Author's Note: Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: all characters and ideas belong to Bioware.

A Dream

Somewhere far off a little boy was crying. She knew him before his crouching figure ever materialized out of the mists. He turned to her, he was bloody and his nose was broken. She could see trails of red leaking from his eyes and ears as he whimpered at her. "You killed me."

She spat at him, "Of course I did—you were going to murder us all." Disgust overwhelmed her, she had never hated anything so much. She hugged herself, suddenly cold. Where was her armor? Where was her clothing? The heavy mists churning around her left a coat of water on her skin and she shivered, trying to warm herself. Her eyes were riveted on the boy of her nightmares. Her hatred flared again, how dare it wear the visage of innocence? Slithering around in the skin that had become her embodiment of failure? It was mocking her, the little shit. Kill it—she wanted to kill it again. Her fists balled, fingers itching to grip her pistol's trigger. This was not a child, it was a monster. She should have shot it before destroying the Reapers; she'd probably lost her chance now.

As she hissed at it blood began to flow from its ears and run down from its eyes in twin red floods. More blood dribbled out of its nose and mouth, its skin began to bubble and blacken—bursting in yawning blisters that sprayed her with pus. Where the pus struck her skin corrosive burns sizzled and she clawed at her arms and face, shredding her cheeks and forearms. She screamed as it dissolved into ashes in front of her, her jaw cracking as she shrieked at the gray skies.

The Present

Seeing Shepherd incapacitated—dying—back on Earth was a knife lodged in his chest. Seeing Palaven still in flames almost a month after the end of the Reaper invasion was like a blade in his gut. It ached to see but unlike Shepherd's recovery he had no doubts Palaven could be made whole again. It would take time for the turian population to return to its former number but cities could be rebuilt and most of their planet's natural features were untouched by the Reapers. They hadn't been interested in deforestation, after all.

His arrival at the Voltus building was met with more fanfare than he felt comfortable with. Garrus was, at the moment, the most celebrated war hero among the turian people. His new celebrity status was more trouble than he had expected. His past career highlights off the Normandy included muckraking C-Sec detective and Omega vigilante—neither of which had actually garnered him public attention, at least not the kind that made him out to be admired rather than a threat. His ship landed and an entire crowd was waiting to welcome the man who had represented the turian race in the war against the Reapers—and had a direct hand in winning it. He wasn't sure yet exactly what the story was about his involvement with the heroic Normandy crew's attack against the Reaper forces on Earth and their spectacular destruction but he had a feeling there was plenty of wild speculation. A passel of reporters pounced as he stepped down the shuttle ramp, cameras hovering and flitting in the air as they ran videos and snapped pictures at the same time.

"Garrus Vakarian! How does it feel to finally return to your home planet after emerging victorious from Earth?"

"Is it true that the Alliance hero Commander Shepherd, the human who put PrimarchVictus in office, is still alive?"

"What are your plans now that the war is over? Will you be entering any official positions in the government?"

"How much truth is there in the rumors that you're being offered a position as a general? Do you intend to accept?"

Something about the reporters rankled him—why weren't they off building temporary shelters or volunteering as medics? Some of them weren't even turians, he could only assume they'd come to Palaven to report on its progress or maybe even just to bother him. As Garrus made it past the initial crowd, cameras and all, he tried to orient himself. The reporters were being held back by security—more bodies that should have been helping with reconstruction—he assumed had been assigned to him by the primarch. He'd called his father and sister to let them know he was coming home, his father probably had the foresight his son never possessed to contact Primarch Victus beforehand. The Voltus building, before the invasion, was an enormous convention center in Cipritine. It had been adapted into a shelter where thousands were being housed as reconstruction marched along. It was also where his father and sister had settled into as their makeshift home until they were assigned one of the reconstruction bunkers being built for survivors.

Their kinship to him had, for the first time, garnered them a special place among the more privileged refugees. An unfair advantage, perhaps, but one he was grateful for having been allotted to them nonetheless. Knowing his father, and sister, they weren't lazing in whatever room they'd been given but were out helping with the restoration efforts. Unless of course Solana's injury was keeping her bedridden—she'd hate that. Their family was an active one, an expected trait of character in turian citizens. He could hear her whining already, hobbling around the room complaining about how slowly she was healing. Garrus was sure a few days of Solana's moaning would make him as sick of her as he'd ever been when they were still living close enough to visit each other but right then he could only smile at the thought.

A breathless youth was dogging his heel as he entered the shelter. Since she wasn't being tackled by security he guessed she was probably some aide tasked with babysitting the celebrity on his trip back home. Sure enough, when she finally caught up to him she whipped out a badge and introduced herself as Niala Victus—niece of the primarch. "I'm here to help you find whatever or whoever you need. If you have any questions at all I can answer them and if I can't I'll find someone who can." She was nervous and couldn't stop her mandibles from fluttering slightly as she tried to conceal it. Garrus eyed her, she was young and pretty; her plates were a deep red that contrasted the stark white of her intricate colonial tattoos. She was short for a turian, even a female, and he could see her drawing up as he scrutinized her, trying to make herself just a bit taller. He nodded at her; she probably hadn't even finished up her mandated service in the military when the invasion began. He wondered what unit she belonged to, whether or not she'd been on a ship or fought as a ground troop on the home world or the moon. His curiosity, however, did not disincline him from keeping his mouth shut. Garrus felt brittle, eager to reunite with his family but still seething about having to leave Shepherd on her own.

"So you know where my family is?" he asked, hefting his luggage, a solitary duffel bag, onto his shoulder.

"Yes sir, I do, sir. Please just come this way." The deference people tended to show him nowadays was a strangely pleasant perk to his new reputation. He still wasn't sure if it felt right but he had felt vindicated ever since his father helped him prod the Hierarchy into organizing his task force. Then he'd been catapulted to even higher and more complex responsibilities like establishing the turian refugee camp on the Citadel and advising the primarch. He hadn't been officially promoted yet but the offers had come. Whether he wanted to accept the promotions was a more prickly issue he wasn't willing to deal with until he had at least one thing confirmed—Shepherd's health. How would they make it work if he was expected to stay on Palaven as one of the primarch's advisors? His home world wasn't even amenable to human physiology without extensive and ultimately temporary assistance measures. Garrus couldn't help but think of some far flung planet like Virimire where he and Jane could build a lonely house by the water and spend their days shooting at whatever random targets they wanted, lounge on the beach naked, or do occasional work for their respective governments when they needed the exercise.

Married life with Shepherd gave him pause; he still needed to explain that relationship development to his family. He cursed in the privacy of his thoughts as he hurried after the scurrying figure of Niala Victus. She led him up six flights of stairs, which was choked with refugees-turned volunteers who were moving in and out of the center to work and rest. More than a few recognized who he was, the scars were dead obvious; saluting turians and hushed whispers trailed in his wake. When his guide finally presented him with a door, one he presumed his family's accommodations was concealing, Garrus was drained. Coming back to Palaven, seeing its smoking desolation, being set on by reporters, the security, the attention, the stares, and the scrambling of his thoughts as he tried to devise a way to ease into the conversation of his cross-species girlfriend—it was not the welcome he wanted.

Niala inclined her head as he moved to enter the room, "My family is stationed just across the hall, sir. Please let me know if you need assistance, any assistance at all. I'm honored to have met you and even more honored to be able to help—if you need it, I mean."

"Thank you, Victus. Please send your uncle my regards if you happen to see him."

"Of course sir, thank you so much, sir." Niala bubbled and scrambled away to the quarters she'd just pointed out to him. He chuckled, she was a bright and friendly girl. It was nice to see a little youthful exuberance, even better knowing there were young turians with spirits not completely crushed by all the devastation. As Niala disappeared Garrus straightened himself, dropping his bag off his shoulder. He breathed deep and then rapped his knuckles against the smooth metal surface of the door. It slid open immediately, his sister had been waiting for him.

Solana Vakarian's arms reached up to squeeze him around the neck, "Oh Spirits, you're home." His father towered behind her, he always seemed so tall but Garrus was never sure if that wasn't in part colored by his intense feelings of inadequacy that his father was so tangled in. Markus Vakarian still dressed like he was a C-Sec captain, all suits and clean-cut precision. His clothing, at the moment, showed a few signs of wear and tear that Garrus could only assume came from spending months on the run from Reaper forces. Still, for all the trials that suit must have endured it looked remarkably well maintained. Then again someone might have given it to him; he was, after all, the father of the galaxy's most famous turian officer.

Solana moved aside, shuffling in her cast, and Markus walked up to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome home." Relief, apprehension, happiness, melancholy—he felt them all as his father's hand rested against the plating of his armor. Solana would want to bother him about wearing battle armor home but that was just another one of Garrus' quirks, one she was used to.

"It's good to see you, dad. It's good to see both of you." Garrus pulled his sister back into another hug and nodded at his father. "I can't even remember the last time we talked. I know that wasn't even that long ago but…Well lately everything feels like it's about twenty hours longer nowadays."

His father picked up his bag as his sister led him into their room. "People keep coming by to ask about you," she told him, "we get so many questions. Everyone was excited when word got around you were coming back to Palaven." Her leg was healing well, she'd already explained over one of their video calls, and their father hadn't suffered more than some fractures to his plating and a couple of non-lethal gunshot wounds. Their luck, considering the rate of mortality, was remarkable. It had to be a family thing, he figured, it was just as inconceivable that he'd survived this long in spite of being involved in so many of Shepherd's missions of insanity. In fact he'd done a better job of staying alive than she had, a thought that made him queasy.

His family's quarters were nicer than he expected, it was all one large space—not unusual since it probably used to be a board room of some kind. His sister and father had accumulated furnishings, somehow, and there were two cots with a table and chairs and even a couch set up inside. There was a third makeshift cot set up in the far corner, for him he supposed, and it hugged the wall of windows that made up the left half of the room. It was spare but neat and showed no outward signs of dilapidation. There could have been at least five or six more beds crowded in but the Vakarian family had been allowed their space and privacy. A stack of folded clothes in another corner caught his eye and he took his bag from his father and set it down by them. He swiveled around to eye Solana and Markus, "Have you two been all right? Are you resting enough and not moving too much on your injury? Can you tell me how the reconstruction's been going?"

"As well as you could expect with that monstrous power surge that came from the super-weapon you helped build." Solana limped to the couch and sat down, waving her brother over. "Machinery was a little haywire for a bit, but it got sorted. A lot of computers got fried but other than making it really inconvenient to talk to anyone long distance we managed all right. There are dozens and dozens of bunkers going up every day and more and more people are moving into them. For a while there was some tension between a couple of colony groups who had showed up to fight off the invasion and ended up staying afterwards but it worked itself out. The primarch came out and reminded the idiots that most of our species had already been killed off by the Reapers and we didn't need more of us dying over pointless, historical quibbles."

"Victus is a good man." Markus interceded, "I'm grateful he ended up being next in the chain of command. If some soft-plated, bare-faced fool stumbled into the primarch's seat I'm sure we'd all be stains on the ground." It was high praise from a man who had once counted the former primarch his friend.

Garrus nodded, "We were lucky to intercept him before he got into another fight back on Menae. Shepherd showed up at the right time."

"You have to tell us about Commander Shepherd," Solana shook his arm and her face fluttered excitedly, "everyone kept asking about how you've been serving under her for years—ever since that Spectre went crazy."

"Saren Arterius." Garrus supplied, "Yeah. The only other crew mate who's served under her longer was Joker, the Normandy's pilot, and Major Alenko—and that was really only by a couple of weeks." He drew himself up with pride, "Tali Zora, she's a quarian admiral, has been around with our crew for some time too—she was just a kid when we started out. Funny to think she's one of the quarians' newest and well-loved leaders. I don't think she's even close to thirty yet."

"And you don't think people aren't sitting up whenever you walk by?" Solana jostled his shoulder and laughed, "Or have you forgotten you're one of the primarch's top adivisors?"

His father didn't join in on his daughter's laughter; he was frowning, brow plates drawn tight over his forehead. "You address your commanding officer so informally." Markus rumbled, "I didn't think human military conduct was so lax."

Garrus felt his stomach drop, "It's not that dad, it was just something that…happened on the Normandy."

"You decided it was appropriate to forget this woman was your superior?"

Solana threw up her hands, "Dad!"

"No, dad. I didn't forget I just—Shepherd and I had a—" This was not how he was going to tell his family about the woman he loved, it wasn't the right atmosphere. He sat there shaking his head for a moment before he cleared his throat, "Shepherd and I are good friends. Technically, yes, she's my commanding officer but she never forgot that I was really a C-Sec agent and not completely under her power of authority. Not that I would disobey one of her orders, she's the best soldier I've met in my life and her orders deserve to be followed. If there's a job that needs to be done and you expect an army's worth of impossible odds to get in your way you better damn well call Commander Shepherd. The best of the best dad, I've never forgotten that and I've always given her the respect she deserves because of it." This was exactly the kind of conversation he'd expected from his father, good to know Markus was still predictable even after the trauma of a Reaper invasion. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his sister simmering, she hated when they fought. Never mind she started plenty of arguments herself, watching Garrus and Markus have verbal sparring matches made her seethe. He shut himself up, if Markus was going to start picking at him he could at least have the decency to snipe at his father in his head instead of out loud. They'd probably end up fighting more when Solana wasn't around anyway.

His father seemed to conclude the same thing because he shut his mouth too and a thick silence hung over the room for a minute until Solana broke it. "So how is Commander Shepherd? All the networks are reporting on her but they've got the hospital she's staying in complete locked down. A few of them are even saying she's already passed but the Alliance doesn't want to admit it yet."

Garrus shuddered, "Shepherd's still alive—barely. No one's sure what happened to her on the Citadel but it was bad. She lost both of her legs, one of her hands, an eye…" he trailed off, his head hanging. "When I left Earth she was a little better but there's not much holding her together except tubes and a lot of hope." How much of that was his hope he kept to himself.

"Spirits." Solana's face was solemn, "They say she's got the best medical team the galaxy's ever seen looking after her. Cross-species and everything."

"Yeah. Never thought I'd see the salarians giving her anything but an invitation of a view of their cloacas, but even they showed up to give their support. Kept an eye on them for a bit, wasn't sure I trusted them. The Dalatross isn't very fond of the Commander after the whole Genophage incident."

"That's something else! You have to tell me about it—it was all over the net for weeks even with the Reapers blowing everything to shit. I want to hear all about it, I want to hear about the rachni too! Garrus, there are so many stories I want to hear!" Solana gushed and Markus pulled a chair over to listen to his son recount his adventures.

Garrus leaned back into the couch as he began, "The rachni stories are a little gruesome, I actually encountered them years back when Saren was still alive. Shepherd was investigating this one sighting of Matriarch Benezia—don't know how much she showed up in the news but she was this well-respected asari matriarch, you know the type. Well she took me and Benezia's daughter, Dr. Liara T'soni—used to be an archeologist back then—with her as we went snooping around Noveria—colder environment than I liked, and I'm not just talking about all the damn snow…"