#Its Garrus reaching for her off the ramp

[one-little-nerd-stayed-home]

Ok. Yeah. So basically the only other game that has ever made me get teary was Ghost of Tsushima

and I cant in good conscience say that Fucking Mass Effect 3 has it beat. but goddamn that fucking hurt.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Five

Chapter Five: All My Memories Gather 'Round Her

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

He ruffled her hair.

Again.

It was a mistake letting her hair grow back out, now clocking back in at impressive two inches Jane was growing used to the platinum blonde locks. Sure, there were some off-handed comments, but a stern attitude dissuaded most of the direct jokes. Well, for most, it did. Roy was always an exception when it came to her.

Annoying geezer.

But was it a sense of direction or trust that guided her to follow through his every command? It was true Jane had been wary at first- she had seen first hand what the power of being made a defacto leader could do to someone. Abuse, rape, and murder. Here, at least for the time being, Roy kept his head. Even begrudged the position. Not that he shared it pubically, only mentioning it in passing to her, but she understood the burden all the same. Jane had lived it: rejected it. It was a strange sense of comfort to follow, better that the man leading was becoming a dear...

She couldn't; she had to reject that notion.

"I know you're there."

The whir of the door a dead giveaway when it came to being followed. Jane's hypervigilance had only increased with her time spent outside active combat. Sure, she still found herself battling at least on a biweekly routine, but it was nothing compared to her time on the Normandy. That person spent more time in cover than under covers.

The mousy-haired girl stared up at her, brown eyes hard and unyielding. Hell, this kid was scary.

"Do you need something, Evelyn?"

The girl harrumphed, "what are you doing?"

Leave it to the lady carrying a dying plant around to be the most suspicious thing going on in the compound, "Spectre business."

Evelyn's, not Eva's, glare worsened. Her cheeks and nostrils flaring.

"What are you doing?" Jane replied in the same smarmy tone.

"My job," she returned matter-of-factly, "even if I don't like it, and even if Papa says you are sick."

"What, are you like, three? You don't have a job."

"Seven. And yes I do! Pater gave me one," the kid smirked, sticking out her tongue.

"And what's that? Being precocious?"

"Pre- what?" Evelyn stammered.

"Being a shit," the swear already escaped before it could be altered. Thus, reinstating the belief that children did not belong around her in any capacity.

Her furrowed brow gave way to a secretive smile, "Pater said someone needed to watch you. Seems stupid, but Papa said we all have to do things we don't want to right now."

Of course, Roy would.

"You're weird," the girl stated plainly, "your face is kinda glowy, and you spend a lot of time with those aliens."

Back on Earth, it wasn't hard to forget that First Contact was a meer thirty years ago. Not that it was blame for their attitudes, but most of the humans had a hard time trusting the aliens. It was only made worse when the squadron of Turians joined them, piling them on top of the loud and aggressive Krogan; most of the natives were uncomfortable. Already the Turians and Krogan had old beefs to settle, and the dash of human fear for the Turian species quickly started a lopsided triangle. At least the Krogan adage of 'seek the enemy of your enemy, and you will find a friend' came to the humans and krogan developing a tenuous alliance.

"Those aliens are nothing to be afraid of," Jane chided gently.

The kid neither gave up nor responded, instead following the woman through the hall and into the open atrium. The place had boomed in population, the mall teeming with signs of life that would have echoed its days before the war. Voices, distant music, and the general clatter of movement greeting them from outside the confines of the sealed hallways. Once Jane could walk through here without watching a step, now she dodged other people, weaving through the crowd with ease and speed intended to dislodge her charge.

Evelyn was spry, knocking into the lady as she unexpectedly stopped. She peeked around her, watching as the red Krogan started to cheer loudly. Another alien, smaller and with a grey carapace charged at his elder, the two rather than colliding ended the charge with a weird arm hold. For a moment, the two crests rested against each other, sharing a few soft and private words.

Even weirder was The Recruit, looking over the scene sadly, a hand held over her heart. Her jaw flexed, another sharp and illuminated line flaring vertically up her cheek—another note to add to the log.

"They look so mean," Evelyn complained, unsure why Jane would be watching this sadly. It was frightening, to her they were great brutes that usually ended up destroying something.

"They really aren't," Jane countered softly, a slight crack in her voice, "if one gives you an attitude, a head butt will set them straight."

She did like that this grown-up did not treat her like a child, unlike the rest.

Both of them tensed at the appearance of a green-shelled krogan; the arrival of the male ended the short embrace between the red and grey one. Then, as usual, the aliens returned to their fierce and violent natures, turning the greeting into a shoving contest.

"Don't fu-," the adult caught herself this time, "leave him alone. He's trouble."

Jane strode forwards, picking up her pace. It was no longer weaving through the crowd, as so much a straight charge across the atrium and to the access corridor that leads to the western parking lot- deciding they wanted to stay out of the way for practicality and ease. The Turians chose to take up the ramp as their headquarters. And this is where Jane headed for her errand.

Yeah, make me, make friendly with the Turians. Screw that they respect the chain of command more than a friendly face, all arguments Jane had tried in vain against the LT to get out of this assignment,  watch me fuck this up over a plant. Jeez, why not let them grow their own garden? Fuck if I know what I am doing.

But he did have one counterargument that made complete sense and was entirely of her own fault. She was the known member of the humans in residence to have any formal diplomatic training. She was still kicking herself for that slip of knowledge.

"You should head back home," she murmured to her back, "boring adult stuff. You won't miss much."

The baggy military rags were not enough protection from the spring chill, but she would press on. Clipping up the three-story climb to reach the perched Turians. The 'outpost' could overlook the entire mall with well-placed postings, which the military-minded turians had already accomplished within hours of selecting this area as a base of operations. The forward guard used to seeing the Recruit hardly blinked, only balking in their subtle way at the package tucked into her arms.

"Recruit," the LT wasn't the only one called by their moniker, the pinkish hued Turian gave something equivalent to a grin eyes wandering down to the plant the human carried, "another issue?"

Jane pushed the plant on the turian, "pretty much. I don't know shit about these plants."

"I grew herbs in my kitchen, I'd guess too much sunlight?"

"Makes as much sense as anything else. We've learned they can't be next to potatoes, now they hate the sun," Jane glanced down at her arms, "and I forgot to wear gloves. That's disappointing- I had plans for those hands tonight."

Silva's mandible vibrated, "there are other ways to relieve tension."

So begun the dance. It always started clean, water running over her arms, a quick quip about the luxury of running water, and the application of ointment. The all too gentle rub of talons across the top of her knuckles, a lingering glance Jane couldn't quite bring herself to notice, and finally a cocky declaration of future victory.

The Commander enjoyed the relaxed regulations of the Turian military, not that Alliance would have ever forbidden forbidden a friendly sparring match it felt much better to let off some steam without fear of repercussion. One didn't have to play nice. Fringe pulling, blows below the belt, untamed aggression was all too welcome in the turian fighting cage. While today wasn't a dirty fight day, Jane was all too eager to move.

Silva made the first jab, and the Recruit absorbed it with a smile.

"The LT is going to have my head one of these days," the Turian went in for the next blow, this time the human dodged, "I'm even going soft on you."

"Come on, Shepard," Garrus mocked, weaving below her fist, "stop dancing around."

Roy didn't appreciate the fighting, even after learning they were all in good sport. The punishment of latrine duty was now part of her chores, for how much she heeded his grumbling. He blamed the bruises for too many things- headaches, sideways glances, the lack of respect she commanded for herself. Why did he care? She never asked, never expected it. But he never told her to stop, so she wouldn't.

"I can't always make it take easy on you, Vakarian," Mary retorted, sweeping out her leg to purchase at a braced turian.

The female turian's claws grasped into her arm, but she was ready, twirling around and planting her elbow into a painfully rigid chin sending the offender reeling back a couple of steps, "that's one advantage of an exoskeleton."

"Or are we afraid to bruise our pretty face in case the Major struts on by," Garrus teased, barely inching past the biotically charged fist going for his scarred mandible, "unless he doesn't know about our little fight club?"

"At least I can roll."

"I wouldn't worry, Shepard," if the Turian were human, his eyebrow would be cocked and a flashy grin across his face, "it's so much better when they are angry."

The turian cackled; today the hits were much easier to connect. Or was the human not trying? She could be like that, destructive. Silva kept the hits low and softened the severity in which she delivered them. Jane struggled to keep her hands where they belonged, one threading and rubbing through her hair each time they disconnected to reset their stances.

"Like I care what the M-" her friend's stern glare shut her down, "don't jealous Gar-Gar."

Jane tumbled to the ground, nose trickling the strange red color. It was time for this fight to be over, the human shook underneath her grasp. But the too expressive species wore a brave face, "Jane."

"Two hundred years later, and still nobody talks about fight club," Mary after close inspection, did notice that the Major strutted, "I'm disappointed I wasn't invited." The handsome human specimen winked at the Commander, his sideways grin all-knowing.

"It's fine, probably enough for the day."

The female moved out of her grasp, turning around to wipe at her face. Silva pretended not to notice Jane went for her eyes first.

"Well, that was quick," the turian was a little disappointed, "you're different for a human."

Jane deaned to turn her head back for that comment, cocking an eyebrow at her, "you must not have left Palaven, or whatever your colony was, much."

"No, ma'am," the turian hesitated, "at least, the rest of your group doesn't seem interested in us."

"How would you feel if this was Palaven?"

Her mandibles vibrated.

"Now add your species being attacked thirty years ago by this species you suddenly have to get along with," Jane smiled softly, she was too harsh, "plus we're a bunch of cranky jerks."

Silva laughed deeply, "and add a war that has crippled an entire galaxy, it is a wonder we aren't all fighting."

"It's the krogan," Jane mused.

"Spirits bless, the krogans being the most level-headed."

"After Tuchanka, they probably feel at home," damn her words, "it was the Salarians all along."

"I mean, that's some deep level conspiracy, but it checks out," her companion tried to keep up the fading mood.

"Just give us some time; we're people of action only that really means something," to which race the words were meant for was moot.

[dearophelia]

sky full of song (shepard/garrus)

Happy Holiday Harbinger, @nelsynoo! 

The shuttle door opens and Shepard squints into the bright Tuchanka sun. Slipping on her sunglasses from where they rest atop her head, she follows Garrus out off the shuttle and onto the sand-covered platform. They’re halted by the pair of krogan working the docks – one of them demanding identification, the other shushing his partner it’s Shepard and Vakarian, you moron – but it’s cut short by deep, amused laughter echoing from the corridor.

“Shit, kid,” Wrex says to the one trying his damndest to adhere to some sort of protocol, “with these two, it’s best just to get out of their way.” The platform shakes a little as he walks up the ramp. “Good to see you, Shepard.”

Grinning, Shepard reaches out and clasps his arm in greeting. ”Thanks for having us, Wrex.”

He turns and gives the same greeting to Garrus. “Wouldn’t have you miss it.” His omnitool beeps. “And it looks like you’re just in time.” He tells the dock workers to have their luggage transported to his home, and then leads them down the corridor toward the settlement.  

“I’m surprised he doesn’t have a camera set up, broadcasting to the whole galaxy,” Garrus whispers.  

Shepard stifles a laugh and catches his hand. “Bakara probably nixed it.” She doesn’t blame her; it’s a wondrous – miraculous, really – occasion, but also private. “Maybe on the next one. Besides,” she says as they round a corner, “krogan don’t do anything quietly. It’ll be all over the extranet within two minutes.”

“That’s a generous estimate,” Garrus murmurs.  

Wrex chuckles, overhearing the last bit of conversation. “As much as I hate to agree with Vakarian, my people don’t have that kind of restraint.”

“Forty-five seconds, then,” Shepard grins.  

“That’s more like it.” He opens the door of an idling tomkah and gestures for the two of them to get in.

***

The truck pulls up next to a brand new facility covered in a thin layer of dust and sand. It isn’t shiny anymore, but without the weathered and pockmarked exterior common to the rest of Tuchanka’s structures, it stands out like a beacon.

And maybe, Shepard muses as she jumps out of the truck, it is.  

The door opens, blasting them with cool, filtered air and the steady beeping of medical equipment. She’s seen blueprints and photos, and even video when talking to Bakara every week, but no amount of studying diagrams or examining a digital image could really prepare her for actually seeing the lab.  

It’s small, but they’ve used every inch of space. Incubators line the walls, with a few more sitting in the center of the room. Warm orange light emanates from the incubators, heating the precious eggs held safely within. Most have two or three, a few only one – but, Shepard knows, they’re all viable.  

She blinks back tears, clearing her vision.  

“There you are,” Bakara says, ushering them over to an incubator in the center of the room. Wrex is already standing beside her, looking eagerly through the glass.  

One of the two eggs rocks energetically back and forth, nearly tipping over on its side.

“We’re naming that one after you,” Wrex says. “Impatient, stubborn little thing.”

Shepard feels heat rise to her cheeks, and hears Garrus stifle a laugh beside her. “Thanks, Wrex.”

“Careful, they might end up headbutting people much larger than they are,” Garrus says, sliding an arm around her waist.  

Wrex snorts. “That’s just good parenting.”

Bakara sighs heavily and shakes her head, but her smile gives away her false disapproval.  

The eager one takes that moment to crack the shell, silencing the four of them. By the time the tiny krogan girl crawls completely out of her shell, covered in goo and blinking in the bright light, her sibling has started their own journey into the world.  

***

“Urdnot Shepard,” Garrus says much later that night, after a brother and sister were both fully hatched and named (and on the extranet a full minute later) and celebratory drinks were had. “How does it feel to have the first krogan born after the genophage named after you?” He settles his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close as they walk toward Wrex’s home and a night’s rest.  

“A little weird. Though not as weird as having a shuttleport named after me.” She’s lost count of how many things bear her name now, whether she wanted it or not. At least the flood of invitations to dedication ceremonies has calmed down.

She pauses and stares up at Tuchanka’s night sky: brilliant stars despite the dust, and a faint aurora. Moonlight silhouettes the Shroud’s broken skeleton in the distance. Strange that it was only a year and a half ago she was here in armor, dashing madly between brutes to activate the maw hammers. It feels like a lifetime.  

Her omnitool beeps. It’s a video from Wrex, and she tilts it so Garrus can watch. Both babies are asleep on Bakara’s shoulders, snoring softly; the little boy – Urdnot Mordin – gently kneads his tiny fists against her.  

“You’re never gonna get any other messages from him ever again,” Garrus says.  

Shepard grins and sends back a quick reply. “I’m really not.” She leans against him and starts walking again. “Worth it, though.”

Garrus’ subharmonics rumble quietly in the back of his throat. “Definitely worth it,” he says, pressing his mouthplates to her temple.  

They silently make their way through the settlement toward Wrex and Bakara’s home. Shepard pauses by a table full of krogan to give Grunt a friendly headbutt of congratulations on his new cousins, or nieces and nephews – they’ll figure out familial relations in the morning.  

By the time they make it to their room, Wrex has managed to send both of them five different pictures each, all of the two children sleeping. Two more come in while Shepard���s brushing her teeth; the one of Urdnot Shepard on her stomach, arms and legs splayed out like she just suddenly stopped whatever she was doing to take a nap instead, nearly makes her spit out her toothpaste in laughter. She sets her omnitool on silent, looking forward to waking up to a cavalcade of photos and videos, and finishes getting ready for bed.  

“What do you think about kids?” Garrus asks, settling his arms around her.  

Shepard smiles and laces her fingers between his. She’s had a few too many drinks to have that talk tonight, but she nods as she turns off the light. “I think it’s a conversation worth having,” she says.  

Garrus hugs her just a little bit tighter, and kisses the top of her head. “Me too.”