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Entanglement refers to a quantum theory which holds that particles that interact with each other will experience permanent dependency on each other’s quantum states and properties. This entanglement results in a loss of the particle’s individual identity, but results in the particles acting as one. Should there exist something like a “soul,” would it not operate on a quantum level? Would each soul not reach out and entangle with those that it becomes close to? To particles that experience entanglement, the light years that separate them are the width of a single blade of grass. When the call went out, they came. From the far-flung corners of a galaxy hard-won, they came. From lives that had only recently been rebuilt, from worlds that (in a certain light) still smoldered, they came. Her name, as it had always been, was their rallying cry. Commander Shepard needed them one last time.
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“I’ll begin by assuming that most of you aren’t entirely aware of the laws surrounding the presumed death of a person, but let me assure you that Commander Shepard was. Her will was revised a few days before her presumed death and was sent to me to…execute should her death come about.” Hackett paused for a moment before continuing, “We have not found her body, and at this point it is unlikely that we will find any remains; however, the allotted seven years have passed, and I thought it best that I gather you together while I still could.” “What, did the Alliance not pay you to go to every damn planet and hunt us down personally, or was that a Shepard special?” Wrex’s wry observation about the Alliance’s tendencies to overuse their best and brightest made everyone but Hackett laugh. “You pulled me out of a bar fight for this, pende-, I mean, sir? It was just getting good!” “Stow it, Vega, that’s an order,” Ashley said, elbowing James in the side as she did. “Ouch, I think those were cracked, but I think you just broke them, chica,” he laughed good-naturedly. His attempts to lighten the mood went relatively unnoticed, so he settled back into his seat. James could see that some of them were barely holding on, looking like they wanted to bolt for the door, find a ship, and keep looking for Shepard. It was as if that will was the last breath of her, the last trace of Commander Jane Shepard, and that once read, it would all end. Whatever hope they had of finding her would be slowly blown away as Hackett read the words out loud. “If I can interrupt your sideshow act, lieutenant-commander, and get back to the reason why we’re all here? Thank you.” Hackett looked unphased by James’ antics, he’d had years to get used to them, after all. “You have each been left a message by Commander Shepard, in addition to either money, property, or other items. You may, if you choose, view these things in one of the private rooms provided, or you may view them here. All I ask is that you keep the bickering, crying, and punching to a minimum,” Hackett’s lips curved upward slightly, “though I’m sure Jane would’ve been happy to see you carrying on as usual. Lieutenant-Commander Vega, as luck would have it, you’re up first.”
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“Aw, I’m sure Lola would have wanted me to share with the rest of the class.” James rose and went to the table behind Hackett and two aides handed him a large box. “Jesus, Lola, did you make it heavy enough, you’ll make the others jealous,” he joked as he went back to his seat. Once he was seated again, he started fiddling with the box. “It’s locked, why would she give me a locked box? Is it a puzzle? I gotta be honest, I’m not a puzzle kind of guy, unless the puzzle involves a beer and maybe how to get that beer without spilling any of it.” “Spirits, Vega, just get out with it!” Garrus’ outburst surprised no one; he, perhaps more than any of them, hated that this was necessary. “Lieutenant-Commander,” Hackett sighed, “if you’d been paying attention, you would have also taken the message with you.” “Oh, right, right. Uno momento!” He dashed back to the aide and retrieved the message. On his way back, he pressed play, and Commander Jane Shepard’s voice filled the room, stopping him in his tracks. “James Vega, you forgot the message, didn’t you? Too eager to open your present, I guess.” Her voice was warm, wry, and so very tired. It hit them all at the same time: she was gone. She was gone and they were left behind. Again. “Don’t worry, I’m not watching you. That would be creepy.” James laughed hard at that, nodding his head in agreement. “Almost shit my pants, Lola,” he said, responding out of habit. “I’m sorry, I don’t have long with this one. We’re about to drop on Thessia, so I only have a couple minutes at most. So, long story short, you’re going to be an N7, and I’m not around to celebrate, so I got you the next best thing. Get back to the box and say ‘James Vega, N7.’ It should open, and if it doesn’t, have Tali hack it or something.” He sat, slightly bewildered now, and looked at the box. “Uh…James Vega, N7.” He jumped back a little as it hissed open, then stood up to get a better look. “Hoooly shit,” he whispered, and he whistled at the box’s contents. “You earned it, Vega. Wear it with pride.” A fully customized set of N7 armor lay inside the box, its trademark red and white stripes gleaming under the light. “Shepard out.”
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If, over the course of their life, a person knows someone whose leaving of a room visibly dims the light, then they have been fortunate indeed. She was years gone now, but even the ghost of her voice was enough to bring that feeling back to those sitting around the table. The light wasn’t as bright anymore, and the metal surrounding them had dulled. When Hackett called out Jacob’s name, he sprang up from his chair, eager to do his part to resurrect their fallen leader.
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“Hey, Jacob, I know you’re naturally clueless about the ways of the galaxy and that you’re probably the most humorless man I’ve ever met, so I thought I’d help you out with this dad thing by giving you this compilation of dad jokes. It turns out that every sentient species has developed their own, and yes, they are guaranteed to make your child roll their eyes, stomp their feet, and contemplate patricide. You’re welcome. Shepard out.” Jacob stared down at the book in his hand as if it were a live snake. He wanted to throw it away, knew that if he brought it home his wife would kill him, his daughter would kill him, and he would have to kill himself. But the lure of looking at just one or two was too strong. Tali must have seen the look in his eyes because she tried to caution him, “Don’t do it, Jacob, don’t let her win like this. You didn’t have to hear her compose her emails to you once she found out that you weren’t naming your child after her!” It was like his hand took on a life of its own. It opened the book to a random page, and then his mouth automatically started formed the words. “What do you call an atom with a bad sense of humor?” he asked everyone in the room. The only replies he got were eyerolls, groans, and one biotic smack against his head courtesy of Jack. In the face of such contempt, he could do nothing but continue. “Not a laughing matter,” he concluded. “Just so you know,” Miranda told him, “I’m messaging your wife now. Expect to be exiled to the couch if you don’t give up that book.” “But—” “No.” “Then can I—” “No.” “You’re—” “I know.”
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It had eased the tension in a way that James had failed to do. She’d always been good at that. Had always known just what to say, just how to pull a smile or laugh out of the unwilling. She’d killed someone once while they were laughing from a joke she’d just made, which had made her team laugh harder (Grunt and Garrus were understanding like that). Even her own death had become something of a joke, something she leaned on when things got too heavy, and, eventually, her crew had started to think that she was protected from death (having faced it once already). They had thought that that shrouded land would be forever hidden from her because she could laugh at its attempts to hold her.
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“And to Miranda Lawson, I leave this brand-new Mach 10 Vibrator 3000, guaranteed to warm your loneliest nights,” Hackett read out. His words lingered in the air, colored by his disbelief at what he’d just read, and by Shepard’s crew’s disbelief that he’d actually said it. And then, laughter, choking, sobbing, gusts of laughter from every person at the table. Even Miranda, who’d turned several shades of red, was holding her sides, her ribs aching as she laughed for what felt like the first time in years. One of Hackett’s aides placed a box in front of her, having realized that she wasn’t in any condition to move from her seat. “Open it, cheerleader,” Jack demanded, breaking through the haze of near-hysteric laughter. Her demand was echoed by several others, Joker’s voice the loudest among them. Miranda took a moment to compose herself and decided to open the box like one tearing off a plaster, quickly and without fanfare. “Oh,” was all she could say as she stared down at the box’s contents. “Oh.” In seconds, the rest of the crew was crowded around her. “Oh” seemed to be the only thing that any of them could say. “Apologies, Admiral Hackett. It seems the Commander merely wanted to force you to say something like that for our benefit. As you can see,” Miranda gestured at the box, “she…she’s given me something quite a bit more meaningful.” In the box was an informational pamphlet about a fertility clinic on Surkesh and another recording. Miranda reached out and pressed play. “Lawson, my favorite ex-Cerberus agent (sorry, Jacob, it was a close contest, but I don’t have the same love that Kasumi does for your abdominals), did Hackett actually read that out loud? He’s such a stickler, he must have. I’m sorry these are so short. You’d think that I’d actually plan to set aside some time and make these all in one go, but this war has got me on the run and I’m stealing what moments I can. “I’m in a private toilet in Purgatory. The crew is out there dancing; before I ducked in here, I think I saw Javik trying to hack the bartender VI, so I really will have to make this quick. Surkesh gave me an idea, so when we had another mission in that area, I took a day to get down to this clinic. If the Reaper’s don’t trash it (like they have everything else), I’ve left you a lot of my eggs, and plenty of money to experiment with. Don’t give up on that dream, Miranda; you’ll be an amazing mom. Shepard out.” Tears, this time of gratefulness, trickle down Miranda’s face.
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Space and time stretch out, mapping themselves onto the eternal fabric of an ever-changing universe. Life dances in and out of interwoven cosmic fibers, bright flashes of light that begets more light and more light on down through an unbroken chain that stretches back to that first great collision. That they could rebuild in the aftermath of such destruction never ceased to amaze them, but it seemed that Shepard had never doubted.
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“Samara, what can I give an asari who gave up all the property they had to pursue a life of upholding justice and punishing wrongdoers? A gift of silence. Meditate with me, one last time,” they heard Shepard’s voice turn a little wry, “I think I’m actually in need of centering; I don’t know if you know this, but there’s a war going on out here. Make sure everyone else does it, too. I know you can. Glare at them with those Justicar eyes and when you say jump, on the way up, they’ll be asking you how high. Shepard out.” Shepard’s voice cut out and all they could hear was her even breathing, in and out in a slow rhythm that they all felt themselves attuning to. Samara, already sitting straight in her chair, brought her legs up and crossed them under each other. Soon, her body was alight with the soft blue glow of her biotics. She hadn’t needed to glare at the others at all. Those that could do so mimicked her pose, others adopted something similar, and together, they breathed as one with Shepard.
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Is it any wonder that the early models of the solar system were ones that placed the earth at the center? People act on each other with the force of gravity, anchoring and anchored. That bright star, then, is tied to the earth with every drawn breath, and its light touches an imperfectly perfect well of souls (who, being tied together, feel the light as one).
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“Ash, God, Ash, how did we get here? Eden Prime was supposed to be a simple in-and-out mission, but one Prothean beacon later, here we are. I’m dead, and you’re still a Williams.” Ashley let out a bark of laughter, “Ah, shit, Skipper, did you have to bring that up?” “Yeah, yeah, I know, salt, wounds, etc. I didn’t want you to go through life thinking of your name as a curse, and I didn’t want you to be in the position of single-handedly rehabilitating the Williams for future generations. You’re a goddamned hero, Ash, and your grandfather was, too. How many lives would have been lost if he’d continued to fight? Did you ever do the math?” Ashley nodded her head, murmuring, “56, 753.” “I never told you, back on the SR-1, but I started proceedings right before Virmire. Getting the Alliance to change anything in their records is almost impossible, but you knew that already. I had Anderson work on it, and eventually I roped Hackett in, too. But these things take years, so who knows where it stands now? Hackett should be able to give you some kind of update. Anyway, I gotta go. We’re about to drop on Rannoch, and I have to make sure that Tali gets the best spot possible for her summer home. Shepard out.” Ashley looked at Admiral Hackett, “Sir, what’s she talking about?” “Commander Williams, as Prime Minister elect of the Systems Alliance, it is my pleasure to tell you that in the upcoming parliamentary session, your grandfather’s military record will be up for review. I have every expectation that after a vote, the official record will be changed to reflect his exemplary service to the Alliance and the Alliance Navy under extraordinary circumstances. He will be awarded the Star of Terra for going above and beyond the call of duty in the First Contact War. I know that it can’t make up for all that your family has gone through, but I hope it can be the beginning of a new chapter for you.” “I—thank you, sir, this…this is more than we, I, ever expected,” Ashley choked out, wiping furiously at her eyes, trying to stem the tide of tears that threatened to overflow. James placed his hand at the base of her spine and she leaned back into its warmth.
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“I am a part of all that I have met;Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fadesFor ever and forever when I move.”-From “Ulysses” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
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“Tali’Zorah vas Normandy, Admiral of the Migrant Fleet, Hero of Rannoch, and destroyer of perfectly good liquor, you grew up so fast. Did you know that you were probably the youngest person ever to serve under me? Even Gabby had a few years on you, but I die for two years, and then I come back, and poof! As I make this recording, you’re sleeping off your bender by the engines, hopefully dreaming of your homeworld and the house you’ll be building there as soon as this shit gets settled (and maybe of that nice quarian man you’re going to marry).” Tali half-laughed, half-coughed awkwardly at that last part and darted a look at Garrus who was conveniently avoiding her eyes. Whatever spark had been there had gone out as suddenly as it had flared up. In the aftermath of the war, he’d been called to Palaven and she to Rannoch. Their extranet communications had been frequent, at first, but then the daily messages had turned into weekly reports, which had then devolved into hurriedly written monthly salutations. Eventually, they’d decided that they were better off as friends. Their monthly emails were now filled with jokes and stories about the old days and their families. She had, in fact, married a nice quarian. He was at home on Rannoch with their son, Jan’Itzak. Garrus…drifted. “I bet they’re mass producing these now, but I wanted you to have the original.” Tali went to table behind Hackett and accepted the box from his aide. She thanked him, and he blushed. She’d noticed that without the mask men and women tended to react like that. Once she was back at her seat, she opened the box. “Sorry that it’s not the SR-1, she was a real beauty. But the SR-2, she was home. You, and everyone else, are so much a part of how I see her. It’s like every corner of her has some piece of us, some conversation or argument, us fighting and laughing and crying. We’re all here. I know you feel that, probably more than any of us ever could, and I wanted you to have something of that when you’re looking up at the stars above Rannoch. Keelah se’lai, Tali. “Shepard vas Normandy out.”
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Consider the way water smooths a stone, how the current takes such care to round out the hard edges of a collection of sediment. The work of millions of years, layers upon layers, worn away by the persistent ebb and flow of a liquid mirror. Now, consider the silence of space, the vacuum, the void, wearing away at the ships that cut through it. Mark the persistence of darkness and light, curving around the smooth metal of those vast refuges which slip through the space between the stars.
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“I don’t think I ever told you how sorry I am. I’ve never seen the trajectory of a life altered so completely as I did yours, Liara T’Soni, archaeologist turned Shadow Broker. "Would you be surprised to know that I as I record this, we’re mere days away from hitting the Omega 4 Relay? I don’t really have many of these to make. Most of the people that they’d be going out to are here on the Normandy. In fact, I just saw Garrus and he gave me some line about 'reach and flexibility'. I think I probably forgot what the rest of that conversation was about, but I think it had something to do with stress relief.” The room was suddenly filled with Shepard’s laughter, “Oh, God, Liara, I think I’m going to die again, but my biggest problem right now is deciding if I want to get a leg over Garrus or Thane or nobody because no one deserves to be left behind like that, and you’re sitting in some ship surrounded by lightning, and the secrets of the galaxy are getting whispered into your ear by that nice drell boy.” Everyone studiously averted their eyes from Garrus and Kolyat, who were suddenly very taken with the rivets on the ceiling. “Anyway, I figured if I make it out alive, this is probably the one recording I’ll never have to update. You’re going to live for a thousand years, and I hope that at some point you go back to being an archaeologist, or some kind of museum curator at least. Allow me the honor of donating the first piece. Remember, history isn’t pretty. It’s blood, death, glory, love, and sod all else. But, you knew that already. Shepard out.” Liara accepted the box from the aide and almost took it out of the room to view it privately first. After James, there had been an unspoken agreement that they would play the messages (and open their boxes) in the room, rather than hoard Shepard’s voice to themselves, they would share her. But this… She’d always made her discoveries alone; her dig sites were typically desolate and deserted places, wind-roughened or vine-choked solitary locations where the air was clouded with dust and the dying breaths of ancient civilizations. She wanted to be selfish, to hide this away, and only reveal it at some date in the future when it was surrounded by a glass case and marked with a plaque. But she looked around the room at equally curious faces (or in Garrus’ case, embarrassed), and Liara knew that this, too, would have to be shared (like the secret that Shepard had almost let out in the recording, the secret that she’d passed to Liara in that last moment on Earth, but she suspected that Shepard would do the telling herself). Thus far, all the boxes had varied in size and weight, and this one was no different. Square, rather than rectangular, it resembled boxes she’d seen in clothing stores on the Citadel which were meant to hold human headwear. Liara reached out and then hesitated. Depending on who one spoke to, asari were of varying opinions regarding touch-telepathy. Some swore that they’d honed their biotics in ways that allowed them to glean bits of information off of objects (and people), but Liara had never believed. That seemed like wishful thinking to her. But as her hand hovered over the latch, she could feel…something. She opened the box. “Oh…oh, Goddess, no!” The lid thwacked back down and Liara pushed the box away, then buried her face in her hands, sobbing. Kolyat, who was to Liara’s right, slid the box over and looked inside. “I don’t understand,” he said, “what am I seeing?” “Beats the fuck out of me,” Jack said, leaning over his shoulder for a quick look. Too curious to remain seated, Garrus stood up and leaned over the table. “Spirits, it’s her—it’s Shepard’s helmet. The one she…died in. Over Alchera.” He shuddered and wrenched away from the table, unable to be near it any longer. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, that’s goddamn bleak,” Zaeed rasped out. There were noises of agreement from the others. Ashley and Tali looked sick. Neither of them had any desire to see the blackened spheroid. Wrex looked like he wanted to tear the box away from Kolyat and spirit it away, back to Tuchanka (Grunt looked ready to back him up). Liara’s sobbing finally quieted into small hiccups of breath, and Hackett (who had waved away an aide that had stepped forward) moved around the table and handed her a small white square. Liara took the handkerchief with a weak smile. “Thank you, Admiral.” “My pleasure, Dr. T’Soni,” he said, and walked back to the head of the table. Liara took a moment to dab the tears away from her eyes. Shepard, who had always been insightful, had an almost dangerous eye for detail. For the few minutes that Liara had been in her cabin after their assault on the Shadow Broker’s base, she had seen the helmet and coveted it. The affections that she’d nursed for Shepard on the SR-1 would never be answered, she knew that, and so she craved pieces of Shepard for herself, things that no one else could have. But Shepard had seen, and rather than judging her for covetousness, she’d rewarded it. Sorry, T’Soni, she could almost hear Shepard saying, but you know what they say, be careful what you wish for. On the far side of the room, Hackett was conferring with his aides. The two younger men were nodding and typing on their omnitools. Moments later, they broke off, exiting the room. Hackett turned and addressed Shepard’s crew, “I thought it might be best if we took a short break. I’m sorry I can’t give you more time, but I’ve got another meeting at 1400, so let’s reconvene at 1130. Vega, stay away from that bar.” With that, he excused himself from the room. The crew was left to stare at each other like survivors of a shipwreck recently washed up on the shore. No one spoke until the Admiral returned 30 minutes later.
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Absence has shapes, an infinite number of them, stretched this way and that across the consciousness. Absence is memory, the vestigial proof that someone, or something, had once occupied space. Absence is a singularity, a gaping maw that can never be filled. Absence is time without linearity. She, who had contained multitudes, who was various and coextensive with the universe, had gone astray on a walkabout through the funhouse mirror maze of the great after. And they, they were left watching the shape of her fade.
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“Hey, Jack, mind if I get heavy for a second?” They hear Shepard sigh and what sounds like the popping of a joint. “Rear Admiral Hannah Shepard died yesterday.” The room filled with gasps of surprise. She’d never said, never indicated, how could she have hidden it, why would she have hidden it? The ruthless calculus of war, Garrus thought, Spirits, we shared everything, why not this? “In the middle of all my running around to get ready for a goddamn party, a couple of days after she called, after years of not—” They could clearly hear Shepard bite back on what she was about to say. “So, just the facts: At 0934 yesterday, Rear Admiral Shepard, attached to the Crucible project, was overseeing the transfer of new assets to the project when she suddenly collapsed. She was moved to medical as soon as possible, but was declared DOA at 0959. The cause of death was an aneurysm.” There’s a small crash and some muttered swearing. “Sorry, Jack, I just had to feel like I was telling somebody. Not that I couldn’t tell Gar—fuck, I just thought it would be best not to say anything until all of this is over, and even then… “You ever think about the fact that we flew around on a ship crewed by orphans? Almost every single one of us had lost a parent, or both, or siblings, or spouses. Not just the Cerberus crew, but everyone else, too. And I gotta say, nothing’s changed; in fact, we’ve lost even more now. A ship full of orphans, careening towards the unknown, death nipping at our heels.” Another sigh. “Anyway, this isn’t what I wanted to say, but it’s all jumbled up now. After the war, what are you going to be doing? The Jack I got to know, down in Engineering, never really planned beyond how she planned to survive. But you, I think you’ve started to plan for the first time in your life, and I think you’re scared shitless. How many orphans do you think this war will have? Millions? Billions? Trillions? Too goddamn many. I’ve tried to count them, but I don’t think I can anymore. There’s always going to be one more and more after that, nations of wandering children, and who’s going to care for them? “I don’t know when you’ll be getting this. It might be too late, or it might be right on time, who knows? But, I did something… Piratical; you’ll be proud of me. I worked with EDI and we set up a siphon targeting known criminals who tried to move their accounts off-world (preparing for a Reaper attack). All told, we got away with quite a bit. It might be worth a bit less now (inflation is a bitch after a war), but it should be enough to get you started, and it will certainly be enough to get the Alliance to chip in for the first part. “This will be the first time Hackett hears about this, so you might want to expect some resistance.” Jack pinned Hackett with a glare, stealthily slipping one of her hands out of sight. It wasn’t stealthy enough, and Hackett shot her a glare of his own, but tempered it by raising his hands in a sign of placation. Whatever Shepard was about to say, he’d at least hear her out. “We’re not coming out of this thing unscathed, and whatever patch jobs the Alliance can give the Normandy will only last so long. Soon, they’ll be scrapping more of the warships to refit cargo and transpo ships. Given enough money, we can speed up the decommission of the Normandy, and given even more money, we can convince Joker to retire early. Sorry, Jack, where the Normandy goes, Joker goes. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, Captain Jacqueline Nought, is to find those orphans and give them better lives. There are no parameters for this mission. I trust you to do what’s best for the children. It’s not too late, Jack, I want you to believe that. Shepard out.” Jack’s omnitool lit up the instant Shepard’s voice cut out. Credits poured into Jack’s account (How’d you find that one—damn it, EDI, you goddamn super-sleuth, Jack raged silently and then softened, and damn you, Shepard, I’ll do it), trillions of them, more than Jack could ever spend in her lifetime. She arched an eyebrow at Hackett, “Well, Admiral, how much is it gonna take?” “I’m sure we could come to an arrangement that works for both of us, Captain,” Hackett said, smiling slightly. Joker started swearing. They could hear him cursing Shepard and the “psychotic biotic” along with her.
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When hope dies, where does it go? When that light goes out, what does it take to rekindle it? Does it cry for mercy as it fades, or does it go silently into the darkness? A star is born due to the collapse of a nebula. Its gaseous pillars fall in on themselves, collapsing and crashing in a stellar nursery, and once a certain density is achieved, nuclear fusion occurs. The star builds itself from a core of hydrogen and helium, and that core will keep burning beyond the memory of mere organic life. And once it expends the sum of its energy into the universe, the next phase of its life will begin. Hope must be something like a star, for how could the universe go on if it were not?
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“If you would all excuse me, I would prefer to listen in private. I shall rejoin you when I’ve finished.” Kolyat sketched the room a short bow, took the message and box the aide was holding out, and exited the room. No one noticed the slight shimmer that followed him. “That kid has no respect for our curiosity,” James whined. “Perhaps not,” Samara responded coolly, “but we must respect his privacy. Shepard and Thane were… Close.” It was said as diplomatically as possible, but everyone couldn’t help but flinch slightly at the mention of the dead drell. Even to those who had served on the Normandy during the mission to the Collector base, Thane was still a mystery. That he’d become a close friend of Shepard’s was well known, but they’d both been closemouthed about the nature of that friendship. (But, based on Shepard’s message to Liara, she’d been thinking about Thane in a decidedly more-than-friends way [and Garrus, too].) “Fuck this! I’m not going to sit here and stare at you pathetic fuckers until he gets back,” Jack announced. “I’m hitting the goddamn bar.” Zaeed joined her and together they staged a two-man assault on a fixed position, liberating a bottle of scotch and a bottle of asari rum. “Shepard’s not here to make us share, so you’re all on your goddamn own,” Zaeed warned the rest. James looked longingly at the bar, but he was technically on duty (though he’d been on duty when Hackett had found him as well, but that bar had clearly needed guarding). The rest declined to follow Jack and Zaeed to the bar, due to lack of inclination, having brought their own (Wrex and Grunt were seen to be splitting a bottle of ryncol), or, in Garrus’ case, anxiety. He’d been on edge since he’d arrived, and that edge had only sharpened while he’d been forced to listen to message after message, wondering when it would be his turn. Hearing Shepard again was glorious, painful, all he’d ever wanted, Spirits, it was too much. And hearing what she’d said to Liara… There’d been signs, but he was never quite sure if it was him she’d been expressing an interest in, or the possibility of a warm body and some enthusiastic stress relief. She was his friend, his commander, and he would never have made the first move. And then, Thane had come aboard. Garrus hadn’t wanted to resent the drell, hadn’t wanted to resent the way Shepard started looking to him, but his spot on the assault teams had never changed (he was always at Shepard’s six). Shepard always brought him along, she never considered leaving him behind. So, they’d fallen into the old pattern again. She led. Garrus followed. Tali had been just what he had needed in those last tense weeks on the Normandy, and he’d had every intention of building it into something more, but Shepard’s second (and last) disappearing act had broken him in ways that the first had not. For all the finality that her first death had had, he’d been removed enough from it that it hadn’t seemed all that real, like it had happened to some other human. He’d felt the effects of her death gradually, almost like he’d been hit with a slow-acting poison. But rather than the poison shutting down his vital systems one by one, he had started feeling too much. The day-to-day grind of C-Sec, coupled with trying to get back into the Spectre selection process, would leave him angrier and angrier. He’d started snapping at superiors and colleagues alike, until Omega had flashed in front him (the most unexpected of saviors). On Omega, Garrus was finally able to cut off some of that feeling, cut off the slow death of Shepard that he’d been experiencing every day since he had seen the news break on the extranet. (THIS JUST IN: ALLIANCE VESSEL NORMANDY ATTACKED BY GETH. COMMANDER JANE SHEPARD SUSPECTED TO BE AMONG THE DEAD. EMILY WONG HAS THE FULL STORY, TONIGHT ON FCC NEWS.) When he saw Shepard come across that bridge, he experienced something akin to a sudden rush of blood to all of his extremities (the way one does when a limb that has fallen asleep gets injected with a fresh gush of blood), but the tingling was pain and hope. He’d died, as humans sometimes said, by inches the last time. This had been something closer to annihilation for the last seven years. ... “Kolyat, I hope this message finds you well.” Unlike the tone she’d taken with her crew, here Shepard sounded stilted, awkward. Why bother, then, Shepard? I’m not one of your crew, Kolyat thought, embittered by the distance Shepard felt the need to put between them. If pressed, he would admit to holding Shepard in the highest regard, and over the years, he’d nursed no small amount of hero worship for her. His father had been right to call her “siha,” for she was Arashu’s will incarnate. “Sorry, I don’t want to make this awkward, but I don’t know if I can help it,” Shepard laughed a little. “I mean, I shouldn’t feel like the bad new girlfriend, but I kinda do. Hmm…would it help if I said that I probably know more about you than you do about me? Like, how when you were five, you were convinced that the hanar flew, or glided along, so you set up some rudimentary trap designed to launch you on top of one so you could find out for sure.” More laughter. Kolyat flushed, heat creeping up his neck. “I know about the flowers you would bring your mother, and that you liked skipping stones; I know that when you actually used that device you made, it threw you into your mother’s carefully manicured hedges. I know that your mother’s favorite color was green, that new green of the first spring flowers on Kahje.” Kolyat’s flush was replaced by his own memories, flashing one after another in front of his eyes, his mouth moving involuntarily as he recalled the smile on his mother’s face when he presented her with freshly picked flowers, the way she closed her eyes when she smelled them. And the rain, always the rain, coming down in light mists and heavy torrents, and then the rain clearing off for short periods of time, allowing for new growth. It was strange to think that his father saw all of this, too, and stranger still that he would share it with a woman that he barely knew (but with whom he was clearly intimate). “Thane and I… we weren’t… I mean, we were, but not like everybody thinks. Thane loved philosophy, which I’m sure you think is an odd passion for an assassin to have. He had a particular love of Thomas Hobbes, who had a singular approach to… I guess you’d call it ‘the problem of man.’ We were talking about the Relay 314 Incident, and Thane contended that it was part of humanity’s natural progression, that we actually could not progress and evolve without conflict. He quoted Hobbes at me, again, and said that, ‘The condition of man . . . is a condition of war of every one against every one, in which case every one is governed by his own reason.’ “And I didn’t have a good answer for him then, so I hit him. I solve most of my problems through violence, which I guess rather proves his point. Shit, I’m letting this get away from me, sorry,” Shepard sighed. “I’ve got something I need to get off my chest, because I think you need to hear it. Thane knew, Thane always knew.” “I loved Thane, not because fate brought us together, or because I was desperately lonely, but because I was a dead woman walking, and he was dying. I knew that there would be nothing for me at the end of this war but a coffin (if there’s a body, this time), and I couldn’t be with someone who knew that that would be the score. Gar—I mean, anyone else would have tried to change that future, would have fought to stay with me and died themselves. But Thane knew what it meant to accept the inevitable like that, to feel it weigh on every breath, so he was easy to love. It was a love without expectation, without planning for some indefinite, nebulous tomorrow. “Your father and I could have that because what we were doing was making the galaxy ready for everyone, for you, to live in after we were gone. Did we do it? I hope we did. Your father loved you, Kolyat, and you’ll meet him again across the sea. Shepard out.” The salt of his tears burned his eyes as they spilled out, trickling down his face. He fumbled the box open. On top of plush black velvet lay Hobbes’ Leviathan. A small note was pinned to the fabric next to the book: “Those who have compared our life to a dream were right... we were sleeping wake, and waking sleep.”*
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“If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.” -Michel de Montaigne
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When Kolyat reentered the room, the unseen shimmer followed him. “Zaeed, you old sonofabitch, how the hell did you outlive me? That’s the mystery I’m trying to solve right now. I am a state-of-the-art-stone-cold-bitch, and you’ve got 30 plus years on me, and shit, I know my ticket is going to get punched, but goddamn, how did I get there before you? It sure as hell wasn’t your mouth keeping you out of trouble! “I’ve known marines all my life, career men and women, and they never fought as hard as you do to get that last shot, do that last job, kill that last fucker who had it coming. I never thought it would be a bullet or an explosion that took you out, but a damn heart attack. Why do you think I had Chakwas keep such a close eye on you? It wasn’t because you’re so pretty to look at. “But you persist. In a galaxy shot to hell, I find you becoming the best of men. “I know you’re well aware of this, having led people into battle before, but it’s always difficult to gauge how combat will affect someone. Will they get too scared to fight? Will their training break down? Will they like it too much, the damage that they can do to others with almost complete impunity? One of the things that I always saw as some of my greatest luck was to have neither category serve under me (including Jack). When I was a grunt, abso-fucking-lutely. “I never told you about Akuze. I never told anyone. There’s the official report, and there’s the intel that a blackops group that is almost certainly Cerberus got by springing the trap, but for all the story swapping we did, I never did tell this one.” Garrus felt an intense surge of triumph. It didn’t matter that she was about to tell the rest of her crew; she’d already told him, and it was a confidence Shepard had never given to anyone else (even Thane) until now. The intimacy of that shared sorrow was something that no one else could match. He’d given her the story of destroyed hope and betrayal and the half-lit alleys of Omega, and Shepard had returned to him with blood and sand and screaming backlit by the blazing sun of Akuze. “But,” Shepard continued, “I won’t be doing this sober. I’m off duty, don’t worry, Admiral Hackett. My XO, Garrus Vakarian, sniper extraordinaire and breaker of hearts, has things under control.” It had never been official. Not while they’d worked for Cerberus (when Lawson had been down on the books), and not when the Alliance had taken her back. But her crew and superior officers (Anderson and Hackett) knew that Garrus was her second in command. No achievement in his life before and after had ever equaled the faith that Shepard had placed in him. After Akuze, the only person she’d trusted to be in charge of her crew was herself. That she’d come to have that same trust in him… Spirits, he still didn’t have words for that feeling. The sound of glass clinking against metal brought Garrus back, but not to the sterile conference room with the disapproving human faces hanging on the walls. He was back on the Normandy, in the soft orange light of the battery, and Shepard was setting down a bottle of cheap human liquor (she’d laughed and said this particular brand was known as “therapy in a bottle,” cheaper, quicker, and less likely to ask questions). “I’d just graduated from boot camp, Lance-Corporal Jane Shepard, and I was stationed with the 109th Frontier Division, you might know them better as the “Hounds of Hell” (which made working for Cerberus a little ironic). I’d been with the 109 for about a month, mostly training. The 109 specializes in quick planetary drops and recon, in and out, which was why we got sent to Akuze (that, and we were closest).” Shepard took a long drink from the bottle. “Colonies go dark all the time, it’s part of the growing pains, but every time one does, the FD goes to investigate, did you know that? I’m actually a little surprised that no one, aside from Cerberus, had ever taken advantage of this before. So, Akuze goes dark. The Alliance attempts to reestablish contact and gets nothing, so, the Hounds are sent to sniff out the trouble. “When I first talked to my mom about enlisting, I hadn’t planned on going marine first, navy second. I’d been on ships all my life and being in the dirt with grunts didn’t sound like my idea of a good time. But she talked me out of going to the navy first. Said it would be good for me to get some dust in my lungs before committing myself to the stars for the rest of my career. Trust a parent not to miss an opportunity to fuck you over with advice one last time.” Another long drink. “So, Akuze. It doesn’t look any different from a hundred other planets in the galaxy, same little mudball as the rest, and being on the ground didn’t change my mind, either. But the sun… God, that sun was so hot. I’d never felt anything like it before. It was beating me down into the ground, baking me while I stood under it and tried to catch the breath that it was cooking out of me. We’d dropped a few klicks out from the colony, hoping to fan out and make a grid, cover as much ground as we could before heading into the colony proper. From where we dropped, we could see that the colony had sustained some damage, but we couldn’t see how much. The LT gave to the order to move out, and off we went. Like fucking Dorothy down a goddamn dusty yellow brick road.” Confused looks were shared across the table, and Joker murmured, “Old Earth vid, adorable kid, singing, witches, houses getting dropped on witches, you know, classic shit.” “Have you ever seen a ghost town? Walking through the settlement was chilling. Toys dropped in the street, molding food sat out on tables, and it was so goddamn silent. Wind whistled through open doors and windows, and we whispered to each other, like we were afraid to speak louder than the breeze. And here and there were holes in the ground, not regular enough that we knew what they were automatically, but not anything out of the ordinary on a colony that was attempting to sustain itself on agriculture. Fuck, if only we’d known. Anyway, it didn’t feel right, staying in those empty houses, so we set up camp about a klick outside the settlement. Established a perimeter, dug latrines, set up shelter, and set up watch rotations. I had the second watch that night. I remember that that damn sun, which had been killing that whole day, set beautifully. The whole sky was made of fire, the kind that still burned in bursts of light behind your eyelids. “I can’t—” Another drink. “I can’t really say what happens first, because I just don’t know. What did I hear first? Was it the ground shaking beneath my feet, or was it the grinding of thresher against stone and dirt? I know now, with absolute certainty, that when everything decides to go to shit, it happens all at once. I learned that on Akuze. So, everything went to shit. We’d come prepared to deal with faulty equipment at best and pirates at worst. We’d brought no artillery, not even a Mako, just 50 marines armed with M-6 Avengers, Edge II pistols, and a few scattered specialists with grenades. And then, suddenly, in the midst of all that, chaos literally erupted. “I’m hit with thresher acid in the first wave of the assault, my left arm is useless as the acid starts eating through my armor. Two of my team are down, Thackery and Gomez. I turn to scream at Johnson, but as I do, a thresher comes up underneath him, and he’s gone. I’m on the ground, dirt raining down around me, and I’m looking for my LT, waiting for orders. I should be hearing gunfire, but I’m not, not really. There’s scattered bursts all around me, but mostly there’s screaming. I can see Toombs run by me, and he’s shooting and screaming and then he’s yelling at me, telling me to get up, I’m not dead, get up! “Then I’m up on my feet again, and I’m firing. I can’t aim for shit, firing my Avenger with just one arm, but it doesn’t matter, we’re retreating, we have to retreat. I’m running backwards, I don’t want to turn my back yet, marines don’t turn their backs. But the threshers… We’d stumbled on a whole nest of them, and they look like that Greek hydra. All these heads weaving in and out of the gunfire, spitting that goddamn acid. Gunfire at night is beautiful. Did you know that? And even the threshers are otherworldly under the moon. I see Toombs, I think it’s Toombs, go down, and that’s when I really started to run. I see an arm reach up towards me, and I grab it, pulling it back with me, and God, my arm is on fire, I can feel that acid eating me, eating me down to the bone. The LZ is just a couple klicks back, we can make it. I see all the men I’d dropped with go down one by one, and I can’t stop it. The threshers just keep bursting out of the ground, they keep spitting and tearing, and god, there’s blood fucking everywhere! Blood under the moonlight is so dark, almost black, and it doesn’t look quite real, but it’s spilling into the ground and the ground is too saturated now, so the blood is pooling, spreading out across the campsite. “And I look down at the marine I’m dragging because I’ve gone back a klick now, and all I can hear now are the faint screams of dying men. I want to go back, I want to help them, but I’ve got to get this marine to the LZ, and I look down, and only half of the marine had come with me. Her entrails spread out across the ground, a black, bloody ribbon punctuating my retreat. And I can’t let go. I’m screaming in her dead eyes that I won’t let go, I can’t, that the LZ is just one more klick away… “They gave me a goddamn medal for that, and I gave them the sanitized report that they asked for. And after that, I was transferred over to N-school.” No drink this time, just one long, tired sigh. “I’m no saint, Zaeed, but I like to think I’ve saved more than one person. I couldn’t save her, though, not Private First Class Madhuri Malik. I carried her, though, and that was what I could give her. I asked her parents if I could keep her tags, almost lost them after Alchera. I always meant to go back for the rest, but I guess I never will. You don’t have to, Zaeed, but if you’re willing, will you carry her for me? Shepard out.” It had looked to all of them as if it was a jewelry box, which, they acknowledged, was not far off the mark. When he opened the box, Zaeed stared for a long moment before reaching in and taking the tags out. He slipped the chain around his neck, settling Private First Class Madhuri Malik next to the set he already wore.
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The weight of another person is almost indescribably heavy. The way they press on us, bearing us down, holding us fast, or pushing us away. The weight of their expectations, their silences, their glances, so much is contained in another individual. The poet was right when he said he contained multitudes, and we and they are truly vast and unnumbered, but their weight against us stays. The universe will fall to so much dust around us, and yet that, at least, will remain unchanged.
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“I’m remembering this time back during the mission when we hit the Citadel for some shore leave, and you dragged me up to the Presidium to look through some newly opened museum. I thought we’d just be looking, but once you cloaked (before we even left the damn shuttle, Kasumi, do you know how awkward it is talking to thin air?!), I knew that you were casing the joint. And you were complaining about the quality of the art in my ear the. Whole. Damn. Time. You’re an art snob, Kasumi Goto, and I love you for it. “But you know I’m not. The stick figure pictures that children draw for their parents is as much high art as that da Vinci you were coveting, but I remember that we both found something in that museum to agree on. The artist was salarian, and their specialty was landscapes, right? And not just planetside vistas, but solar landscapes. Given that the lifespan of a salarian is so short, we marveled at the time he spent capturing the Athens system in Artemis Tau. That was the piece the museum had chosen to hang, and it was so beautiful, that I forgot for a moment how terrifying that vacuum is, how cold and dark and lonely, and I could just let it be and admire it as I would any other beautiful thing. “I think we fell a little in love with that artist, didn’t we? The way you do with anyone that can capture something so fiercely beautiful and dangerous. It’s like they’ve touched the divine, and by touching it, have secured some of that divinity for themselves. That painting didn’t know it, but its days on those walls in the museum were numbered, I could tell. When we got back to the Normandy, I immediately did an extranet search, trying to see if the artist was still alive, still painting, and if he had anything small, relatively inexpensive, that I could get. He’d actually just died. While we were looking at that piece, he was breathing his last breaths on Palaven; helluva fucking coincidence, or maybe I’m just cursed. “But you know how it goes, his value was about to skyrocket, so I made an impulse buy. If you ever need a negotiator, you’ll want to look up his agent. She fights dirty. I think we went back and forth for two hours, and at the end of it, I came away with a very small landscape, one he’d completed a few weeks before dying. One dead drop on Omega and a transfer of credits later, and I was the proud owner of a Morall Belus original. “Have you ever seen Palaven? You probably have, I hope you did before the Reaper’s came. This landscape is the only view I’ll ever have, and I have to say, Garrus didn’t do his planet any justice when he described it to me. Oh, he did the best he could, not that I did Earth any better, but Belus… Belus loved Palaven. I could see it in every brush stroke, he had this devotion for that world that made it shine all the brighter. Garrus feels an obligation to his planet and his people (for all that he says he’s a bad turian, there are some things that never leave you), but I don’t think he loves it, not like Belus did. “So, Kasumi Goto, cat burglar extraordinaire, it’s yours. I kept it with me while I was on Earth, one of the few things they let me have, and sometimes I think staring at Palaven is the only thing that got me out of there with my sanity intact. Barely managed to get off the planet with it (don’t ask me how, but let me just say it wasn’t comfortable), but you can’t look at it and tell me it wasn’t worth the trouble. May it bring you some of the peace you’re looking for, Kasumi. Shepard out.” The box in front of Kasumi was one of the smallest that had been passed out that day (aside from the box in front of Zaeed). The painting inside wasn’t much bigger than a photograph, but it was alive with detail. It was a transitional piece. Belus had captured the system’s sun as it was sinking below the horizon in the background, and in the foreground the dimming light shone on the faintly reflective flora. It was perfect moment, captured forever in delicate repose. It had none of the terrible beauty and grandiosity reflected in the Athens painting (which was hanging in one of several of Kasumi’s safe houses; many such things went missing in the turbulent aftermath of the war), but it was not meant to. Life, the painting seemed to say, was lived out on a scale much smaller than that of systems, clusters, and galaxies. And that, Kasumi reflected, that is what Shep had been fighting for. Life and its quotidian minutiae interspersed with the scale of the galaxy.
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Consider the way life grows. First, as a seed, it takes root, and then it germinates, spilling its leaves out over the ground, soaking up the rays spouting out of a nearby star. It grows and reproduces and withers and dies. Cycling in and out, over and over, repeating (if unchecked) forever. Life thrusts itself across the cosmos, straining into the darkest regions for a chance to thrive. It is unstoppable and constant, and it is the cause of so much horror and beauty, terror and peace. Only when the last stars that dot the dark of universe go out will life be extinguished. Is that last gasp not worth fighting for?
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“Hey, kid, it’s your battlemaster here. I’ve had quite a day here on the Presidium. First, I hear reports of krogan vandals, and I think, “No, that couldn’t possibly be my little tank baby who’s laid up in Huerta Memorial.” And then another report came in about a krogan seen joyriding in a C-Sec patrol unit… That was on fire. And then I got the call to come pick your delinquent ass up. “I gotta say, kid, those were some of the best spicy noodles I’ve ever had. Thanks for getting me out of the apartment, and for not winding up in that goddamn casino. I’m getting tired of stepping foot into that place. Anyway, it took me a while to track this vid down, but when I did, I probably watched it on repeat for several hours. See you, space cowboy, Shepard out.” The footage wasn’t perfect; the dust of Tuchanka swirled up into the air, obscuring the recording omnitool at times, but those gathered behind Grunt (the scramble had been quiet, but intense) could plainly see the arena-like area where three armored figures rushed about in a perfectly synchronous dance with death. “Get in closer,” they heard a voice growl, “they won’t notice us while they’re dealing with that thresher.” Suddenly, the omnitool was picking up the shouted orders, roars of challenge, and laughter from the three on the ground. “Garrus, left! No, my left!” “On it, Shepard!” They watched as Shepard and Garrus ran for cover, pulling Grunt with them as they did. Their voices were inaudible as the ground shook and thundered around them, heralding the impending re-emergence of the thresher. But they were able to see quite clearly the way Shepard frantically motioned to her squadmates the next plan of attack. In preparation for their next onslaught, Shepard grabbed something from Garrus’ waist (and watching as it happened, Garrus could feel the weight of Shepard’s hand on the side of his armor, relived the wild grin she’d given him that sped up the beat of his heart, boosted with adrenaline and…something else). Suddenly, the trio broke apart. Shepard to the front of the arena, Garrus to find higher ground, and Grunt taking up position at Shepard’s six. And then, the thresher maw emerged, shooting irradiated dirt and rocks into the air that showered back down on the combatants. The watchers saw Shepard run toward the thresher, Grunt laughing wildly behind her, and saw her throw something small and cylindrical up near the thresher’s head. The cylinder exploded in a flash of light and noise as a slug from Garrus’ rifle hit it the moment it was level with the creature’s eyes. Its great head reared back and thrashed, which was the opening Shepard and Grunt needed. They unloaded round after round into the thresher (the report of Garrus’ rifle echoing the booming of their shotguns). As soon as it had begun, it was over, and the thresher’s now lifeless body crashed into the ground, forcing Shepard and Grunt to leap away. What looked like a synchronized movement turned into a graceless stumble as Shepard tripped over the thresher’s lolling tongue-like appendage, crashed into Grunt, and brought the two of them down. The recording was filled with their joyous laughter as they shoved at each other in their efforts to regain their feet. “All right, I’ve seen enough. Fly over and put us down over there,” the guttural voice interrupted once again. Wrex now recognized it as Gatatog Uvenk, the piece of varren shit that had attacked Shepard’s krantt after the Rite. As the shuttle zoomed away, the omnitool managed to pick up Shepard saying, “Better than a dance at Afterlife any day, Grunt. Garrus, stop acting so superior and come get me up; our tank baby is too heavy for me to shift!” (The casual way Shepard had said “our” did not escape the attention of any of the watchers.) And, even more faintly, they heard Garrus reply, “Should’ve known what kind of hell I was walking into, shouldn’t I, Shepard? One full of varren, threshers, and extreme parenting.”
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Well before humanity ventured out into the great unknown, it discovered what countless civilizations had known for millennia: time, as we know it, is nothing more than a construct that we have created to keep ourselves sane. Without an outside force exerting itself on our conception of time, the past, present, and future intermingle without distinction. One moment bleeds into the next and tomorrow bears more than a passing resemblance to yesterday. When approaching a black hole, the gravitational force it exerts on an object stretches out the dilation of time. If one were to visualize this effect, it would resemble an endless corridor. The walls on either side represent the past and the future, and the path dividing them is the present. As one continues to walk down the corridor, the path becomes wider and wider, becoming as infinitely wide as it is long. The present becomes an eternal moment. This phenomenon has been known to occur outside of the presence of a black hole. That one perfect day that stretches out from dawn until dusk, where the minutes lengthen into hours, and those hours are spent under a bright sky with the best of people.
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“What a wild ride this has been, Joker. I couldn’t have asked for a better pilot on it, either. When I transferred to the Normandy, one of the first things Anderson told me was about the stunt you pulled during her test flight. I laughed, at first, thinking that there was no way we had someone who would a) do something that crazy, and b) wouldn’t have gotten thrown in the brig for it. If you’d been brought up on charges… I think we would have lost this war right then and there. I’m not exaggerating when I say that if it weren’t for you, none of this would have been possible.” Joker squirmed, visibly uncomfortable with the praise that Shepard was heaping on him. In his experience with the commander, it usually meant that a ball-busting of epic proportions was about to follow (she loved to give compliment backhands, as Joker thought of them: offer praise with the palm of her hand, and then smack with the back of it). EDI, who in the intervening years had gotten much better at reading his non-verbal social cues, gently slid her smooth metal hand into his. Joker squeezed it back, taking a moment to bask in the simple act of affection. “I know you’re bracing for one of my “backhands” as you like to call them; yes, I know you do, don’t act so shocked that I know about the things you say when you think the cockpit is empty. Also, if you’re wondering who blocked your access to asari pop… It wasn’t me. It was definitely Garrus, who may have had a little help from me. And EDI. And Tali. And Kasumi. And Miranda. In fact, you can blame the whole thing on Jack.” Joker squawked in sudden outrage, looking around the table at the guilty parties, and miming being shot in the heart (with the hand that was holding EDI’s traitorous palm and digits, the conniving wench). “I spent weeks putting that playlist together,” he exclaimed, “weeks! And I know for a fact that some of you were singing along when I put it through the PA system!” Eyes darted away from his as he looked at his former crewmates accusingly. He settled back into his seat gingerly, mumbling under his breath about team morale and thankless wretches. “So, you’ve probably heard by now that I’ve got plans for your baby and her leather seats. I know that you’re a package deal, you, the Normandy, and EDI, but I promise, you can keep the swear jar in the cockpit. It really was the best of times, wasn’t it, being on the Normandy? I want you to keep that, and part of me, alive on her, for just a little while longer. I know it’s selfish of me, but part of what comes next will be easier if I can just keep thinking of you there. And Jack will hate me for this, but I saved that playlist you made, and I added a few of my guilty favorites to it. Keep flying, Joker. Shepard out.” Joker reached for the box the aide brought him eagerly, quickly taking the data chip and downloading its contents into his omnitool. Before EDI, or anyone else, could stop him, he queued up one of his favorite club mixes, humming along happily while the others groaned in mock pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Joker saw Jack glowing with the faint blue of her biotics and knew that a promise of pain would soon be delivered if he didn’t turn the music off. He decided that this one time, discretion would be the better part of valor. Soon, he thought, I’m gonna be piping this all over my baby, Jack, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do to stop me. Joker couldn’t help but cackle inwardly. “EDI,” Shepard’s voice suddenly came back, oddly loud in the silence that had followed the asari music, “sorry to turn this into a twofer, but I thought I might as well. I think I already gave you wanted you wanted: the Normandy, and making you and Joker happy. I swear, Purgatory should have comped my drinks for all the action we gave it over those long weeks. I kinda missed it once we decamped to the Silversun Strip. But I’ve got something else, something for Joker. It’s about…” Shepard cut out for a moment, and they could hear her breathing become unsteady for a moment. “Sorry, I’m all kinds of bruised after Thessia. Pretty sure that fucker Kai Leng cracked a couple of my ribs, but Chakwas had enough to deal with, and I thought I’d wander down in few days to have her take a look. I think that was two weeks ago. They’re almost entirely healed (I’ve been self-medicating), but having to say this, plus what I saw with Gar—, shit, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been sitting on this for a while now, and I just haven’t been able to tell Joker. I still can’t, so I’m leaving it up to you. If you think he’s ready to hear it, you go ahead and tell him, but if he’s not, hold onto it for me and maybe he’ll ask you one day. EDI, you’re singular, and you’re one of the few things that the Illusive Man did right. I never want you to doubt your personhood, because I never have and never will. Shepard out.” The aide had returned with another small box, and EDI took the proffered data chip, assimilating its contents with alacrity. The others could see the information cross her visor but were unable to decipher any meaning. Garrus, whose own visor sharpened his sight just enough, could make out the word “Tiptree” before it disappeared. He immediately understood Shepard’s reticence in telling Joker. Hilary Moreau. Status: unconfirmed. Garrus hoped that Joker wouldn’t wait too long to ask, knowing that the truth was a pain that burned cleanly. Better to cleanse the wound with fire than let it fester. Garrus ignored the thought that wanted to explode in his head, the thought that had been building for the last few hours. That was a truth that could only hurt now, rather than help.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When does friendship begin? Is it that first moment of sudden connection, of realizing the kindred spirit of another person? Or is it a slower progression, the almost shy baring of one self to another over some indeterminate length of time? At the end of all things, it matters very little. The bonds people forge can be stronger than the truest steel and more brittle than glass. If a bond should break, it shatters, fracturing outwards in spidery lines from the epicenter. But if it endures, it may outlast the life of a star.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“All those krogan you gave to the war effort, and you couldn’t get me a few for the Normandy? You’re a stingy sonofabitch, Wrex. If you’d told me a few years ago that I’d regret not being able to fight side by side with 500 pounds of barely contained rage, I would have laughed. But you and Grunt turned me around on that. I knew I had Garrus at my six, but when I had a krogan at my three, well, it was a lot more fun, you know?” Wrex nodded in agreement. In his thousand years of fighting, the one thing that had never dimmed for him was his love of a good fight. He’d been bored often enough, when the pay was shit and the targets were easy, but once he’d signed up with Shepard, he’d found himself in the fight of his life. And it had been glorious. On Tuchanka, already, songs were being written about Shepard, and Wrex had spent more than one day with the storytellers, filling in the gaps in their knowledge and sometimes exaggerating the sequence of events (only when necessary, if there wasn’t enough blood, or entrails, or dead turians). Eventually, there would be songs about all of them, even Vakarian, but Shepard’s tale took precedence. Battlemasters like her were as rare as flowers (well, as rare as flowers used to be) in Tuchanka’s barren wastelands, and there was little chance of the galaxy being blessed with her kind a second time. “Before knowing you (and fighting with you), I didn’t know that fighting could be fun. As marine, and then as an officer, you could always tell who liked it a bit too much. They went looking for the fight, never waited for one to come to them. I understand the need to let off steam, but this was always different. They’d pick on someone smaller, someone weaker, and they wanted to hurt, pain was the goal, not a byproduct of necessity. “I’ve always been afraid of becoming one of those people. Sometimes, it felt like there was nothing holding that darkness back but the knowledge that if I didn’t, if I gave in, I’d be just like my father. And my father, Wrex, he would have gotten along with yours like a goddamn house on fire. So, I was careful, making sure to keep on the right side of the line that I’d drawn. And then you come on my ship, and you laugh while we fight. Not because you’re enjoying the killing, but because you’re so damn happy that you’re alive, that you’re fighting, that you’re surviving. For you, every battle (even the ones you’re getting paid for) that you fight is further proof that you’re meant to be alive in this galaxy. If that’s the case, then why not revel in the defeat of your enemies? I didn’t mind Jack saying that every person she killed improved her odds of survival, but for me, and for you, it wasn’t about the odds. Every life I took, in the service of the Alliance and Cerberus, proved that I was alive; every bullet that I dodged was a story I got to tell later because I was just a little better, thought a little faster. “Before you came aboard the Normandy, I hadn’t laughed like that in years. I almost thought that I was undermining crew cohesion by the change in my personality, but it was like we all came over to your side (Kaidan probably took the longest). We were in the fight of our lives, and all of sudden, we were really living. That, more than anything, is what brought me back to me. And it happened on fucking Omega of all places. Aria T’Loak is a headache and a half and talking to her is almost as bad as having to face down the Council (she’s just a little bit funnier). I was numb, sitting in her club, the same numb that I’d been since waking up on the Lazarus Station. The music and the flashing lights were just this mindless background noise, something to endure until I was back out on the streets, back on the hunt. “And then I’m surrounded by Blue Suns, Blood Pack, and Eclipse mercs, and trust me, they are a bunch of pretentious fuckers (not sorry, Zaeed). They hired a bunch of cannon fodder because they’re too damn scared to cross a bridge under sniper fire. It told me that they were cowardly, that they didn’t deserve to be spared, and that this Archangel, whoever he was, had the right of it, and taking these fuckers out is doing the galaxy (not to mention Omega) a huge favor. I’m so numb to everything that I’m thinking like my father. It’s like he’s standing next to me, and he’s saying that they’re nothing, they’re worth nothing, they’re subhuman, they’re alien, and killing them would be as easy as reloading (which I was not happy to be doing again; I never thought I’d miss the goddamn overheating function on my weapons). “So, I’ve got Miranda and Jacob flanking me, and we cross the bridge, taking out these unprepared kids as we do because they’re in the way of my objective. And I get to the top of the stairs, and this guy, Archangel, holds up a finger, telling me to wait, while he drops one more. I almost shot him right then, but I also kinda liked his style (though my shoulder ached from that concussive round he got me with). He takes off his helmet and it’s Garrus fucking Vakarian, looking at me like I was a ghost, which, you know, fair enough. But after the quips and the all-too-brief explanations, it’s me and Garrus, and we’re laughing as we shoot down the mercs that come in wave after wave. “It was like a limb, deadened by inactivity, coming back to life. All that numbness, all the rage and apathy that had been building just went away. I was alive again and every merc I dropped was just further proof of that. “I’m sorry, though, Wrex. I wish I could say that I’ve held onto that. I wish I could say that every drop, every strike against the Reapers was reinforcing that vitality, but I think I’ve lost it for good this time. We’re so close to the end that I can feel myself giving up on feeling. Apathy is becoming easier and easier, and I don’t mind the dream so much anymore. “But, I’m not going to say that it’s all been bad. There have been bright spots, moments where I could almost feel it again. Standing with you on Tuchanka, watching your future be reborn. Seeing Jack turn into the teacher, the leader I knew she could be. Ash becoming a Spectre; Tali standing on Rannoch, breathing in the air of her homeworld without a mask. Joker dancing with EDI. Garrus… “I want you to know that I’m going to fight until the bitter end. They’re not going to see me go quietly to my death. I’m going to rage and scream and laugh and fight, and I’m going to prove that life has a place in this galaxy. Shepard out.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The tears, when they come, are cleansing, acting as the palliatives that they’d been needing for years but had been unable to attain. And then, they’re laughing, sharing the memories of the “old times,” joking about who saved whom, and who will have to buy the first round once Hackett kicks them out. Shepard had brought them together, one last time, and then she had made them feel as she’d always done—like one large, more-than-slightly dysfunctional family. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Hackett said, dabbing at his eyes with yet another handkerchief he’d conjured from either an aide or a pocket, “but before I give Vakarian his message, I wanted to convey that Shepard left each of you a small individual bequest. She was quite wealthy by the time she passed, especially after the Alliance released its hold on her accounts after her resurrection. Her only stipulation is that, once you hit the bar, you drink your first toast to her memory, and your second to the Normandy.” There a cheer of agreement, and Joker sent out an extranet invite to the rest of the Normandy crew to meet them at Andromeda, the bar on the seventh level of the new Alliance headquarters (christened Arcturus II). Before the cheering had died down, one of Hackett’s aides slipped a large envelope to Garrus. He’d been dreading hearing her speak directly to him, but he also hadn’t expected something like this. While the others were distracted, he slipped out and into one of the private rooms nearby, making sure to lock it and engage the soundproofing (it would hold Kasumi off for a short amount of time, which would hopefully be enough).
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The papers in the envelope were slightly brittle, and charred a little in some places. They were also heavily creased, like she’d unfolded them and refolded them a hundred times. Fearful of tearing them, Garrus took off his gloves, smoothing his fingers over the crinkled pages, flattening them as best as he could. His visor came pre-loaded with multiple translation programs, but he was astonished to see that he didn’t need one. The letter was in Palaveni.
Garrus,
I’m sorry if I end up butchering your language, but you know what they say if you want to learn a new skill: practice.
Garrus let out an involuntary huff of laughter; she’d used the wrong verb for “practice.” Rather than what she’d intended (which was a word that referred to practical skills), she’d used one that indicated that the user wished to engage in… Stress relief. He wouldn’t put it past her to do something like that on purpose. But once he started reading again, the errors fell away and it was just Shepard, speaking to him in his own language. An impossible gift. ...
I started writing this probably a week after I arrived on Earth, which probably tells you that this will be slow going for me (the strokes for some of these characters having me tearing my hair out). I’m not allowed to go outside so, aside from working out three times a day, I don’t have much to do for entertainment. This isn’t supposed to do much aside from saying “Hello, how are you? I am fine, the food is fine, the view is boring, and I miss you.” I mean, I miss all of you.
Sorry. I’ll add more later.
...
It’s been another week, not that you’re keeping track of the time. Another round of questioning.
MP: Why did Hackett order you to Aratoht?
Shepard: To retrieve a deep cover operative who was imprisoned there.
(You’ll have to imagine the amount of pretension in the voice for this next line.)
MP: No, Commander Shepard, why did Hackett order you to Aratoht?
Shepard: Well, officially, I no longer had any standing with the Alliance military, but I was officially reinstated as a Spectre. I assumed that Councilor Anderson had passed this on to Hackett who passed it on to me, which I also assumed was a gesture of trust given our previous commander-subordinate relationship where he would order me about to random parts of the galaxy. But I could be mistaken.
MP: None of your sass, missy.
They didn’t actually say that, but I almost had a finger wagged at me. It was terrifying.
...
Did I say I was sorry about Aratoht? I am. I’m sorry I killed 304, 942 people. I tried to warn them, tried to get the signal out. But they still died, and they’ll try to blame all of you for that, but it was me.
I’m selfish, but I’m also sorry I listened to Hackett and went in alone. I’m sorry I left you on the Normandy; I know you were worried.
But I’m not sorry that you’re clear of this, that you’re back on Palaven, making your own preparations. I’m glad I’m the one carrying this weight.
I hope you’re okay, that you’ve made up with your family.
I’m sorry, again. I peeked at the dossier the Shadow Broker had on you.
...
Was I really overshadowing you?
...
I mean, I know I’m larger-than-life, but I never wanted to do that. Sorry, the sarcasm is a reflex at this point.
But, did I—
Did I hold you back?
... “Spirits, Shepard, you know you didn’t. I didn’t lose my team because of you, I swear.” Garrus’ words rang into the emptiness of the booth and whooshed across the paper. She wasn’t here, despite the almost physical weight of her presence in the pages before him. She’d never know… ...
Another round of questioning.
Smug Bastard MP: Of course you knew that Cerberus was a terrorist operation when you agreed to work for them.
Shepard: Before agreeing to work for them the best intelligence I had suggested that they were an Alliance Black Ops group that had gone rogue, but I could be wrong about the going rogue part. How does it feel knowing you helped fund terrorism?
Smug Bastard MP: That information is not pertinent to this hearing!
Shepard: I bet my boot would look real pertinent up your ass.
I think they’re starting to like me.
...
Did I explain why I’m writing this to you and not someone else?
No?
I will.
One day.
...
What do you think of my Palaveni? I think I’ve gotten a little better. Part of the selection process for becoming an officer in the Alliance is that we learn one of the Council races’ languages now, aside from our own. We’re not really expected to be able to speak it (especially turian), and beyond a few tests we have to take, we’re not expected to use it regularly. I’d once intended to learn all the languages (including krogan), but that plan fell by the wayside.
... Again, he had to laugh a little. Shepard had made an awkward portmanteau of “way” (she’d used the more colloquial expression, indicating motion) and “side” (typically used to refer to the plating on the right and left sides of the torso). He was almost certain she was doing this on purpose. ...
How are you? What are you doing? Are you keeping busy, making preparations? Have you calibrated everything on Palaven yet? Did you ever finish that vid we started? Did it end well? Did it make you laugh?
...
I broke my arm today. Did it in the gym, went too hard at this new lieutenant, thought he was a big guy, that he could take it. And he could, just a little too well. My left went in for a hook, he moved up out of the way, I skated down his torso, and landed it. Right on the floor. Thank God for my “enhancements,” but I’ve still got a hairline fracture and a sling. That’ll play really well to the MPs conducting my hearings.
...
It didn’t play well at all.
...
What do you dream about? I never used to dream, I think. I mean, I know I dream, but I never used to remember them. For years and years, I was nothing but exhausted. After boot, there was Akuze. After Akuze, there was N-School. After N-School, there was my first posting as XO. Then the next. And then there was the Normandy, and Saren, and being a Spectre, and then… There was nothing.
That’s what being dead was, a long stretch of nothing. It wasn’t sleep, it wasn’t dreaming, it was just a long, dark nothing.
But once I came back, I dreamed all the time. I dreamed about being spaced; I dreamed I was suffocating. I’d wake up and that damn skylight would be above my head, and it was like I was back above Alchera, and the stars were going out one by one as my vision faded due to the lack of oxygen.
And then those went away, and I dreamed of the Collectors.
I dreamed Horizon over and over again. Sometimes we got there quick enough, saved all the colonists, shot down the ship.
Sometimes, I had to watch you get taken, too.
I hope your dreams are happier.
...
Sometimes I dream about you, and it’s nice.
...
Sorry if that was too much.
...
I bet you’re wondering why I’m not writing to Thane. I am. Kind of.
He’s dying, Garrus, and I knew that. I knew it and I made the choice anyway because I’m pretty sure I’m going to die, too. In fact, if you’re reading these, I am dead. These are letters I’m never going to send you, so I can say whatever I want, tell you that I—
...
I can’t say it. Not yet.
...
Don’t feel bad for Thane. He knew what he was getting, too.
... For a brief, panicked moment he wanted to rush it, read ahead and find out how it ended, find out what she was going to say. But he stopped, knowing that Shepard would tell him in her own time. ...
Yes, I really meant it. Blasto 4 is the best of the whole damn franchise, and you know it. You’re disagreeing to be obstinate. Don’t make Blasto the hill that you die on.
...
I’ve never seen Fleet and Flotilla. Is it good?
...
MP: Do you know how many innocents you killed with that meteor?
Shepard: Yes.
MP: You don’t look very regretful about causing the deaths of hundreds of thousands.
Shepard: And you don’t look like an asshole.
Yep, I think I’m growing on them.
...
It’s been three months, Garrus, and I’m already forgetting the feeling of a ship beneath my feet. There’s that vibration, you know the one. It runs throughout the whole ship, stem to stern. And I always feel it first in my toes, it doesn’t matter what kind of footwear I’ve got on, it’s always in my toes. And then it shoots up to my knees and hovers there for a few minutes before going up into my arms. Sometimes I think I can feel the rotation of the earth, and it’s almost the same.
...
I’m dreaming again, and it’s nothing but screams now. Thousands of batarian voices crying out, “Save us, save us!” And I’m yelling back, “I can’t, I can’t! I TRIED, BUT I CAN’T!”
Do you think they care that I tried?
Or is that the same kind of dust that they are now? Meaningless, drifting through space.
...
My arm is better!
But now I have a concussion.
...
Sorry, I don’t have a reasonable explanation for that one. It just happened, but I think that that same lieutenant was involved. I should probably learn his name.
...
It’s been a while, so here’s a recap of month four:
MP: You’ve yet to give us any satisfactory answers regarding your actions while you were employed by the terrorist organization known as Cerberus.
Shepard: I gave a full debrief to Admirals Anderson and Hackett. I don’t see that I can offer any new insight beyond what I’ve already given.
MP: And, as you’ve just demonstrated, you’ve repeatedly shown enormous contempt for the members conducting your hearings. You continue to spin this tale about Reapers and Collectors, but you’ve offered no proof. The destruction of the Bahak System has brought us even closer to outright war with the batarians, and we have half a mind to give you to them.
Shepard: Well, shit, if that will get you to start making preparations for when the Reapers come, go ahead and do it.
Well, they didn’t do that, and I didn’t give them the answers that they wanted.
I hope this month is a little more interesting.
...
It wasn’t.
...
I dreamed about Omega last night. I didn’t get to you in time. I’m sorry; I’m so sorry.
...
Remember that one time, God, what was the name of that planet? With the pyjaks? I’m cracking myself up thinking about it. We groped so many goddamn monkeys!
...
I slip into reminiscing more now, thinking about the SR-1, even going back to boot camp (occasionally).
N-School was hell, but I felt part of something there, in a way I hadn’t when I was just a boot. Like I’d finally found some meaning to why I was so good with guns. I can hear you saying that I need to work more on my accuracy for the long-range stuff, but I never had the patience to be a sniper. It always made me feel better, having you at my six. But goddamn if you weren’t cocky about it. Never knew a sniper who didn’t have their nose up their own ass. But I forgive you.
...
I miss hearing your little victory cries. Thane always prayed; he was never a soldier, never knew what it meant to take a life, not because you were being paid to, but because of orders and duty (he had the Compact, but goddman, he was only six). The only lives I have on my conscious are those 304, 942 in the Bahak System. And even that…
I’ve always hated trying to hide behind the rationale of the “greater good.”
Once I became a Spectre, I knew that I was serving the needs of the galaxy but prioritizing the needs of the Council races above that. The greater good is something that well-intentioned extremists duck under.
I did what I did to survive, and if they want to crucify me for it…
Well…
I can take it.
...
I’m in month six now, and something in the air is changing. Vega (I finally learned the lieutenant’s name) keeps telling me that I’m jumping at shadows, but I don’t think so.
I hope you’re ready, Garrus, because they’re coming.
...
Fuck, I hate being right.
...
Mars.
Fucking fubar as hell, but what else can I expect from a Cerberus operation.
Goddamn Illusive Man.
Goddamn robots.
Goddamn Reapers.
...
I’m on my way, Garrus. Hold on just a little bit longer.
...
I like you with your swagger of authority; you do it well. Victus can take a long trip down a short dock, though. I’ve got a goddman war on and he’s trying to talk terms? Goddammit, why does it fall to me to fix a thousand-year-old fuck up?
Who did I piss off in a previous life?
...
If I’m reborn after all this, I want to be algae, something mindless that never has any responsibilities.
...
I’d probably organize the algae into some kind of rebellion within a week, and within a year, we would have evolved enough to elect politicians.
...
Did I mention that I missed you? I hope I did.
...
Traynor is…interesting. Kelly was nosy (part of her job), but Traynor talks.
A lot.
...
I spoke with Thane. I think that might be the last time I get to. We’re zooming around the galaxy (again), and I have this feeling that I’m going to get back to the Citadel one of these days and he’ll be gone.
Warriors shouldn’t have to die by inches, Garrus, and I’d hoped (foolishly, I suppose) that he wouldn’t have to suffer like this. But he is, and so I am. I’m going to miss talking to him. I hope you got the chance to, while we were all aboard the Normandy.
Thane should have been a philosopher or a priest, and yet, he became a killer. Who would you be if the Hierarchy hadn’t demanded your service?
Don’t think about that too long. I’d be dead if you’d taken any other path in life.
Well, I’m dead now. But that’s not down to you. You kept me alive longer than I thought would be possible (despite your inability to duck incoming tables).
...
What has this war done to children, Garrus? How can they believe in a future when either the Reapers are burning it down around them, or Cerberus is trying to recruit them and perform experiments on them.
Do you remember the square root of 906.01?
,,,
Mordin’s gone.
Did you know he liked to sing? Gilbert and Sullivan, old Earth music. He enjoyed the patter songs, was really good at them, had his own lyrics and everything. He was…
He was singing when he died, and I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.
...
I feel worse.
,,,
Goddamn Cerberus.
Goddamn this war.
Goddamn Kai Leng!
And goddamn me.
...
Going into that ocean was like dying all over again. And I left you behind. Again.
I’m sorry. I didn’t see a way out.
I still don’t.
,,.
I’m dreaming again. The same dream, over and over.
When I was on Earth, right before evac, I met a little boy in a ventilation shaft. I tried to get to him to come with, tried to tell him that I could save him, protect him, and he wouldn’t come.
I saw him again at the evac point.
His shuttle was cut through with a red beam, and it exploded.
I chase that little boy in my dreams now, chase him down while he’s crying.
And all around me are the whispers of the people I’ve failed to save, calling out my name.
You, at least, will never be a ghost that haunts me. I’ll make sure of it.
...
I know I haven’t written in a while, but things have been moving faster. There was Rannoch. We made our somewhat triumphant return to Noveria. Sometimes I feel silly writing all this to you, as if you weren’t by my side every step of the way.
Did I ever thank you for that? I will.
...
I think I should stop writing now. You seem… Happy with Tali.
I miss it.
I’ll miss you.
... Garrus trembled under the surge of once repressed emotions coming to the fore. “That can’t be it, Shepard. You can’t leave me like this!” He opened the envelope again and upended it, shaking it slightly. A small square of paper fell out and landed on the pile in front of him. Tremors shook his hand as he reached for it and he cradled its charred edges as he unfolded the square. ...
I didn’t mean to leave things like that, but I just couldn’t go back. Too much had happened, was happening. I don’t want to apologize again, and I think this is my last chance to say anything at all.
As I write this (and if it isn’t legible, it’s because my hand is shaking now because the Reapers are attacking the FOB), you’re standing outside the door, saying what might be your last goodbyes to Tali.
We’ve already said ours.
And yet, I’m jealous of what you’re giving her, which I’m sure are all the reassurances your romantic heart is capable of (I’ve seen the playlist, Garrus).
It may have been cowardly to love a dying man, but I did it anyway. And I did it while I still loved you.
I have no reason to hide anything now, not when I’m so close to my own end, so I’m laying my cards on the table.
I love you, Garrus Vakarian.
I loved you before I died. In fact, I can tell you (quickly, though, I’ve only got a few more minutes) the exact moment that I fell in love with you. I’d come down to do my rounds, shoot the shit with Wrex, mentor Ash a little bit, comfort Tali, and just hang out with you. I came back from engineering, and you were under the Mako. When I got close, you pushed out from under it, and you gave me what I can only assume is a glare.
And that was it. You glared at me because I broke the Mako. Again. And I knew I was in love with you.
And then, you know, I died.
And I came back loving you.
But dying hadn’t made me any braver. I made a choice, and I thought I’d be a little less lonely because of it. And I was.
How could I begrudge you and Tali that? I can’t. I truly hope for your happiness. I hope that you can grow old together in a galaxy free of the Reapers.
But, I just wanted you to know, though you’ve always known anyway, there’s no Shepard without Vakarian.
I’ll get these to somebody who will get them to Hackett. If anyone is guaranteed to survive all of this, it’s that old bastard.
(P.S. I missed that last shot on purpose.)
... The slow annihilation that he’d been feeling for the last seven years came to an abrupt and unlamented end. He had the whole of it now. Shepard had loved him, had been in love with him. And he… He’d been loving her back all these years. He could have been happy with Tali, he could have been happy with any of the turian women his sister brought home. But in the back of his mind, he’d been loving the ghost of her. The way a smell would bring back a sudden memory of her, or the sound of her laugh during a fire fight. Garrus had a little bit of footage of her on his visor, saved from one of their many, many battles. And in the first year after the end of the Reaper War, he’d played it over and over. It was as if he was trying to resurrect her (again) through sheer willpower alone. But… She never came back. The extranet never lit up with tales of her death being exaggerated. None of his crewmates ever commed him with breathless excitement, uttering the words, “She’s back!” Commander Jane Shepard was dead. Well, Garrus thought, I’ll try to do enough living for both of us.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When he went back to the conference room, Garrus was surprised to find that it was empty, save for Admiral Hackett, now sitting at the table with a glass in his hand. Hackett looked up at Garrus and tiredly waved in hand behind him. “The rest of it is there, Vakarian. To do with as you will. Your friends are waiting in Andromeda.” The admiral drained his drink and stood up, straightening his uniform. He nodded at Garrus and exited the conference room. What more can there be, Garrus wondered, this was already more than I expected. The small box, the last on the table, beckoned him. There were more papers in it, along with one final note.
They wouldn’t let me buy that specific spot on the Presidium, so you’ll have to make do with my summer home on Intai’sei. There isn’t much there, just a few things that I’d managed to move in before Alchera. Anderson kept it up for me, but it’s yours. Would it be inappropriate to say that I love you?
I do. Love you, that is.
I think all the stars would have to stop burning before I’d stop loving you. The universe didn’t know what it wrought when it blessed me with a friend like you, Garrus Vakarian.
Thank you.
Beneath her note lay the deed to a home on Intai’sei. Once he left Arcturus, it would be his first stop.
I’m coming, Shepard. Wait for me, just a little longer.
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“Do what you must,” the ghostly Catalyst urged. “I am,” Shepard replied. She stumbled and limped her way to the gleaming red device. Shepard couldn’t remember taking a longer walk. “Are you sure destroying us is the way forward? Think of all the synthetic lives you’ll be ending,” the Catalyst entreated. “Oh,” Shepard said, smiling as much as she could despite the pain, “they’re stronger than you think. We’re all stronger than you think. I’ve got the best in the galaxy on my six.” “You have little chance of surviving,” warned the Catalyst. “Those are the best odds I’ve had in years.” The quip came out quietly; she was starting to lose her breath now. “Besides,” she sighed, “I’ve got orders. A friend of mine told me to come back. I’d hate to disappoint him.” She raised her pistol and fired. One. Two. Three. Four. The slugs shattered the covering, barreling into the mechanism it protected. Shepard closed her eyes and waited for the end. The rubble was piled all around and bodies were littered in and on top of it. The scattered remains of Reapers and people alike intermingled in the crater that was once Sheffield. The grave diggers, the battlefield rummagers, and the mourning alike ventured out into the chaos, trying to sort out what they could. Survivors were few and far between, and the body would have gone overlooked if a sharp-eyed child hadn’t spotted the movement of its chest. “Mummy! Mummy, I think this one’s alive!” “Don’t crowd her, dearie, let ‘er breathe.” The woman shooed the child away. “Go and get the men, Sam. Now then, love, can you hear me? Good. My lad’s gone to get the stretcher, so you just stay with me till he comes back.” The woman on the ground nodded her head slightly, wincing as she did. “Now, now, we can’t have none of that! You stay still, love. Can you speak? Have you got a name?” The woman opened her mouth, then closed it. A look of confusion passed over her face. “I—,” she croaked out, “I don’t know who I am.” “That’s all right, love, it’ll come back in time, I’m sure.” “I think,” the woman went on, becoming visibly agitated, “I think there’s someone waiting for me. I have to find him.” “You will, love, I promise, but you’ve got to get better first.” The woman quieted, either in agreement or from the pain of her exertions. “It’s going to be all right, love, the war’s over now. It’s ended, once and for all, I should think.” “Yeah,” the woman managed to say, “yeah, I think it’s over. I won. I lived.”