A/N: My first attempt at fanfic. Please be gentle. I played a little bit with canon, but hopefully nothing too jarring. Lots of spoilers for ME3, mild ones for ME2 and Arrival DLC. Eventually 4 chapters. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Mass Effect is property of Bioware. I do not own it, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fanfiction.

Palaven glowed and shimmered in Menae's dark sky, erupting in fiery red explosions under the relentless Reaper onslaught. Shepard's more immediate focus, however, was on the Reapers who had found their way to the moon where the Turian forces were desperately trying to maintain some semblance of ordered resistance - the Reapers who were currently trying to keep her from her goal: reaching the new Primarch.

First Earth, then Palaven. That can't be coincidence, she thought as she dropped a marauder with heavy assault rifle fire. She had thwarted the Reapers easy course of invasion by preventing them from gaining control of the Citadel and taking out their scout, Sovereign, proving the Reapers were not invincible. When they tried to turn the delay to their advantage by using the Collectors to increase the strength of their army, she had put a stop to that, too. She further delayed the impending invasion by sacrificing a mass relay - along with an entire star system. At every turn she had proven herself a threat and in response they had targeted her home world. And if she was public enemy number one, Garrus Vakarian was running a very close second. He had been the first to willingly join her and had been at her side through it all, her dearest and most trusted friend. And they had come for him next.

Her heart bled to see Palaven alight in the sky above her, and she couldn't even think about Earth. It threatened to overwhelm her, and she had a mission. She couldn't afford to break. Not after all she'd been through. The Reapers had made a mistake though - not only had they failed to take out their two main targets, they had reunited them, fueling their lust for vengeance with attacks on their home planets.

She jammed a fresh heat sink into her rifle and rose up on one knee to clear the large rock she was using as cover. A few short bursts brought down a second marauder. She swung around to take aim at a cannibal, only to watch it collapse in a heap. Ducking down, she glanced over to a neighboring outcropping where Garrus was crouched. He met her eyes and bared his teeth in a terrifying parody of a human grin. He dragged one talon slowly down through the air, chalking up a kill. Chuckling to herself, she peered around her rock, seeking a fresh victim. A group of husks shambled toward Garrus's position. Oh, it's on, Vakarian. Just like old times. She fired up her biotics, propelling herself across the camp in an instant, sending them flying. That never gets old. She overloaded her shields, sending a burst of energy shooting out in a 360 degree radius, frying the husks to a biotic crisp. She turned back to Garrus, sketching five vertical lines in the air. He raised his mandibles, scowling playfully at her.

Shepard scanned the camp for more enemies. Seeing none, she removed her helmet and strode over to General Victus's post. She informed him of his new position as Primarch and waited while he said goodbye to his men. She started over to Garrus. She was still recovering from the shock of finding him here on Menae. She had hoped for exactly that, of course; in fact, she had resolved not to leave Palaven without learning his whereabouts, dead or alive. After narrowly surviving the Collector base, things had been awkward between them, and she was to blame. Facing a possible court-martial, not knowing how long she may be stuck on Earth under Alliance surveillance, she couldn't bring herself to tell Garrus how much their night together had meant to her. However he responded to such a confession would make her sentence that much more unbearable. Why subject them both to all that emotional turmoil when they may never see each other again? So she had selfishly avoided him, perpetuating the myth that she had, in fact, just needed to 'blow off steam'. There was certainly no shortage of distractions, what with the repairs to the Normandy, farewells to the crew, and of course, an endless flurry of emails and reports. Commander Shepard, slayer of Reapers and conqueror of death, afraid of revealing her feelings to her extra-terrestrial boyfriend. Well, no more distractions here. Take your balls out of your purse and talk to him already. Jack did have her moments.

A sudden flash of movement drew her attention. Something streaked through the air to land in the soft ground with a muffled thud, directly in front of - a turian child? Shepard's mind raced. It was a concussive grenade, as best she could guess, and child or not, the small turian was wearing no armor and the blast would at best shatter his plating. At worst...

She was running before she had even finished processing the situation. Where a turian boy had come from was immaterial. Not one more child, she thought, not one more child will die that I had the power to save.

Garrus saw Shepard walking toward him and felt his grip tighten on his rifle. He hadn't seen her since just after the mission to the Omega 4 relay. They'd all had a brief toast to being alive back on the Normandy, then everyone had gone their separate ways. Shepard was adamant that she had to return to Earth to hand herself over to the Alliance for her part in the loss of that batarian colony. He maintained that she had played very little part; had those idiots not been playing around with live Reapers, Kenson would have initiated the crash. Shepard's involvement was incidental, her actions necessary. Of course, being Shepard, all she could focus on were the lives those actions had cost.

He hadn't known how - or even if - to approach her after their brief night together. They hadn't really talked things through; impending doom had kept them focused on more immediate needs. He had offered to return to Earth with her, to speak on her behalf, but she had refused. He could help her best, she said, by going to Palaven and trying to muster whatever support he could for the coming fight against the Reapers. So he had come home.

But now, here they were, with at least some kind of future together, however short it may prove to be, and how - or even if - their relationship fit into that future would have to be addressed. He had assumed their paths would cross eventually, maybe coordinating strategy, she on Earth, he on Palaven, but then he had found her standing with Corinthus here on Menae. His whole body had been crying out to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her weird, amazing smelling hair, to let her know that his heart was, irretrievably, hers. Under the circumstances, a simple handshake and noncommittal greeting had had to suffice. Maybe now they could steal a few moments alone and he could get a better read on her feelings.

Suddenly, she hesitated in her stride, then she was running away. A stray thought passed through his mind that she must be even more nervous than he was at their unexpected reunion, then he realized she wasn't running away from him but toward...

He saw the boy, the grenade at his feet and whirled around to find its source. His keen gaze fell on the lone cannibal, his rifle at his shoulder faster than thought, a round buried in its head a moment later as it fell to the ground. It must've been wounded, he thought. Had just enough energy to lob one last grenade. That could explain why they had missed it earlier. He quickly turned back to Shepard and his breath caught as he watched her hurl herself on the explosive.

Shepard reached the boy, her barrier swathing her in a pulsing blue biotic field, and shoved him as hard as she could. He stumbled a few feet and fell backwards, staring wide-eyed at her. Not far enough to clear the blast radius. With one quick thought to her lack of helmet, she threw herself down to cover the grenade, feeling it sink several inches into the loose soil under her weight. Let's see how tough they make this N7 armor, she thought wryly, hoping fervently that her barrier might just keep her head from imploding. Then her body was crushed in a vice-like pressure and everything went black.

The detonation was muffled - he felt it more than heard it - and Shepard's body was lifted several inches off the ground. He was beside her in a flash, kneeling down by her limp form, gingerly trying to assess her injuries. But he was afraid to move her and he had no clue what he was doing anyway. Basic field triage didn't really cover this sort of thing. He stared down at her helplessly, vaguely aware of James radioing the Normandy for an emergency medical evac. Through his blurred vision he saw that she was covered in a thin layer of dust. Dark bruises were already rising on the exposed skin of her face and neck. Not a good sign. He reached out and softly touched her cheek with a blunted talon. Shepard.

He closed his eyes as images of that night before the relay flooded his consciousness. Deep gashes along her back and sides. Her skin, her sheets, smeared with bright red blood. Shepard shrugging it off, citing her Cerberus upgrades and the magic of medigel. None of it assuaging his guilt and horror. He was supposed to make sure her blood remained where it belonged, in her veins, not spill it in some kind of orgasmic frenzy. Turians were known for getting a little rough on occasion, but drawing blood crossed a line, even for them. Since then, keeping his talons filed down for her was a habit he hadn't been able to break, even after all their time apart, despite the barrage of ridicule he'd had to endure on his return to Palaven. Giving it up meant admitting he had given up hope of ever being with her again.

The evac team arrived. Liara had returned, along with Dr. Chakwas. He had no idea how much time had elapsed. He rose and reluctantly moved off to the side to allow access to the people who could actually do something. His lack of control over the situation was making him physically ill, his stomach roiling. Not just from helplessness. From fear. Fear of watching her die, again. A turian was trained to take fear and turn it to anger. Fear was paralyzing; anger was catalyzing.

A small movement drew his gaze to the boy who was pushing himself up to his knees. Whatever minor ill effects he may have felt from the explosion, if any, seemed to have already passed. He was staring at Shepard, making a distressed keening noise deep in his chest. In three long strides Garrus was in front of the boy, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him roughly to his feet.

"What are you doing here? What were you thinking?" he growled. Not pausing to give the child time to answer, he started dragging him by the arm to the row of metal huts where General Victus and several of his men were standing, solemnly watching the scene. He thrust the boy toward them, making him stumble and fall back to his knees.

"Who does this child belong to?" he demanded, his voice dangerously soft.

General Victus cleared his throat. "He's Corinthus's son, Toren. He must've wandered away from their quarters and onto the field. He's a just a boy, curious about battle." Garrus's cold glare turned even icier. "I'm ... I'm sorry, Garrus. It was a horrible accident. But please don't take it out on the child."

Garrus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Somewhere through his anguish he recognized the sense of the General's words. Shepard may have given her life for this boy. She felt him precious enough to protect. I must protect him, too.

"I don't plan to take it out on the boy, Victus. Where is Corinthus?"

Victus held Garrus's gaze for a long minute. His advisor was clearly agitated and a confrontation could quickly turn physical. With his new diplomatic post requiring his departure and Garrus certainly planning on rejoining his human commander, Corinthus was needed here more than ever. But factoring in the way Garrus had talked about this Shepard, his blunted talons and his reaction to her injury, he would clearly not be denied.

"I'll get him here, Garrus," he said, activating his omni-tool. "Corinthus, Victus here. We found your boy."

"He's there? Is he all right?" Corinthus's voice was strained.

"Yes, he's fine, but there's been ... an incident. He's a bit shaken up. You should come get him."

Corinthus sighed with relief. "He got out of our hut somehow. I was hoping he might have headed to you. I'm already on my way. Corinthus out."

During this brief exchange, Garrus had helped Toren back up and dusted him off. Then he rounded on Victus. "You knew about this? You allowed it?"

Victus squared his shoulders. "Yes, Garrus, I knew. Look up there. Palaven is burning. You may believe it was irresponsible to allow Corinthus to bring his only son here. I believe it would have been irresponsible not to."

Garrus winced. It was rare for turians on active military duty to have children. It was rarer still for lifers like Corinthus to have a family. Being a good husband and father and a good soldier were often mutually exclusive, and turians didn't do things halfway. Garrus looked at Toren, who had recovered from his initial shock. He stood straight, gaze steady and fearless, trying so hard to be brave. Garrus had never been good at estimating children's ages, but he couldn't be more than seven. All at once, Garrus felt his sustaining anger drain out of him. Squatting down, he placed a hand on the young turian's shoulder.

"Where's your mother?" he asked gently. The boy visibly deflated, dropping his gaze and starting to shake slightly. "Never mind," Garrus whispered. "I understand." He started to stand, but Toren pulled at his arm.

"Will she be all right?" he asked in a tremulous voice, glancing over to the commotion still centered on the small, newly formed crater.

"Who, Shepard?" Garrus couldn't help the small catch in his voice at her name. "She's stronger than anyone I've ever known. She'll be fine." He tried his best to sound confident and reassuring, but saw his own fear mirrored in Toren's eyes.

"Tor?" A slightly winded Corinthus stepped up next to them and placed a hand on his son's head. Garrus stood and backed off a few paces as Toren began haltingly telling his father everything that had happened. All the guilt and accusations Garrus had been burning to lay at Corinthus's feet just moments before seemed irrelevant, now. 'Why did you bring your seven year old to a contested moon?' 'Why wasn't he adequately secured in your barracks?' 'Why would a career general even have a child in the first place?' 'You may well be responsible for dooming the galaxy.' The situation was what is was and if not Toren, it might very well have been James or Victus or Garrus himself that Shepard would have put her life at risk for. She had done it before, and would no doubt do it again. It was what she did; it was one of the many things he loved about her.

Liara came up beside him. "They've stabilized her and want to bring her back up to the med bay." Garrus nodded in response. She turned, raising her voice slightly. "Primarch, it would be best if we left as soon as possible."

Victus nodded, said a few last parting words to his men, and headed over to the waiting shuttle. Garrus walked back to the general and his son, still hashing out all that had transpired.

"I'm sorry, sir," Toren finished breathlessly, with a touching sincerity.

"I know, son. From now on, you need to stay in our barracks. You understand how important that is now, I hope?"

"Yes, sir," Toren replied, nodding vigorously.

"Good," Corinthus huffed, giving his son a pat on the shoulder. "Garrus, how is Commander Shepard?"

"They have her stabilized."

"Good, good." Corinthus shifted his weight uneasily. "Garrus, I'm sorry." His voice was pained. "Tell her I'm so sorry."

Garrus nodded curtly. "Keep him safe."

Corinthus glanced briefly down at Toren with surprise. "I will, Garrus."

There was nothing more to say. Garrus turned and headed for the shuttle, anxious to leave this moon behind, to return to where he truly belonged.