Disclaimer: No characters in the following fan-fiction belong to the authoress, but instead belong to Bioware or their prospective owners. The authoress takes no responsibility to any relation to anything, living or dead, as it is purely coincidental. This chapter contains spoilers for Mass Effect DLC: Arrival; Author's Notes are at the end of the chapter.

Waypoint:

Epilogue: Destination Unknown

"You can fight like a Krogan, run like a leopard,
but you'll never be better than Commander Shepard."

"Commander Shepard", miracleofsound ()

Half embraced by the darkness, Commander Shepard watched the silent development of a torrential storm over Illium's equator. Annoyed, she noticed her hands shook sending little ripples across her cup of coffee. The warmth of the mug between her fingers, and relatively comfortable fabric of her 'dirty work' overalls should have been enough to quiet her mind, but while it was blissfully empty for the moment she knew the mental peace would not last. Mordin and Chakwas had gone over her carefully (in fact Shepard knew that her silver-haired medic had nearly taken off the Admiral's head when he had arrived to debrief her), and Mordin had told her she was not to resume her duties for another week or so. The drugs used to keep her unconscious for two days had been applied heavy-handedly; and the salarian was concerned that until the drugs were worked out of her system she would not be able to make command decisions. Not working was difficult- one of the side effects of the tranquilizers used to keep her under for two days was an interference with her ability to compartmentalize; it meant she had nothing to do but think and try to come to grips with what had happened. The human spectre took a deep breath inhaling the rich aroma of her beverage and began again at the top.

Of course Admiral Hackett had known where she was. He had known where her mother was- he had practically ordered her to pick her up. He had in all likelihood picked up her communiqué to the rest of the living Normandy crew. She's liked Admiral Hackett and the two of them had professional history, with him being the "voice" of official Alliance missions and requests. Hearing that the Alliance, likely with Councilor Anderson, had been quietly trying to verify what she'd been telling them all along had been gratifying. She blew on the steam from her drink interrupting the lazy ascension. She wanted to be angry with the admiral, but she was too practical for that.

How could she have forgotten, for even one moment, how insidious Reaper tech was? Her mind groped for an answer, over analyzing everything she had and had not done- trying to come up with a solution to an impossible answer. She had murdered three hundred thousand Batarians with her forgetfulness. Granted, she hadn't really any choice, and she HAD tried to warn the system; it had come down to either them, or everyone in the Galaxy. None of it made her feel better. She stared past Illium's gibbous form swollen with majesty and twinkling city lights and out into the star field without seeing any of the beauty. Before her death, she had felt she'd made a difference in the galaxy at large. Maybe she had, but it seemed like everything had snapped back into place when she had gone- like bands of firm rubber return to their original shape once someone stops pushing on them, with nothing to show for the energy spent.

Shepard sighed with some disgust at her melancholy thoughts. 'At least I know Cerberus installed my conscience correctly,' she thought with dark humor, staring into the black beverage. The coffee was real, the beans had probably been ground moments before the mess sergeant had let them steep- it was a real luxury, and one she would miss as soon as they left the docking bay at Nos Austra and the supply ran out.

She was back in the Port Observation Bay, quietly contemplating spiking her coffee with some Irish cream as she watched the planet and the stars beyond. Hannah Shepard had returned to the Orizaba just before Hackett had asked for his 'favor', and her daughter had no idea what to tell her. She had started the e-mail three times before giving up for the moment. 'I did what had to be done; I'm not responsible for the actions of others,' she told herself; easy to say, harder to think, and most difficult to believe in her heart of hearts.

Shepard turned in surprise at the sound of the doors behind her opening, the normal level light somewhat blinding eyes that were adjusted to starlight. The silhouette was turian, and the posture told her it was Garrus. She felt her body relax slightly with the realization, as his boots made quiet thuds against the deck-plates. "I thought I might find you here," he told her.

Shepard closed her eyes, and let the soft and deep reverberations that she always found fascinating soothe the injuries that Dr. Chakwas' professional ministrations could not touch. "Well," she told him, unable and unwilling to keep from teasing him, "you've found me. What are you going to do with me?"

Garrus chuckled, stepping forward enough to allow the door to shut behind him. "I haven't decided yet." He sniffed deeply as he stalked toward her, the quiet footfalls a well ingrained habit. "What are you drinking?"

"Coffee." She offered the mug in his general direction as her eyes readjusted. She was beginning to feel as though she could have been blindfolded and under drugs but she still would have been able to find Garrus unerringly in a room. Still, the sight of her drinking coffee was nothing new. She raised one eyebrow at him in an unspoken question.

"It smells different," he said by way of explanation as he sat next to her in the softly lit room. Shepard looked haunted- not broken per se, but weighed down. Garrus knew something had gone horribly, tragically wrong, and just like she had waited for him to be ready about the fall of Archangel, he would wait for her to be ready to talk about the mission from hell that had left both her and the Alliance admiral looking so grim. He could tell the mantle of 'Savior of the Galaxy' was starting to wear through, but he knew she would never ask for help with her burdens. Besides, it was his job to make sure she never had to ask.

"It IS different," she continued blithely, "This is the real stuff." She looked at him, bold in spite of the dark circles under her eyes and the faint but foul smell of wrongness in her natural chemistry that told him she had been drugged at some point while she had been gone from the Normandy. "You can try some if you would like." She shrugged, as if the matter was of no importance to her. Talking to the turian rebel seemed to give some order to her spinning thoughts- helped her focus.

Cautiously, Garrus removed one glove, and then dipped one talon into the black, warm mug. Careful to not spill any, he let the few drops he collected slide onto his tongue. The slight screwing up of the various plates on his face told Shepard that he had formed some strong opinion of it, but she wasn't sure what.

He turned to look at her, "You actually DRINK that stuff?" His mandibles now showed clear disgust. "And here I thought you had good taste!"

She laughed a little, "It's an acquired taste." The mercenary scourge of Omega looked like some kid who had been slipped sulfuric vegetables instead of dessert.

"Like turians?" he counted slyly, re-gloving one hand and ignoring the foul beverage.

"No," she replied with overplayed casualness, "Coffee perks up humans, and turians don't give me any such boost in energy- unless they're shooting at me."

"Well, THIS turian has something to give you." Garrus glanced away, looking a little shy and coughing to cover his discomfort at the unintentional innuendo. He pushed something into her spare hand- a small box which made a little noise when she shook it experimentally. Shepard set her coffee to one side and glanced at her companion for another moment before pushing the lid up, revealing a pendant.

Her eyes went round, and as soft as he'd ever seen them. "Garrus," she allowed the silver cross backed by a tongue of flame to dangle from her fingers, "how did you know? I didn't think anyone remembered."

He shrugged; like her, he was playing it as casual as possible, "I was with you when we were chasing that rouge spectre all around the galaxy, remember? I've known you for a little while." Gently, he removed the chain that he had chosen for its durability to replace the initial, more delicate links from her hands. "Let me."

He moved out of her sight, and passed one end of the chain beneath her chin. She felt him fumble with the clasp for a moment before gravity took over with a gentle pull. Garrrus pressed his brow into the soft mass of hair, inhaling the pheromones. They stayed like that for a while, ignoring the bitter reality outside their cocoon of stars.

Finally, "The Migrant Fleet has decided that they are going ahead with the retaking of their home world. Tali's aunt just sent word." Garrus spoke quietly, concealing the seething rage he felt at the Admiralty Board.

Shepard sighed as she retrieved the mug next to her, swirling the dark liquid around in the cup for a moment. She took a sip before saying "Wrex was acting strange in his last message; the whole thing smells fishy. My gut says whatever it is, it isn't good."

"Damn," he hissed. Shepard's instincts were usually right on the mark and she had a talent for understatement. Garrus scraped the plate between his eyes in frustration and with enough force to make his commander wince. "Why does everything always fall apart the instant we get out of arms' reach?"

The human sighed, returning her attention to the star field before them. "Damned if I know, big guy. Sometimes I think life in the galaxy is perverse enough to fight against its own survival," she pulled a deep draught from her coffee. "But then I remember that life makes the least possible change at the last possible moment."

Garrus eyed her sidelong as she took another swig from her coffee now that it was cool enough to drink without burning her more sensitive mouth. "Ah yes, 'change';" he mimicked the turian councilor. As far as Garrus was concerned he deserved a front row seat to the invasion they both knew was coming, "A transformation in perspective that will allow Council Space to fend off an invading army of ancient sentient machines wanting to wipe out all life. Bah! We have dismissed those claims."

Shepard smiled over her shoulder at him, but it was heavy with irony and bitterness. She took a deep breath, her fingers tangling around the pendant as if it had always been there. Garrus watched her struggle with what she wanted to tell him. "Garrus, I . . ."

"Commander," EDI interpreted whatever she had been trying to say. "Solana Vakarian and her parents are on their way to your location. Should I redirect them?"

The commander of the Normandy let her head fall backwards for effect, staring up at the ceiling and counting to ten. "No," she said after she had taken the edge off of her ire, "Go ahead and send them in." The two of them had enough time to share a small look of irony and frustration before the Vakarian clan popped their bubble of privacy. The three turians were hovering close together, and something about the way they stood told Shepard whatever they had been discussing had not exactly been neutral or pleasant.

Garrus came to his feet and his commander followed his lead, watching the familiar group though narrowed eyes. Her mask of professionalism was flawless to strangers, though the turian vigilante noticed small slippages. The small tendency for her blunt teeth to worry her fleshy bottom lip, the dark colored smudges beneath her large eyes- all signs that she was near the end of her energies. He hoped his family didn't actually need her for anything while her armor was so cracked and being held up by force of will alone.

"Good evening," Shepard greeted them in the awkward silence that had followed the Vakarian clan's entrance. "Can I offer any of you a drink?" She gestured to the bar from which Katsumi had often served drinks to the squad members. Neither she nor Garrus indicated their belief that they were the uncomfortable topic of discussion.

"Thank you, but no," Garrus' mother told her, passing a significant look toward her daughter and mate. "I was hoping to speak to you privately."

Garrus shifted slightly, the remarkably blank expression told Shepard that he was weighing what it would cost him to get his commander away from his family. She waited, and when he did not say anything she turned her professional smile on the older turian female. "It would be my pleasure," she gestured toward one of the comfortable lounge sofas.

The two women waited while Garrus and Solana moved across the room with their father. Solana went digging though the liquor cabinets and poured some florescent orange liquid into a highball glass. Shepard turned her attention back to the turian in front of her.

Garrus' mother was definitely older, the cracked and weathered plates that were visible spoke that his mother had likely been very active in her youth. She held herself carefully and with great dignity, likely concealing the amount of pain she was enduring. It gave her the impression of deliberateness, and a hawkish regality; Lady Vakarian likely had no more energy to waste on frivolity. She noticed that the turian was studying her with the same intensity as the human spectre had been- but the expression was shuttered and gave nothing away.

"So," Garrus's mother began at last, "What happened?"

Shepard jerked slightly, that was NOT what she had been expecting. She waited for clarification, but the female continued to stare at her impassively. "Normally people ask where I'm from before they ask anything else."

"I know where you come from," Lady Vakarian pointed out, "I know what put you on the map, why your people chose you to become the first spectre of your kind. I know about your part in the Battle for the Citadel. I looked into you back when Garrus signed on to your ship and the crew of this ship has been very free with information with us; and if my understanding is correct, by your order."

Shepard inclined her head in acknowledgment of that fact. "Please be more specific with your question," she asked Garrus's mother.

Lady Vakarian's expression didn't change. "I can put enough together I figure out that you were the one behind the Bahak disaster. I am sick, but not mentally impaired. What happened?"

Shepard hid her surprise, though she knew Garrus' mother caught some of it. She studied the turian for a long moment weighing something; she was not sure of the rules and she had no name for it. Her eyes, so much like her son's demanded unvarnished truth. She scraped at an annoyingly dry spot on her lip, reopening a cut there and filling her mouth with the taste of iron, copper, and salt. Their eyes had locked without either intending or noticing initially, and now she could not look away. Yet, this woman deserved to know what kind of person her son was following, so she began to tell her the truth. Every so often she would stop, leaving gaps of classified information in shallow trenches they leapt over without visiting. Garrus' mother didn't seem to care that her slippages grew until even a turian untutored in her people's expressions could read her distress. Eventually her hands were grabbed by another set- these three fingered and deeply cragged from age. Even so, the comfort was as human as any embrace she had shared with her own people; perhaps more human than human.

"What will you do?" Lady Vakarian asked as she came to the end of her tale.

"Whatever is needed- whatever is best for the Galaxy as a whole. We can't risk outright war with one another when an even worse threat is about to come banging down our door. My crew-" she glanced up and came to realize that Garrus had been silently eavesdropping. "My crew knows what I expect of them, and I have been training several of the squad in their leadership skills. If the Alliance decides to have a show trial I'll supply the bullet if that's what it takes. The time we have left has been dearly bought, and we dare not waste any more." She took a deep breath, "But I don't have to like it."

Lady Vakarian nodded briskly, and then stood. She motioned toward her family in a silent order to join her. "Such self sacrifice is rare in any species," the old turian woman told her. "I must now ask your indulgence."

Shepard nodded, mystified. Garrus came over toward her side, two steps just behind and on her left where he always stood. It was where she was most vulnerable, and he sometimes did it to put her at ease. Solana had remained silent throughout most of exchange, her own thoughts kept hidden. Shepard watched the two parents argue in hushed tones she was unable to make much sense of before the matron of the Vakarian clan ended her mate's objections with a harsh and sudden snap of her teeth. She gave Shepard no clue or warning what was going on when she returned to the seat she had vacated.

"Will you accept what I offer?" She asked in a formal tone that made the hair on Shepard's nape stand on end, holding a small tin in one hand. Her talons covered the label.

Shepard would have traded her nuke launcher for even the faintest reflection of Garrus' face in that moment, and would have thought herself given the better end of the deal. However, only about the bottom third of the turian rebel's body was caught in the dim reflected starlight. She nodded, and moved forward when the elder woman waved her toward her feet.

As she settled on to her knees, looking up at the face of a relative stranger, Lady Vakarian caught her chin and began to speak to her softly, the words remote, old, and beautiful but lost to translation. She caught the movement of a brush of the of the corner of one eye, so she was only slightly surprised as the cool liquid was brushed over her face in a slow and practiced pattern. The whole ritual took only a few moments.

When Lady Vakarian released her face, a team of rabid vorcha would have been unable to stop her from looking for her reflection in the port viewing glass. The blue markings that had been so carefully painted across her face seemed to fit her, as though she had been missing them from her image all her life.

"Even should your whole people reject you-," Lady Vakarian was telling her, "And should you survive, you will always have a home with us. That is my promise to you. Though I would not wear the markings to your trial; the Alliance might convict you from that alone." Then the ill and weak turian female seemed to fill with energy and fixed her with the most predatory stare she had seen in quite a while. "You WILL keep my son safe." She nodded briefly at Garrus, then left as suddenly as she had come, taking her husband and daughter with her.

Garrus stared after the retreating forms of his family for a long moment before turning Shepard around to face him. The two of them searched each other's face, each wondering what the other was thinking.

"I take it that's not normal," she said at last.

"Unprecedented," he agreed, his predatory eyes tracing the familiar lines that now looked so alien on her face. It unshackled something in him; a deep demand that was mixed with domination, sex, trust, love, and family ties. "I like them," he said at last, "But I'm not sure if it would be Udina or Councilor Valern who would die of heart palpitations first."

She smiled back at him, the shadows in her eyes and face chased away for the moment. "I think I would pay to see that." She reached out toward him as he moved closer to her to try to shelter her from the bitter memories of old betrayal. They stood together, trying to imprint their feelings of that moment deep into their memories; praying that if the worst should happen they could take the few cherished moments before the storm into the void with them.

'Nothing is permanent. Even the stars move,' Shepard thought to herself, taking in Garrus' heady, smoky scent. She reached up and shook his shoulder gently. "I'll be up in the CIC in a few. I'll see you tonight."

Garrus nodded at her, wondering if there had been something he should have said in those few seconds where time stopped. He looked over his shoulder for a moment at the most deadly women in the galaxy whose profile was lit dimly with cybernetics and starlight before leaving.

The door whooshed quietly at the turian's exit, and she looked out into the vast blackness she had vowed to protect. One hand came up of its own volition, covering a face she saw there. It was strangely angled, but hidden from most of her sight in the void. Four eyes, shaped unlike anything that currently lived in the known galaxy, and lit with a strange and primal fire, demanded one answer of her.

She stood quietly, staring at her own reflection and not the Other, weighing her decision. The cobalt markings reminded her of her own duty- the matron of the Vakrians had marked her from skin to bone, and into her mind.

Commander Shepard looked at the face that was not her own, determination steeling her spine, and cleansing her of exhaustion. "You have a deal," she said into the darkness and the Other. "Now start talking."

~Fin~

Author's Notes:

This is where Waypoint was always meant to end; and I mean that with all sincerity- I didn't actually expect anyone to read it. Most readers have no doubt noticed the major veer off into the twilight zone. That's definitely not everyone's cup of tea. . . and honestly I can't cement down some major plot points until Mass Effect 3 comes out, so here is the deal. If I should even bother writing or putting up the part that comes out after "Waypoint", please message me or note it in your final review. There definitely IS a continuation, and if enough people want it the project is tentatively titled "Clad in Gilded Shadow".

Once again, many thanks to my sounding board and reluctant beta-reader (my husband) who spies plot holes and things that shouldn't go unsaid in addition to cheering me up when I get depressed, as well as the Calibrations thread on the Bioware forums- for their opinionated and spirited debates that are as inspiring as they are thought provoking.

Waypoint is dedicated to my Grandfather-in-Law, who lost his battle with cancer on August 9th, and went to join his wife of many years and his eldest daughter. I hope he has found a place beyond pain.