Chapter Text
Shepard hadn’t been sure about joining Garrus and the kids at the shooting range. But David had wheedled, begging her to come see his progress, so she’d gone, against her better judgment. She wasn’t used to the sound of gunshots any more; after the war, the roar of gunfire and explosions, the mechanical whine of turrets, the dire sounds of the Reapers’ beam weapons had all haunted her dreams. It had been a long time, though, and she seemed to be over it, or near enough.
She’d still been hesitant, when she’d taken a rifle into her hands, but it had felt good. She’d basked in the glow, taking pride in her skill, in how easily the rhythm came back to her. Feeling a certain pleasure at the unguarded admiration in David’s eyes, and at the sparkle in Garrus’s.
It wasn’t until that night, when Shepard lay awake, trying to will herself to fall asleep, that she started having second thoughts.
Why had it been so easy? It shouldn’t be, should it? She hadn’t seen combat in years, had hardly even touched a gun. Was it just muscle memory, long-practiced skills coming back to her? Or was it... something else, an effect of the cybernetics Cerberus had used to resurrect her? And all the enhancements she’d added after? Were they still driving her, after all this time. She clenched her hands around the blankets, remembering the sting of the injections, the skin weaves, bone weaves, muscle weaves, all the things that had made her stronger and faster and tougher. She’d awakened in a Cerberus lab and they’d told her she was a cyborg, metal and circuits under her skin. Why not go even further, then? It had seemed so necessary to push herself harder and further, to make herself into the perfect soldier, if she was going to have any chance against the Collectors, or the Reapers.
She let go of the bedding and rolled onto her side, curling herself up. She’d put that drive aside along with the weight of everything. The girl who cried Reaper, the savior of the Citadel, the killer of Aratoht, the point of the spear. It was all behind her now. Just like old times, Garrus had said. It shouldn’t be so easy to slide back to the way things had been.
In other ways, though... in other ways it was not enough like old times. Shepard frowned into the darkness and flopped over onto her other side. Take moments like these; here she was, alone in her apartment, except for her son sleeping in his own room. Hell if she was going to do anything that would wake him; without enough sleep, he was miserably cranky. In the old days, if she couldn’t sleep, she’d wander down to the crew deck for a snack and something to drink, and there was a good chance she’d find Garrus still up fiddling with weapons mods, or Tali fine-tuning her omni-tool, or Liara poring over a report. Garrus had kept very odd hours after Omega—or maybe turians just didn’t have the same sleep patterns as humans—and she couldn’t remember how many times they’d spent an hour or two in the middle of the night just talking. It was good to spend time with him again—beyond good—but it wasn’t the same. They were so settled into civilian life now. Work and kids made schedules complicated, and that meant they got together once a week or so. It just wasn’t the same kind of easy camaraderie there had once been. She missed it—missed him, oddly, even if she saw him pretty regularly now. And the rest, too. There were so many of the old crew she’d had only sporadic contact with over the last several years, and, lying alone in the dark, Shepard suddenly missed them all fiercely. Maybe... maybe she should try harder to get back in touch. Organize a reunion, even.
It was on that thought that she finally dropped into sleep.
#
As if her half-finished notion had summoned him, James Vega showed up at her door the next afternoon.
“Lola! Lookin’ good!”
Shepard smiled and accepted the big marine’s bear hug. “Good to see you, James. You didn’t tell me you were going to be on the Citadel.”
Stepping back, he shrugged. “You know how it is. Orders change at the last minute. Supposed to make a report to the councilor, now I find I’m not on the schedule til tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Hurry up and wait, that’s the Alliance way.” James had made N7 long ago. He didn’t look much different, maybe a little harder around the edges than the young lieutenant who’d been her guard and her subordinate. He was older now than she’d been at the end of the war, Shepard realized. It was a strange notion. “Do you have time to come in?” she asked.
James grinned. “It’s what I came here for, Lola! And I’ve got something for the nino.”
“Oh?” Only then did Shepard notice the carrier he’d set down to hug her, and the brown canine nose protruding from one end. “James,” she said warily, “is that a puppy?”
James opened his mouth to answer, but just then David came bursting out of his room to join them. “Uncle James!”
“David!” He pronounced the name dah-veed, with the stress on the second syllable. “How ya doin’, buddy?” James scooped the boy up for a hug and set him back down with a groan. “You are getting big, little man. Soon you’re gonna be too big to carry, no?”
David looked skeptically at the big marine’s massive arms and shoulders. “I don’t think so, Uncle James.”
Shepard grinned. Yeah, it was probably going to be a good long time before David was too big for James to pick up. He’d called James uncle since he was small; James had brought him a teddy bear when he was a baby that had been a favorite for a long time, dragged around by its leg until the seams tore, spilling stuffing everywhere, and Shepard had had to use her rudimentary mending skills to put the thing back together. He might not be a blood relation, but James had always visited whenever time and circumstance permitted, treating David like a little brother.
James hauled up his duffel in one hand and the pet carrier in the other, and somehow all of them were bundled into the apartment, the door shutting behind him. “I brought you something,” said James with an immense grin, and opened the door to the crate.
The puppy sprang out, a mass of golden-brown fur, barking jubilantly, and before Shepard quite knew what was happening, it was licking David’s face, while her son sprawled on the floor and giggled helplessly.
Obviously the puppy was going to stay. “James,” she said, but it came out more weary than stern, “you don’t just get kids pets without asking. You do know who’s going to end up taking care of that puppy, don’t you?”
James shot her a sideways look. “What, you can’t whip one ten-year-old into shape, Lola?”
This was her son, not a recruit, she wanted to say, but she took another look at David’s face and gave up. “What kind of dog is that?”
James shrugged. “Dunno. Some kind of mutt. Part golden retriever, maybe some husky. Got him from a friend of mine. The mama’s mostly retriever, one of the friendliest dogs you’ll ever meet. Obedient, too. He’s already housebroken. Should be a real good dog for you.”
“I don’t know what made you think we needed a dog,” Shepard muttered, but David was calling, “Uncle James! What’s his name?”
“I don’t know, buddy, you’re gonna have to pick one out.” James leaned over and scratched the dog’s ears with one hand, ruffling David’s hair with the other.
Shepard stood back with her arms folded, but she couldn’t help smiling at the scene. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. She would have to have a talk with David about responsibility and caring for the animal, though.
The doorbell rang, but the door started to open as Shepard turned toward it, Garrus and Lexa appearing in the doorway. “Hey, Shepard?” Garrus said, “I think Lexa left her datapad here the other day...” He broke off abruptly. “What in the name of the spirits is that?”
Caught off-guard, Shepard tried to frame a response. James saved her, calling, “It’s a puppy. What, haven’t you ever seen a dog before?”
“I’m not sure,” Garrus replied, letting the door shut behind them. He looked rather as if he were trying to decide whether the puppy was an enemy that was going to need shooting. Lexa appeared mesmerized, edging in a little further without straying too far from her father.
“James brought David a pet,” Shepard explained.
James straightened up and did a double take. “Wait a second—hey, Scars! Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Garrus left off staring at the puppy. “Jimmy. How have you been?” The two men shook hands.
“Good, good. When did I see you last? Out in the Traverse, was it three or four years ago?”
“Four, I think, by your calendar,” said Garrus.
Lexa was still staring at the puppy, inching further into the living room, where David and the dog had ended up in a heap of barks and giggles. Shepard kept one eye on the girl as she registered the two men’s conversation. She put in, “Four years? I didn’t know you two had seen each other since the war.” Neither of them had mentioned it, and it was hard to imagine... well, it was odd, at least, to imagine them interacting without her.
“It was a joint op,” said James. “Tracked down the source of those colonial pirate attacks, Hierarchy and Alliance decided to coordinate.”
“Yeah, I was...” Garrus glanced at Lexa and lowered his voice a little, “... I was doing occasional field ops until Mely died.”
Shepard blinked. It made sense, of course. She knew James spent a lot of time in the field, and there was no reason Garrus shouldn’t use his skill and experience for the Hierarchy, but the idea of them in the field together, without her there, gave her a funny feeling in her stomach.
“I was sorry to hear about that, man,” James said.
“Thanks,” said Garrus, watching Lexa as she cautiously bent over to pet the dog. “I can’t take the risk now. She’s only got one parent left.”
James nodded. “I get that. Hope the brass don’t give you any trouble for it.”
Garrus shook his head. “No. We can rearrange duties to accommodate family necessity.”
“So this is the sprout, huh?” James said. He crossed his arms and grinned. “She’s gonna need her own nickname.”
“I reserve the right to veto any nickname you give my daughter,” Garrus said dryly.
“Come on, Scars, I wouldn’t do anything bad.” James looked thoughtful. “Gonna have to think about it, though. Gotta pick the right one.”
#
A few hours later, Shepard was tipsier than she’d been in quite a while. She’d had a glass or two of wine with dinner (takeout pizza for the humans and something Shepard didn’t recognize for the turians); she’d had a couple of beers after dinner, with James egging her on; she’d had a cup of coffee as the evening went on, into which James had poured a generous shot of something from a flask, with a wink and a grin. Garrus and James had settled into a familiar competition, each story more outrageous than the last. Shepard knew there was truth in there somewhere, but the two of them were masters of stretching the truth like taffy, molding it, adding a heaping helping of fiction, and reshaping it into something entirely new. Shepard, meanwhile, couldn’t stop herself from giggling at every enormous whopper.
She’d packed David off to bed a while ago, over sleepy protests. At least an hour, maybe even two. Garrus had looked apologetic then and said, “Guess we should go, then, I should get Lexa to bed.”
“Oh, she could sleep in David’s room,” Shepard had blurted. Garrus had looked skeptical but eventually agreed, because Lexa was more than fine with rolling herself in blankets and settling down on the floor.
“I still don’t understand the appeal of the dog,” Garrus said now, as James came back from taking the newly named Rusty out to do his business.
“C’mon, Scars, don’t you spiky aliens have pets?”
“Not really, no,” Garrus said, leaning back in his seat with arms crossed over his chest. “We have domesticated animals for meat, but most of Palaven’s wildlife either fears us or wants to eat us.”
James shrugged. “Dogs are descended from predators, too. Domesticated wolves. They were hunting companions. Man’s best friend.”
Garrus flicked a mandible. “That thing hunts?”
“He’s just a puppy,” said Shepard. “Some dogs hunt with their people, isn’t that right, Rusty?”
The puppy barked encouragingly and then flopped himself down on the floor next to Shepard.
“But humans bred dogs for all sorts of shit. Hunting, fighting, pulling sleds, you name it.”
“Huh.” Garrus glanced at his omni-tool. “Okay, the extranet is telling me there are such things as ‘dog people’ and ‘cat people.’ What the hell does that mean?”
“Cats are another kind of pet,” Shepard said.
“Some people like dogs better, some people like cats better. You ask me, cats are loco. Always staring at you.”
Garrus grinned. “So I guess you’re a dog person, James?”
“That’s right.” James settled back in his armchair.
“So what are cats good for?”
“They catch mice,” Shepard put in. “Or other kinds of vermin.”
“Yeah,” said James. “My abuela had a cat. Meanest little cuss you ever saw. Killed cockroaches like a master.”
“But the point of pets isn’t to be, to be useful,” said Shepard. The thought seemed very important, but she was having trouble finding the right words for it. “They’re more like com- compan- pals. Warm and furry and cuddly.” She leaned over to scratch Rusty’s ears, bumping into Garrus in the process. “They keep us company. Our furry, furry friends.” She pulled herself back up to a sitting position and propped herself up on Garrus’s shoulder.
James snorted, and Garrus looked at her oddly. His arm tensed slightly. Shepard ignored it and leaned her cheek against him. “You’re warm, too,” she informed him.
“Uh, thanks, Shepard. I do my best to maintain a consistent body temperature,” Garrus said.
“You’re very good at it,” Shepard said, closing her eyes. “Oh, except on Noveria. You bitched constantly on Noveria.”
“Sixteen years and you haven’t forgotten that,” Garrus grumbled under his breath.
James chuckled. “Lola, I think you might have had enough.”
“I am not drunk,” Shepard announced, her eyes flying open. “I haven’t been drunk in years.”
“Yeah, that might explain it,” said James. Garrus laughed.
Blinking, Shepard took in the detritus of bottles on the table in front of her. There were more beer bottles than she’d thought. “I am a marine,” she said. “I’m not going to get shitfaced from a couple of beers and a glass of wine and... what else did I have?”
“Right,” said Garrus, shifting his arm until Shepard reluctantly moved away. She missed the warmth of him already and sighed to herself. He slowly rose to his feet and stretched. “I think I’m at my limit. I’d better get home before it gets any later.”
“Aw,” Shepard protested. “You could stay!”
“You already promised James the guest room, Shepard, and I’d rather sleep in my own bed than on the couch.”
James laughed. “What, you getting old?”
Garrus snorted. “Yeah, actually. Respect your elders, Jimmy.”
“In your dreams, Scars.”
Shepard frowned at the assortment of bottles as Garrus departed from the room and returned with Lexa, still asleep, in his arms. “Good to see you, James. Good night, Shepard.”
She bounced off the couch to intercept him as he headed toward the door. “I should see you out,” she blurted, reaching for the door controls.
“I appreciate that, since I have my hands full.”
“You do.” Shepard smiled at him over Lexa’s sleeping form, and on impulse, rose up on her toes and planted a kiss on his scarred mandible. “Good night, Garrus.”
Garrus stared at her, blue eyes unreadable, then blinked and shook his head. “Good night.”
Shepard closed the door behind them and turned to scowl at the mess in her living room. “Morning,” she muttered. “I’ll clean it in the morning.”
“Good night, Lola,” James called, heading toward the guest room.
#
She woke with a splitting headache and a hazier memory than she liked. She found herself aspirin in the bathroom and wandered out in search of food to find James already in the kitchen, cooking. “Lola! You’re just in time for the huevos.”
“Fabulous,” she groaned, plopping herself in a chair, hoping her headache would fade. “I don’t think I have the tolerance I used to.”
“You don’t say.” He presented her with a plate of eggs and a fork. Shepard dived in, gratefully. She was even more grateful David wasn’t up yet to ask questions and talk too loudly.
They ate in silence for several minutes. Shepard would freely admit it: the eggs were good. Damned good, even. James didn’t have a huge culinary repertoire, but what he cooked, he knew how to do well.
“Something going on with you and Scars?” James asked.
“What?” Shepard looked up in surprise, then winced as the end of the previous evening suddenly came into relief in her memory. Her cheeks grew hot. “Ohhhh. No.”
“You sure about that? ‘Cause you were lookin’ a little more than friendly there. Not sure a turian is what I’d pick to cuddle up on.”
Shepard shook her head, even as a traitorous little part of her remembered very well what it felt like to curl herself against a warm turian body. “No, no. I’d just had a little too much, that’s all.”
“Yeah.” After a moment, James added, “Don’t get me wrong, you could sure as hell do worse. Scars is a good guy and all, I was just surprised.”
She swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “No, it’s... not like that at all. We’re old friends, you know that, but that’s all.” It had been more than that, once, but if James didn’t know that, she wasn’t about to tell him.
“Okay, Lola. Whatever you say.”
Shepard shot him a suspicious look. James looked for a moment as if he were about to say something else, but stopped himself. She might have pushed the point further, but a moment later David shuffled into the kitchen, tousled and yawning, and she let it go.