say halfway through. Then I take a step and the floor shifts sideways.
My boot scrapes, balance gone in an instant, and gravity takes me. The crash is too fast, too hard—my knees start to give, my hand shoots out to brace and—
Garrus catches me. One arm around my waist, the other steadying my shoulder, holding me upright with that unshakable calm.
“Easy, softy,” he says gently.
I lean into him, breathing too fast. My heart’s pounding, head ringing, and hands buzzing. Everything hurts now, but it’s the kind of hurt I can’t fight off. A deep, bone-heavy fatigue I can’t remember ever experiencing before.
And the hunger. Jesus.
It’s so sudden, like a punch in the gut. My stomach doesn’t growl, but I feel nauseous from how ravenous I suddenly am. It yanks me right back to Earth, back when I was so hungry I’d eaten food tossed in trash cans.
“You’re crashing,” Garrus murmurs, already reaching into one of his compartments.
I try to pull away, muttering, “I’m fine.”
“You’re not. But I’ve got you.”
He presses something into my hand. It’s a protein bar, dense and chalky. I unwrap it and take a reluctant bite. Tastes like gravel wrapped in something fakely sweet. Still, I chew slowly, vision shimmering, and try not to pass out while doing it.
The sugar and protein hit my stomach like a grenade—immediate, jarring, and necessary. My muscles feel like lead now, limbs heavy and awkward in Garrus’ grip, but my energy’s already crawling back up. I force myself upright. I don’t want to be held right now. Not like this.
Not when I acted like an idiot five minutes ago.
“I’m better now,” I say again, firmer this time.
“You’re still glowing.”
I blink. Look down.
Fuck.
The faint blue crackle still hovers at my fingertips, curling around my joints like static. Still high, huh? Damn. How long is this going to last? When I look up, Kasumi’s watching me from behind a crate, eyes wide and deeply amused.
I exhale slowly and straighten my spine, tucking it all away behind a scowl and a bite of chalky protein bar.
No one says anything. To be fair, no one has to. They all saw it—every uncontrolled burst, every manic giggle, every Garrus, look at me. The memory of my own voice echoes in my skull like a taunt. God, how embarrassing. I’m supposed to be mad.
Instead, I just outed myself as a major simp.
I keep chewing. Pretend I don’t feel the way Garrus is still watching me. He seems quiet and concerned, but not mocking. Never mocking.
And that almost makes it worse.
“Let’s get the ship manifest,” I mutter. “Then we get the fuck outta here.”
I don’t wait for a reply. Just move forward, legs trembling with effort, and pretend my pride isn’t bleeding out with every step.