Archive of Our Own

Shepard awoke with a startled gasp. 

Frantically, she sat up and searched the dark room, looking for signs of anything familiar: white pillows strewn around the head of her bed; the matching duvet and bed sheets bunched between her fingers; the faint outlines of lounge and office furniture; the dim blue glow coming from the fish tank and the specks of orange, red, and gold fish that swam within; the distant hum of engines whirring; and finally, the sterile smell of filtered air.

She was in her cabin. On the Normandy. Not stranded on an unfamiliar planet, knee-deep in a pile of corpses.  

Shepard sighed deeply as she lowered her face into her hands. She scrubbed at her eyes until she saw stars, trying to banish the horrifying and gruesome visions of death her mind continued to conjure, but it was no use. The images flashed in her mind in an endless loop. She recalled the unrecognizable faces of the victims, their mangled bodies stuffed inside of stasis pods. The finer details of the dream were lost on her now, but their shadows still lingered, a dark presence that loomed over her and clawed at her mind. 

Her nightmares about the Collectors had already been frequent, but it wasn’t until she had investigated Horizon and the Collector ship that they had become relentless. Witnessing firsthand the destruction wrought by the Collectors had changed everything, solidifying the fear that had been slowly growing inside of her from the moment she had regained consciousness on Lazarus Station.  

She had experienced that level of chaos when Saren, Sovereign, and their geth forces had attacked the Citadel. The difference, though, was that she had actually survived that day, whereas the Collectors had already killed her once before. 

Shepard dreamed of dying more than anything else. She recalled the moment of her death with perfect clarity, whether she was awake or asleep. Once reminded of it, she felt like she was there again, floating aimlessly through the black abyss of space, struggling to breathe as the oxygen leaked from her helmet, eyes burning with tears as the rest of her burned over Alchera. 

Like any other soldier, Shepard had the good sense to fear death, but she had learned early on in her service not to let that fear control her. She had avoided death so many times before, had survived when she shouldn’t have and when others hadn’t. Shepard was a skilled operative, but she had also been lucky. Back then, her luck had made her complacent with her own mortality, had allowed her to take risks few other commanding officers ever dared to.  

None of that mattered anymore. Shepard knew now that she could die just as quickly and as easily as anyone else, and she also knew what awaited her when she would eventually meet her true end. She had crossed the threshold of death’s door and found nothing on the other side.  

That alone terrified her more than anything else. 

She remembered dying so vividly, but felt like she hadn’t died at all, not when there had been nothing about it that actually made her feel dead. There had been no afterlife, no gods, no ghosts of distant relatives waiting for her. She felt more like she had been hanging in the cusp of life and death—not crossing either barrier, but simply existing in limbo. 

“Meat and tubes,” Jacob’s voice echoed in her memory. That was supposedly what she had been turned into, but then Cerberus had brought her back like nothing had ever happened, like she had taken a nap and woken up two hours later, not two years. But that two-year nap had come at the cost of her career, her crew, and her friends. Everything that she valued most had been ripped away from her in an instant. 

Shepard felt like she was swimming against the current. Although she had cheated death once, the Reapers would be back to correct that mistake. Cerberus was a capable and powerful group, but Shepard doubted there would be enough time and resources to bring her back a second time before the Reapers returned and continued their cycle of total destruction. 

The Reapers would stop at nothing to ensure the extinction of humanity. They would stop at nothing to ensure Shepard would be among the first wave of casualties. Sovereign had said it so clearly two years ago: everyone in the galaxy was alive because the Reapers allowed it, and many would die because the Reapers demanded it. Would she ever stand a chance against them? Would anyone? 

Shepard wasn’t sure how long she stayed there, hiding in her hands like they would shield her from the realities that existed beyond them. She focused on her breathing, timing her inhales and exhales until her heart rate slowly returned to normal. She waited until the knot in her chest loosened and the sweat that dampened her hairline dried before she lifted her head and checked the alarm clock sitting on her bedside table. The display blinked at her in the darkness, indicating that the hour was just shy of 0400.   

“EDI,” she said. “Lights at fifty percent.” 

“Yes, Commander.” 

The lights in her cabin flickered to life. Shepard winced at the sudden assault of brightness, even with the lights only at half power. Cerberus certainly hadn’t spared any expense when it came to lighting the SR-2. The CIC could be downright blinding at times, especially compared to the previous Normandy and other naval starships. Shepard missed the comfortable dimness of Alliance vessels, dark walls illuminated by the faint orange glow emitting from various pieces of tech. 

She frowned at the memory as her heart yearned to return to those times. Though she was no longer Alliance in name, she would always be Alliance at heart. The principles of duty and service had built and shaped her into the woman she was. In the face of so much uncertainty, Shepard knew one thing to be absolutely true: she couldn’t let her own fears stop her from doing what needed to be done. 

The weight of an entire galaxy was a heavy burden to bear, but it was hers. If nothing else, she needed to try. 

“Make that thirty percent,” she amended. “At least until I’ve given my eyes time to wake up.” 

“You are awake earlier than your usual hour, Commander,” EDI observed.  

Shepard ignored her remark. Though endearing, EDI’s attempts at conversation were a minefield she was neither equipped nor willing to navigate in her current state. Quietly, she stood from her bed and made her way to her office. What she wanted was a distraction, and burying her troubles in work would be the perfect one. 

Later in the day, when Garrus suggested they tackle their next off-ship assignment together, just the two of them, Shepard eagerly agreed. Though she rarely went planetside without a full three-man squad, today she was happy to make an exception. None of the extra menial duties she had assigned to herself on the ship had been enough to keep her mind occupied. In the field, it would be a different story. She would have no choice but to focus on the mission, and a little target practice and friendly competition with Garrus would lift her spirits. 

According to Alliance intel, another human colony world called Fortuna, located at the edge of the Terminus systems, had been hit by the Collectors. The Collectors had long since come and gone, and the real damage had already been done, but Shepard and Garrus were after the Blue Suns, who had swooped in to scavenge the settlement while it was empty and unattended.  

Surprisingly, Shepard had received the tip from Anderson personally. He didn’t make a habit out of contacting her frequently, given her affiliation with Cerberus, but he did occasionally send secret messages via unofficial channels. The arrangement was mutually beneficial: Anderson had someone he could trust to investigate the attack and report back to him, something he hoped to use as leverage to pressure the Council to act, while Shepard could search for evidence of Collector activity before anyone else arrived.  

She could smell and taste the salt in the air the moment she stepped off the shuttle before she put on her helmet. Fortuna’s population resided in a small desert coastal settlement along a large salt water lake. According to Anderson’s report, high salinity levels in the water made the area unsuitable for fishing or farming, and the climate itself was less than ideal, but the idea of self-sufficiency and freedom from both the Council and the Alliance motivated the colonists to remain in the area, and the settlement flourished in spite of it all. Fortuna sustained itself through the use of greenhouses, produced some of its own goods and amenities, and occasionally traded with other nearby independent colony worlds for additional resources, weapons, and tech. 

The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore was drowned out by the sounds of gunfire. The wind coming in from the sea was loud and punishing, whistling and rattling the structures around them, making them tremble and squeak. Shepard and Garrus worked through the Blue Suns’ forces at a steady pace, picking them off from a distance until only a few remained. 

“Sun at your one o’clock,” Shepard said. 

Across the way, she saw Garrus answer with a nod. He was perched on the rooftop of the building on the opposite side of the road of the one she had taken for herself, kneeling alongside the safety rail. He adjusted his position, the nose of his rifle peeking out over the edge, and turned slightly in the direction Shepard had indicated. 

The mercenary in question sat behind a stack of shipping crates that concealed approximately ninety-seven percent of his body. The other three percent poked out over the top of the crate. It wasn’t enough for either of them to do any damage other than scuff the top of his helmet, but if he moved just a few inches higher, lifted his head in order to assess the situation and his surroundings, they would have him. 

“Got him?” she asked. 

“Affirmative.” 

“All yours, then.” 

Garrus remained completely still, waiting for the right opportunity to act. Nearly two minutes passed before Shepard saw his spine straighten, his entire body going on alert. She watched through the scope of her rifle as Garrus then landed a clean, perfect headshot just as the mercenary peered over the edge of the crate. The sound of his gun firing echoed through the air like a crack of lightning, bouncing off the walls of the prefab structures around them. She sucked in a quiet breath as she admired the way his body absorbed the aftershocks of his rifle’s kickback, his strong shoulders rocking back to accommodate the sudden burst of movement.  

Drawing away from her scope, Shepard looked down to the ground. Their target lay flat on his back in the dirt, splayed out in lifeless heap.  

Garrus’ voice rang out over the comms: “One less to worry about!” 

“Hot,” Shepard said, deadpan, and smirked behind her helmet. 

Garrus laughed. “You’re shameless.” 

“I’m a simple woman, Garrus. I see someone land a shot like that and I get all weak in the knees.” 

“Is that so?” 

Shepard really wished she could have seen his expression right then. “What, you don’t agree?” 

“Just wish I’d known sooner is all,” he said. “And if I didn’t agree, I wouldn’t have asked you out on this date.” 

Shepard’s eyebrows rose. Now that piqued her interest. 

“This is your idea of a date?” she asked. 

“Sure,” he replied nonchalantly. “Can’t think of anything better than watching you shoot.” 

“Keeping an eye on my form?” 

“Among other things.” 

Shepard laughed and shook her head, cheeks warming from his compliment. It wasn’t so much a stroke to her ego as much as she simply liked being reminded of his interest in her. On the Normandy, especially around the rest of the crew, he kept things friendly and professional. When they were alone, he sang a different tune.  

Theirs had been a slow dance ever since Garrus had rejoined her crew, gradually picking up tempo once they had crossed a few necessary hurdles. Garrus had been so focused on Sidonis in the beginning, while Shepard had still hoped to make contact with Kaidan somehow. But with Sidonis in C-Sec custody and Kaidan having made it clear where he stood, Shepard and Garrus could move on and devote their attention to each other. 

Despite her proposition, their relationship had yet to turn physical—at least in the way Shepard had intended when she had suggested that they “blow off steam” together. She still cherished the small, stolen moments of intimacy between them: the flirtatious banter, the occasional brush of their hands as they stood side by side, a touch on the shoulder or knee that lingered longer than necessary, the single brief kiss they had shared out of curiosity one night that they both refused to speak of.  

They would only ever get to enjoy the sweet beginnings of their new romance once. Shepard wanted to remember them. 

“The view’s not bad from here, either,” Shepard said. 

“I’m sure you say that to all the turians on your ship.” 

“Just the one.” 

She imagined how flustered Garrus must have looked at that moment. He cleared his throat to mask his awkward laughter, and Shepard couldn’t help but smile. She liked him shy. It was so unlike his usual brash demeanor, the bluster and overconfidence that so often got him into trouble.  

Knowing that she was able to get under his plates was the true ego boost. 

“Movement on your left, Commander,” Garrus said, getting back to business. 

Shepard looked down her scope, catching the faint heat signature of someone moving through one of the prefab units on her side of the street. When the mercenary eventually exited the building, assault rifle pressed tightly to her chest, the targeting computer in Shepard’s visor instantly locked onto her head. 

“I see her,” Shepard replied. She shifted her rifle slightly to the left and fired. The mercenary toppled to the ground, painting a splatter of blood on the wall behind her. 

“Nice,” Garrus said appreciatively. “The Widow really doesn’t mess around.” 

Shepard grinned and affectionately rubbed the Widow’s stock. “No, no she definitely doesn’t.”  

“Think that was the last of them?” Garrus asked as he stood. “Not picking up anymore life signs on my scanner.” 

“Neither am I,” Shepard said with a nod.  

She stood as well, her knees popping in protest. After she put her rifle away, Shepard took a moment to stretch and release the stiffness from her muscles and joints. Kneeling for an extended period of time in full tactical armor was neither glamorous nor comfortable.  

“All in a day’s work,” she said. “Not done yet, though.” 

“What’s next?”  

“We still need to do recon in this part of the settlement and see if we can find any trace of the Collectors,” she said. “I’ll take the west side and you take the east?” 

“You got it.” 

They went in their separate directions. Shepard climbed down the ladder attached to the side of the prefab she had used as her sniper’s nest and then slipped inside.  

It was basic in design, as all prefabs tended to be, but as she looked around it was easy to see that it had been someone’s home, lived in and cared for not unlike a small family house back on Earth. All the basic accoutrements that were fairly standard amongst prefab models blended into the backdrop of the unit’s unique décor. The living room walls were painted lavender and adorned with traditional art as well as real printed photographs of loved ones. The shelves were lined with paper books and other collectibles and knickknacks. 

When she got to the kitchen, Shepard sighed sadly. Dining chairs that surrounded a square table were all pulled out of place, with one of them even knocked over onto the ground. There were four plates left out on the table with half-eaten food that had started to spoil. The scene painted a very clear, very bleak picture: a family simply trying to enjoy a meal together, only to be interrupted by the unthinkable, the inhumane. 

Even though Fortuna was a small colony, its community had been tight-knit and well-established. The colony’s founders had been members of an intentional farming community back on Earth, and the majority of the settlers had known one another’s families for generations. It was one of the earliest colonies formed outside of Alliance space, away from Alliance surveillance and protection. But who would ever bother to harm an unassuming farming colony in the first place? 

Shepard pondered the colony’s name. Fortuna. Luck. The irony sent a pang of sorrow straight to her chest.  

Some luck that turned out to be, she thought bitterly.   

Shepard went on to the next home, then the next one, and continued on until she finished searching every single one. She found nothing other than the morbid reminders of homes that could never be returned to: meals left unfinished, beds unmade, children’s toys left out on floors. She and Garrus periodically updated one another on their individual progress, both reporting similar scenarios. Garrus discovered what seemed to have been the Blue Sun’s temporary base of operations in one of the abandoned homes, but he found nothing meaningful there that linked the Collectors to the initial attack.  

Shepard entered the last prefab in her row. The building was larger than the others before it, taking up an entire block all on its own. It was two floors high with a deck wrapped around all sides of the ground level. It wasn’t a home like the others, she realized, but more of a recreational building—a community center where all of the colonists could gather and spend their free time. Inside the main hall, there was a pool table, foosball tables, and even a few vintage arcade games and pinball machines. On the left side, she passed by a communal kitchen and dining area with multiple tables and chairs neatly arranged in rows. At first glance, nothing seemed to be out of place. Shepard figured that no one must have been there during the attack. 

Shepard let herself into a room that appeared to be an office. It was sparsely furnished with a terminal desk, a few chairs, and a safe on the far wall. Nothing jumped out at her as she rummaged through the contents of the space. She approached the desk situated in the center of the room and looked through the drawers. Again, she found nothing that warranted concern. 

Nodding to herself, Shepard switched her comms back on. They were close enough to the end of their assignment, and she wanted to lighten the mood. 

“So, who’s buying drinks later?” 

“I am, unfortunately,” Garrus said. “You beat me by four kills this time around.” 

“Nice,” Shepard replied and smiled boastfully to herself. “To the victor goes the spoils.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Garrus drawled. “Just remember which one of us bought drinks the last three times.” 

“I’m making a comeback,” Shepard said. “Everyone loves a good redemption story, right?” 

Shepard synced her omni-tool to the office’s terminal and began to sort through the files on its hard drive, but once again she found nothing useful—bills, expense reports, duty rosters, census data. Her need to be thorough warred with her desire to wrap up as soon as possible. It was obvious where the mission was headed. If neither she nor Garrus had found any evidence yet, she doubted they would find it now. 

“You’ve got a big enough ego as it is,” Garrus said. “I’m just trying to keep you humble.” 

Shepard scoffed. “Oh, I’m plenty humble. My credit account is still crying from our last stint on Omega.” 

“Ha! Please, with that Cerberus paycheck? You’ll be fine.” 

Shepard made her way toward the safe. She bypassed the security lock with ease and transferred the credits to Garrus’s account with her omni-tool. It would be plenty to pay for both their drinks. 

“It’s not so much a paycheck as much as it is a company credit chit,” she admitted. 

“All the more reason for you not to complain.” 

“There are only so many things that I can justify as ‘business expenses’ and get away with it,” Shepard said, reminded of the last time she had tried to explain her and Garrus’ expenditures to Miranda. The drinks themselves hadn’t actually been that expensive; the weapon mods they had special ordered after they drank were the real issue. 

Shepard left the office and climbed the stairs to the second floor. She emerged in a lounge area with two couches, a handful of chairs, and a stereo system. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with more paper books and board games—more reminders that left a sour taste on her tongue, but otherwise didn’t warrant concern. 

“I’m done over here,” Garrus said. “How are things on your end?” 

“Almost done, too,” Shepard answered. “One more floor to check out.” 

“Find anything?” 

“Jack shit. How about you?” 

“Whatever’s less than that,” Garrus said with a brief chuckle. “But it was interesting seeing the hydroponics lab. Didn’t expect such a sophisticated setup for a remote colony. They have all sorts of things in there. Lots of flowers.” 

“I’ll have to check that out before we go,” Shepard said. “Hey, what’s your favorite flower?” 

She had meant the question as somewhat of a joke, but Garrus answered it truthfully and, to her surprise, without any hesitation: “There’s this one wildflower native to where I grew up on Palaven. I don’t think the name will translate well in your language.” 

Shepard smiled. “Tell me about it, then. What does it look like?” 

“They’re these tiny orange flowers that bloom in the spring. They grow in small clusters in the grass. Doesn’t really matter where. They’re all over the place.” Garrus paused and cleared his throat quietly before he said, “My mom really liked them. My sister and I used to bring them home to her when we were kids.”  

Shepard’s smile softened at the corners of her mouth. Garrus didn’t talk much about himself or his family, but he had slowly opened up to her over time. She understood how difficult that was from personal experience, so she appreciated that he trusted her enough to try.  

“Never actually been to Palaven before,” she said. “You should show me around sometime.” 

Garrus laughed. “It’s a big planet. Might take us a while.” 

“We can start small. Book passage to Cipirtine once this is all over.” 

She would let him fill in the blanks as to what "this" meant. The Collectors, the Reapers, Cerberus. Any of it. All of it. One day, it would all come to an end. Shepard hoped they would still be around to see it. 

“Yeah,” Garrus said, sounding almost wistful. “I’d like that.” 

Shepard crossed the room, heading for the door. She had one more room left to check. 

“Me too,” she agreed softly.  

“I’m, uh—” Garrus sounded shy again, much to Shepard’s delight. “I’m gonna wait for you outside the lab.” 

“Roger that. Won’t be too much longer now.” 

“Take your time. I’ll be here.” 

She reached the final door and turned the knob. At first glance, nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at her. It looked like a storage closet. 

But when she actually looked inside, Shepard nearly screamed. 

Three colonists sat on the floor—one male, two females, all three of them adults—pushed up against one another and the wall in the cramped space. They were dressed in civilian clothes.  

They were dead.  

Time seemed to slow down around her. Shepard stared down at the bodies in horror, glancing over their wounds in a daze; they were relatively fresh, the blood on their clothes only just starting to dry. The sharp, metallic smell filled her nostrils and made her sick to her stomach. 

Arms shaking, she took out her omni-tool and scanned their bodies. Their wounds were consistent with those made by the brand of assault rifles carried by the Blue Suns, not Collector rifles.  

They had survived the Collectors only to have their lives cruelly taken from them anyway. If the colony hadn’t been hit by the Collectors, then the Blue Suns would have never shown up in the first place. It didn’t matter who fired the shots in the end. They were victims all the same, more names added to the Reapers’ ever-growing list of casualties.  

“You know, since you mentioned it . . . I’ve never been to Earth before, either.” 

Shepard distantly registered Garrus’ voice over the comms as her thoughts began to spiral.  

She thought of the Collector ship and the piles of bodies at every corner.  

She thought of her nightmares, standing amidst the corpses of dead colonists before waking in a cold sweat.  

She thought of Horizon. 

She thought of the Citadel when Sovereign had attacked, the devastation left behind, and all the lives that had been lost.  

She thought of all the nameless, lifeless faces that stared blankly back at her as she looked upon them helplessly, all of them damned to nothingness while she had been given a second chance.  

It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t right. She had no right to be so upset, not when all those people were dead and she no longer was. But her hands shook and her throat closed. She was scared, so scared of that nothingness, of that in-between place where she ceased to exist. She couldn’t let it happen again. 

“Maybe we could go there after we finish our little tour on Palaven.” 

Shepard’s heart beat like thunder in her chest and echoed in her ears. She held painfully rigid, unable to move, until she physically couldn’t take it anymore. She realized then that she was holding her breath, her chest beginning to ache from the strain, and let out a loud, shuddering exhale. 

“Shepard?” 

She needed to get away—away from the room, away from the people she couldn’t save, away from the stark reminder of a fate she would inevitably share. She darted back into the other room, slamming the door closed behind her, and leaned against the wall.  

“Shepard, do you copy?” Garrus asked. “Crap, is this thing working?” 

She opened her mouth to acknowledge him, but no sound came out. Her reply was trapped inside her throat, vocal cords constricting around the words. 

Her heart and thoughts continued to race. Her armor felt too hot and tight, and she struggled to breathe normally. Even the sounds of her frantic inhales and exhales were deafening. A light sheen of sweat coated her forehead and the back of the neck. 

No, she thought. Not now. Not again. 

“Shepard!” 

A hand landed on her shoulder, abruptly drawing her out from her thoughts. Shepard flinched and screamed loudly as she spun around, instinctively scrabbling for her pistol.  

“Whoa!” Garrus exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender. “Shepard, stop! It's me!” 

“Holy shit,” Shepard whispered. She went cold and pale, mortified by her own reaction. “Holy shit . . .” 

“Sorry,” Garrus said and lowered his hands. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Shepard’s chest heaved as she fought to calm herself. She swore again under her breath, wishing she could shrink back and disappear from sight. Slowly, she returned her pistol to its holster. 

“What happened?” Garrus asked. “Are you okay?” 

Shepard wanted to cry. Her knees shook, making her sway on her feet, and she wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and cry. 

“I—” she started to say, but she didn’t know what she was trying to tell him. “I—fuck.” 

She outwardly cringed at the sound of her own voice, weak and wobbly and full of fear. Her eyes stung with tears until they finally broke free and blurred her vision. She was thankful her helmet concealed it from view. 

When the nightmares had first returned, she had feared that her anxiety might follow suit. It had been years since she had experienced a full-blown panic attack. It was bad enough that it had to happen during a mission. She didn’t want Garrus, or any of her crew, to see her in such a state.  

She could feel the intensity of his stare even though she couldn’t see his eyes through his helmet, but even with masks between them it made no difference. Garrus knew her better than most, could read her like a book he had memorized from front to back. He was also a soldier. He knew the signs. He understood exactly what she was going through.  

Wordlessly, Shepard stepped aside and pointed to the door. She turned her head away and refused to look as Garrus opened it and peered inside. 

“Damn it,” he uttered gravely. “That’s not good.” 

Shepard wasn’t sure how much time passed as Garrus inspected the scene for himself. She heard the faint sounds of his omni-tool, his footsteps as he moved around, and the soft click of the door shutting behind him. She lifted her gaze when he stood in front of her, dreading what he might say.  

“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

He took a tentative step forward, gauging her reaction before resting his hands on her shoulders.  

“Just breathe,” he continued. “You’re going to be all right.” 

Shepard felt like she was still in a trance, the world around her going in and out of focus. Garrus, seeming to take notice, gave her shoulders a light squeeze, bringing her attention back to him.  

“What do you need?” he asked. 

Shepard exhaled shakily and shook her head. Garrus simply nodded as though he understood. 

“Take your time,” he said. “I've got you.”  

I’ve got you. More tears spilled out over her cheeks. Shepard didn’t expect to be so emotionally affected by them, but those words, and the sentiment behind them, meant more to her than she could ever say.  

Shepard worked so diligently to be the immovable center of her crew, the one everyone could look to and know everything would be all right. She stood strong so they wouldn’t feel weak. She made the hard decisions so they wouldn’t have to think twice. She was brave so they wouldn’t be scared. She couldn’t bear the thought of any of them feeling sorry for her—Garrus especially.  

But to know that Garrus had her back, despite how vulnerable and exposed she felt, filled her with immense relief. 

Shepard covered one of his hands with her own and squeezed it tightly. 

“I need to get back to the ship,” she choked out. 

“Can you walk to the rendezvous point?” Garrus asked.  

Shepard nodded. “I think so.” 

He took her hand into his and squeezed. Shepard let him lead her down the stairs and out the building, hanging her head in shame.  

The worst had come to pass by the time Shepard and Garrus returned to the Normandy. Shepard no longer felt as stricken as she had on Fortuna, but the aftermath of anxiety was challenging in its own right. She felt exhausted and numb, her limbs heavy and lethargic, and she found it difficult to focus. Nonetheless, she shifted into autopilot. There was still work to be done. 

She sent Garrus back down to the colony in her stead with Tali and Mordin. The three of them could handle everything else on their own—securing the scene, gathering necessary evidence, and identifying the victims before preparing them for burial. As they carried out those orders, Shepard took the elevator up to the CIC and wrote a brief encrypted message to Anderson to inform him of the situation. After, she asked Joker to plot a course for the Citadel once everything was taken care of on Fortuna. Anderson would likely want to follow up with her in person so there would be no risk of the information falling into unwanted hands. 

With a weary sigh, Shepard powered down her terminal and went back to the elevator. What she wanted more than anything else was to retreat to her cabin and hide for the rest of the day, but the responsible commanding officer that still existed in the other parts of her brain guided her otherwise. There was one more thing she needed to do before going off duty.  

Shepard exited the elevator on the second floor and turned left toward the med bay. Doctor Chakwas was at her desk, and she appeared surprised to see Shepard walk through the door.  

“Commander Shepard,” she said. “You’re back early.” 

Shepard simply nodded. 

“Well, let’s not waste time, shall we?” 

Shepard submitted herself to the routine post-mission checkup. Doctor Chakwas examined her from top to bottom and asked her usual list of questions. Shepard answered each inquiry quietly and allowed the doctor to bend and manipulate her body with no resistance.  

“Everything looks good overall,” Chakwas said by the end of it, “but your blood pressure is rather high.” 

Shepard watched as Chakwas inputted the remaining information into a datapad before she turned back to her. She raised a slender eyebrow at Shepard expectantly. 

“You’re here for another reason,” she stated. 

“Yes,” Shepard replied, her voice coming out hoarse. She cleared her throat and swallowed.  

Chakwas continued to observe her closely, eyes moving up and down her face. Shepard assumed she was able to fill in the gaps. 

“You were emotionally compromised by the mission.” 

Shepard looked down at her knees and nodded. 

“I find that almost hard to believe, after everything you’ve seen over the course of your career,” Chakwas continued, but there was no malice behind her words, no indication that she thought Shepard was being untruthful—only genuine surprise. 

Shepard gathered her courage with a deep breath and told her as much as she could. She told her about the nightmares, the resurgence of her anxiety, her fears surrounding the Collectors and the Reapers, and the specific events leading up to her panic attack on Fortuna. When she finished, her mouth felt dry and her pulse fluttered wildly, but the rest of her felt lighter, like a physical weight had been lifted off of her chest.  

Chakwas looked mildly stunned as she processed all of the information, but then she reached out and touched Shepard’s arm. 

“Oh, Shepard,” she said sadly, doing away with formality. “That’s a long time to keep all of that inside.” 

Shepard nearly laughed in spite of herself. “I know. I’m pretty good at that.” 

“May I ask why you didn’t come talk to me sooner?” 

Shepard shook her head. “I . . . I didn’t think it would come to this again. I thought I had it under control.” 

“As far as your health is concerned, be it physical or mental, it’s important to intervene at the first sign of symptoms, not the last,” Chakwas explained, her words soft and gentle. “Lack of sleep does the body a lot of harm and is often the catalyst to other ailments. If you were having trouble at night, that’s something that, as your doctor, I can help you with.” 

Shepard nodded slowly as she internalized the doctor’s advice.  

“But you’ve also had to deal with a lot of stress these last several months,” Chakwas continued. “I understand how hard that must have been for you.” 

“It was,” Shepard said. She cleared her throat again, on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, Doctor. It’s also really hard for me to talk about it.” 

“I know.” Chakwas offered her a comforting smile. “Take your time.” 

Shepard focused on her breathing and tried to remain calm, even though she felt exactly the opposite. She had been forced to confront and overcome her vulnerability many times in her career, but the stakes were much higher now. 

“What happens next?” Shepard asked. “I’ve never had to deal with this while I’ve had my own command.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Shepard shrugged. “I have to step down, don’t I? Let Miranda handle things for the rest of the mission? Or, I don’t know . . . at least for a little while. I don’t know what good I’ll be while I feel like this.” 

“Is that really what you want?” Chakwas asked. 

“Well . . .” Shepard hadn’t expected her to oppose. “No, of course not. But what choice do I have?” 

“I’m not the slightest bit worried about your ability to command,” Chakwas said with a conviction in her voice that made Shepard sit up straighter. “If anything, the quality of your work seems to improve when you’re under pressure, even if it is self-inflicted—willingly or not.” 

Shepard managed a small smile. “I used to put something like that on my resume, you know.” 

Chakwas laughed. “Shepard, would it be terribly presumptuous of me to say that I consider you a friend?” 

Shepard met the doctor’s gaze and shook her head. “Of course not, Karin. The feeling is mutual. We’ve been through a lot together ever since I first joined the Normandy crew.” 

Nodding, Chakwas walked over to a row of cabinets hanging from the wall. She looked through the contents on the topmost shelves until she found what she was looking for and then brought it back to the examination table. 

“Then, as both your friend and your doctor,” she said softly, “allow me to help.” 

Chakwas held out a bottle of pills for Shepard to take, but Shepard simply stared at them in awe. The tablets were small and green and instantly familiar to her; they were the same ones she had taken when she had first received her diagnosis.  

“You should absolutely take some time off for yourself,” Chakwas went on. “Recover from the stress you’ve been under, catch up on all that missed sleep. I’ll happily prescribe you shore leave once we reach the Citadel, too. But I don’t think you need to surrender your entire command. And I already knew that’s not what you’d want, either.” 

“No, definitely not,” Shepard agreed. “But if this becomes an ongoing problem, then I have to do what’s best for the crew.” 

“You are what’s best for this crew,” Chakwas said. “You’re the kind of leader a crew admires and respects. You always do the right thing, even when it’s hard. You’ve done so much for us all. It’s why I and so many others followed you here. That will never be in doubt.” 

Shepard’s emotions hit her suddenly. She sniffled as a single tear escaped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. Doctor Chakwas’ unwavering confidence and faith in her—not just in her ability, but in her—was humbling.  

Chakwas smiled. “This is why you have a team to begin with. Delegate some of your responsibilities. Lean on us for a while as you take care of yourself. We’ll support you through this as much as you support us.” 

“Thank you, Karin.” Shepard’s voice came out strained and tearful. “That really means a lot to me.” 

“You are more than welcome, Shepard,” Chakwas replied, patting Shepard’s arm reassuringly. “I’d like you to come see me again in one week. We can talk more then and reassess if need be.”  

“I will,” Shepard agreed. 

“If you need something stronger, come sooner. But in the meantime . . .” Chakwas held out the bottle again. “Here.” 

Shepard nodded slowly. She accepted the bottle from the doctor and curled her fingers around it tightly. 

“Okay,” she whispered—and she knew that she would be. 

Shepard desperately wanted to collapse onto her bed and knock out, but her nerves were still too rattled for sleep, so she did everything she could think of to work off the restlessness. She cleaned her room, folded her laundry, showered, put on clean sweats, and then went down the stereotypical checklist of relaxation must-haves: oil diffuser, calming music, dimmed lights, alarm clock shut off, hot cup of herbal tea. Her cabin would be her oasis for the next several days until they reached the Citadel.  

When she finished, she stood at the top of her stairs and admired her handiwork. She laid a hand flat across her chest. Her heartbeat was still somewhat erratic, but not nearly as much as before. She breathed in deeply and held the air her lungs for several seconds before she let it out slowly. 

Maybe she could read or watch an old vid—something that would give her an outlet, keep her mind distracted, and eventually lull her to sleep. 

As she was about to go look through her library, a chime sounded from her door. Confused, Shepard turned around and walked over to it, wondering who would want to see her this late into the evening. She pushed the largest button on the control panel. 

“Garrus,” she said as the door slid open, a small smile coming to her face when she saw him in the hallway. He was dressed comfortably in his civvies, and Shepard was relieved to see that he had safely returned from Fortuna once more.    

With a flick of his mandibles, Garrus held up his hand in greeting. 

“Can I come in?” he asked. 

Shepard stepped aside and motioned for him to enter. The door closed behind them as she led him down to the lounge. Garrus stopped briefly to look around the room before he sat down on the couch. Embarrassed, Shepard blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. He must have noticed her attempts at relaxation. 

She sat down next to him, leaning on her side against the cushions behind them. Garrus had never been in her cabin before, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable by that prospect like Shepard assumed he would be. 

“Smells like a spa in here,” he finally remarked, blue eyes shining with mirth. 

Shepard managed a small laugh at her expense. “That was kind of the idea.” 

“I can go, if you’d rather be alone.” 

“No!” Shepard said quickly, shaking her head. “No, stay. Please.” 

Garrus smiled as he nodded. “How are you doing?” 

Shepard’s heart fluttered again. She took another deep breath and lowered her gaze. 

“Better,” she answered. “I’m really sorry—” 

“You have nothing to say sorry for,” Garrus cut in. “It happens, Shepard. More often than you might think.” 

Nodding slowly, Shepard sat up straighter and tried to ignore the knot that started to twist inside her stomach. She reached out and placed her hand on Garrus’ knee, startling him a bit, but then he reached down and took her hand in both of his. 

“I know,” she said. “And thank you—for checking on me, for handling everything after. You really had my back down there.” 

“You’ve done the same for me. More than once.” 

Shepard’s heart jumped as the memories came rushing back. From Saleon to Sidonis and moments in between, she had seen Garrus bare his heart to her and struggle to do the right thing, and had been there for him to help him through the pain. He could do the same for her.   

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. “I came here to make sure you’re okay, not to pry.” 

Shepard sighed. “I’m really bad at this.” 

“You and me both,” Garrus said with a laugh. 

Biting her lip, Shepard searched her brain for the right words. Where she would even start? He probably had so many questions. 

She suddenly became very aware of her ever-increasing heart rate. It didn’t seem like it would go away on its own any time soon, and it would definitely get worse if she talked about what had happened on Fortuna and why. 

“I, um . . .” Shepard stood quickly. “I’ll be right back.” 

She hurried to the bathroom, ducking her head in embarrassment. She didn’t bother shutting the door. 

Though not as intense as the episode on Fortuna, the sudden burst of anxiety seared her insides, and her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Shepard turned the sink on and splashed her face. The cold water against her skin shocked her out of her thoughts, preventing her from spiraling any further. 

Shutting off the tap, Shepard looked up at her reflection in the mirror and watched as droplets of water slid down her face. The faint scars from her cybernetic implants flared to life, and for a moment she saw a flicker of red behind her gaze. She quickly patted her face dry with a towel and then gripped the edge of the sink tightly. She focused on her breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly.  

She looked down at the bottle of pills on the counter.  

Before she could talk herself out of it, Shepard grabbed the bottle and twisted off the cap. She shook out one green tablet into her palm, popped it into her mouth, and swallowed it dry.  

Shepard concentrated on her feelings and tried to navigate through the mess of her emotions. Beneath the layer of anxiety and fear, anger bubbled to the surface—anger at her anxiety, anger at the Collectors and the Reapers, anger at Cerberus and the Alliance, and anger at herself for not being able to handle any of it. 

She wished it would all go away.

When she looked up again, she saw Garrus standing halfway through the doorway. Shepard jumped a little in surprise, but, much to her relief, she didn’t scream like she had done earlier. 

“Sorry,” Garrus said, sounding unsure. Clearing his throat, he took another step inside and leaned against the doorframe. 

Shepard shook her head. “Don’t be.” 

“Your vitals.” Garrus pointed to the display of his visor. “I saw that your heart rate was elevated. Thought I should check on you.” 

Shepard turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest, and almost laughed at his admission. There really was no use hiding anything from him. 

“I’ll be okay,” she said. She indicated to the bottle on the counter. “They’ll kick in soon.” 

Garrus visibly relaxed, his posture sagging against the doorframe. 

“Good,” he said. “You went to see Doctor Chakwas.” 

Shepard nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Has this ever . . .” He paused. “Sorry. If you’d rather not talk about it, I won’t ask.” 

“It’s okay,” Shepard said. “Yes, it’s happened before. It’s something I’ve dealt with for a long time, more so when I'm under a lot of stress." 

“The mission.” 

“Yeah.” 

Swallowing audibly, Shepard leaned against the counter and averted her gaze. There would never be a time when talking about her anxiety would be easy, but she genuinely didn’t want to hide anymore. Not from Garrus. 

“I was really young when it started,” she continued. “I was still a kid. I didn’t fully understand it until I got older, though. But things actually got easier when I enlisted and got the help I needed, so it hasn’t been a problem for years.” 

Lifting her head, Shepard rolled her shoulders back and tried to stand a little taller.  

“This time, it started with dreams. Terrible ones about dying, about the Collectors, about all the people they’ve taken. They’ve just been getting worse. And then seeing those people down there today was . . . really hard. Realizing that we were too late to help them. Knowing that so many people are dead, but I’m still . . .” 

Shepard stopped herself. She hadn’t even told Doctor Chakwas that part of it. 

Garrus shook his head. “There was nothing you could have done. Trust me on that one.” 

Shepard’s heart hurt at the reminder. Garrus understood the crushing weight of survivor’s guilt better than anyone. 

“None of this is your fault,” he added reassuringly. “The Reapers caused all this.” 

“Logically, I know you’re right,” Shepard agreed. “But it’s not that simple, not after everything that happened after I . . .” 

Shepard shook her head as she stopped herself once more, struggling to find the courage to say it out loud. Seeing those bodies, seeing so much death, reminded her too much of her own mortality. 

“I died, Garrus,” she finally said, voice small. “And there was nothing.” 

Garrus didn’t speak. He stared at her intensely, eyes heavy with an emotion Shepard couldn’t quite place. 

“No afterlife,” she went on. “No pearly gates. Nothing. Just nothing.” 

Shepard clenched her trembling hands into fists. 

“I fell asleep and woke up like nothing happened. I died and found nothing, like I never even existed. I can’t go back to that. What if it happens again? What if they can’t bring me back a second time? What if . . . What if this is a fight we just can’t win?” 

Her vision blurred around the edges as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.  

“What if we lose,” she said, “and I have to go back to nothing?” 

Shepard sniffled and quickly swiped the wetness from her cheeks, but the tears kept coming. A quiet sob escaped from the back of her throat. She covered her mouth and waited for the emotions to pass. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on living again, knowing that,” she finished quietly. 

Garrus pushed himself away from the doorframe and took another step into the room. Shepard met his gaze, watching his eyes closely as he approached. 

“Shepard,” he finally said. He sounded at a loss, unsure of where to go from there. He sighed. “I don't know if what I’m going to say here will make everything right. But after these last couple of years . . . if I’ve learned anything from it all, it’s that none of that is as important as living in the present. Not tomorrow, not yesterday, not whatever does or doesn’t happen after it’s all over. Today. Right now.” 

He took another step closer, then another, until he stood right in front of her. 

“You can’t always help it, but having something to fight for, something that makes today better . . . it makes it easier. It does for me.” He gestured between the two of them. “So . . . I’m here for you. In whatever way you need me to be.” 

Shepard stared at him for several long moments. Garrus never asked her for more than she was willing to give, but just by being there for her he had given her so much, and she always gave as good as she got. Like a tether that reminded her not to drift away, he was there. 

And he was right. It wouldn’t be an easy road, and it would take time for her to make peace with it all, but he was right. It was easier. It was worth fighting for. 

After a while, Shepard nodded and held out her hand. “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

Garrus gently took her hand in his. His circled his fingers around her palm and traced the back of her knuckles with his thumb. 

“I’ve got you, Shepard,” he said. “Whatever happens, as long as we’re both here . . . that’ll never change.” 

Shepard smiled at the sincerity in his voice. She squeezed his hand as she took half a step toward him, angling her face forward the slightest amount. Garrus took the hint and bent his head, meeting her halfway for a kiss. Though brief, there was an undeniable tenderness behind the contact, and he let his mouth linger near hers for a moment even after they parted. Turians weren’t really kissers by design, but it meant a lot to Shepard that Garrus did it anyway, if only for her sake. 

“Wanna go watch old vids and pass out?” she suggested. 

Garrus laughed and nodded. “I like your style.” 

Shepard’s smile stretched into a grin as she led him back into her cabin.  

And when she did finally fall asleep that night, curled up on the sofa with her head nestled against Garrus’ shoulder . . . blissfully, Shepard had no dreams.