Shepard.

Always watching my back, always there to patch me up, always saving me… even from myself. Why spend so much time on me? You have my loyalty – there's nothing more I can give. I would – and have – followed you into the very heart of battle, no matter what the odds or dangers. You saved me, so many times, and in so many ways. How have I come to feel this way for you, a human? When did this undying loyalty, this unbreakable friendship, begin?

My blood seethes as the door slides open and Dr. Saleon's red, salarian head comes into view. He looks upon me, relieved.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving me from those things."

I bite back my disgust. I didn't save him from anything. Those were his creations, beings that, before he got his bloodstained, little fingers on them, had been good people, innocent. I would have gladly let them tear him apart.

"Commander," I growl out. "That's him. That's Dr. Saleon."

Fear flickers across the salarian's face. Satisfaction fills me.

"What? My name is Heart. Doctor Heart! Please, get me out here."

Something within me smugly accepts his begging, another part is repulsed. Shepard glances at me.

"Are you sure it's him?"

I nod.

"Positive." My eyes find Dr. Saleon's, who's charade is growing thinner. I leer at him cruelly. I wanted to see him squirm. "There's no escape this time, Doctor. I'd harvest your organs first, but we don't have the time."

Saleon grows pale.

"You're crazy," he says, turning to Shepard with a pleading glance. "He's crazy. Please, don't let him do this to me!" Shepard watches him impassively. I ready my gun, feel my finger twitch against the trigger.

"We'll take him in. Drop him off with the military."

Surprise. Confusion. Indignation. Shepard can't do this to me! I've waited so long to bring this murderer to justice!

"We have him," I argue. "We can't just let him get away. Not again." She fixes me with a stare, that calm, unwavering gaze that tells me she won't back down from whatever it is she's said. I've seen that look before, but this is the first time I've feared it.

"If he dies," Shepard says, "we'll never know what he's been up to, or how he did it. We'll take him in, interrogate him, and he'll serve his time."

"I've – " Suddenly I feel ashamed. How could I let my anger get the better of me? I'm frustrated, but I understand. "Okay. You're right." I return my attention to Dr. Saleon, filtering none of the contempt out of my voice. "You're a very lucky salarian. You owe the commander your life."

And he has the ingratitude to sneer.

"Oh, thank you so very much." His lips pulled back from his teeth, he dashes for the cover of some medical equipment. I lift my gun to fire when suddenly a shot rings out, loud in the small confines of the room, and Saleon falls dead. Shepard, beside me, is in a perfect shooting stance, her face cold.

"And so he dies anyway," I say to her, bitterly. She lowers her gun, moves to check Saleon's body. "What was the point of that?" She says nothing for a moment, and then, satisfied, lifts her eyes to mine and rises.

"You can't predict how people will react, Garrus, but you can control how you'll respond. In the end, that's what really matters." She steps closer, pausing, watching me. I hear the truth in her words, even if part of me doesn't want to acknowledge it.

I sigh.

"Yeah." My eyes linger on Saleon's still form, and I reflect briefly on what just happened. I return my attention to Shepard. "I don't think I've ever met anyone like you, Commander," I say quietly.

She smiles at me, briefly, only a little one, and nods her head in the direction of the door. I understand the sign and follow. I do not look back on Saleon's corpse, and she says nothing more.

Maybe it was then. Maybe it even began all the way back on the Citadel when you agreed to take me with you to interrogate Fist. You were nothing significant in my eyes when I first met you, just another human on the Citadel, but my respect you quickly gained. You weren't racist, xenophobic. You weren't afraid of the Council. You welcomed me on to your ship and made sure others did as well. You guided me towards what you thought was right. And when the time came, we defeated Saren together.

I remember how terrified I was when we couldn't find you in the wreckage of the Council chambers. The dust of not yet settled rubble falling down upon my head, the snaps and sparks of the ruined bits of Sovereign… they all reminded me just how precarious survival was, of how mortal you and we were. But you were alive, and when you appeared at the top of the wreckage, your arm broken, your leg twisted and the biggest smartass grin on your face, I believed you were invincible. You had led us to victory over Saren. You had stopped the Reaper invasion. You had lived.

And then you died.

I was on the Citadel when it happened. I had returned to C-sec like I'd said I would, and I was waiting to see the turn out of my application for Spectre candidacy. I missed being on the Normandy and I was still frustrated with all the red tape, but our conversations had given me new perspective; I had wanted to try and honour those, honour you, if nothing else.

"Garrus Vakarian?" the intercom crackles from its place on my desk. I look up from my paperwork, frowning and mandibles twitching irritably.

"Yes?" I reply to the synthesized, feminine voice.

"Executor Chellick would like to see you in his office immediately."

I sigh, putting down the stylus and datapad, wondering what it was that I had done to get myself in trouble. Chellick and I got along better than Pallin and I ever did, yet I still managed to tick him off royally from time to time.

With resigned steps I make my way to Chellick's office, taking a moment to clear my head and get an extra tight hold on my tongue before I letting him know I am there. My preparations complete, I press the switch outside his door, notifying him of my arrival and waiting. It flashes green, informing me that I am welcome, and I step forward through the swiftly parting doors.

"You wanted to see me, Executor…?" I trail off as I noticed Captain, no, Councillor Anderson standing not far from Chellick's desk. There is something tired about him, something… almost broken. The situation is strange. I am immediately on guard.

"Vakarian," the Executor begins. "Take a seat." He gestures at the chair set up in front of his desk, and I cautiously slide into it. Whatever's happened, it's bad. The Councillor takes his own seat, and we sit in silence, Chellick looking professionally uncomfortable and Anderson looking professionally upset. Finally, the Executor sighs.

"I don't know how to tell you this, Vakarian, but Commander Shepard of the SSV Normandy is dead. She was killed in action at 1300 hours this afternoon."

My blood ceases to flow. A blanket is laid over my ears. Everything becomes muffled, distant, except for the overwhelming shock. Even the pain is far-off, but I know that will arrive soon.

"Dead?" I echo, trying to keep my mandibles from twitching in the telltale signs of grief. I have to be as professional as possible. I can't dishonour her… memory? Damn it, is that all that's left of her?

"The Normandy was ambushed by an unknown vessel," Anderson supplies, his voice weary with the weight of his words. "Shepard died making sure everyone had evacuated to the escape pods."

Anger rushes through me. Couldn't she have been a little less self-sacrificing? Just once?

"What about the stealth systems?" I manage to ask. "The Normandy was supposed to be the most advanced ship in the Alliance. We turians helped co-develop it! Why didn't they fight back?"

Chellick waits until I have a hold on myself again before continuing.

"The report filed by Flight Lieutenant Moreau claims that all stealth systems were engaged. The ship that attacked was more advanced than anything we've ever seen before, Vakarian. It cut through the Normandy's barriers like they weren't there. They never had a chance to fight back. It's only due to Commander Shepard's leadership that anyone survived at all."

I take a moment to absorb this, choking back the anger that threatens to overwhelm and explode. I should have been there.

"What about the others?" I ask to distract myself, looking over at Councillor Anderson.

"They survived," he replies, understanding my meaning. "Liara T'Soni and Kaiden Alenko were able to evacuate with the rest of the surviving staff. Tali'Zorah was with the Migrant Fleet at the time, and, as you probably know, Urdnot Wrex has been on his own since Saren's defeat."

I'm silent after this, still trying to come to terms with what I've learned. Anderson sighs, shaking his head imperceptibly.

"I know how close you were to Shepard," he says. "Everyone on her team was. I just thought you deserved the chance to find out before it hit the media."

"Thank you, Councillor," I reply through the growing thickness in my throat. He inclines his head to me, then rises, leaving the Executor and me in a hiss of moving doors. Chellick watches him go, then turns to me.

"Take the rest of the day off, Vakarian," he says, almost kindly. "I can tell you're taking the news hard. Go get yourself a drink and find some way to distract yourself until this blows over."

I nod, numb.

"Thank you, sir," I mumble automatically, and then I rise and leave.

It wasn't long after that I abandoned C-sec. I couldn't deal with it. In the month between our defeating of Saren and your death I had used our conversations as a way of guiding myself, of remembering why I returned to the Citadel. With you gone, remembering was… difficult. And when the Council began to downplay Sovereign as an isolated incident and the Reapers as nothing but a rumour, it was the final straw. I left.

I tried to do what you did. I tried to make the galaxy a little bit of a better place. I went to Omega, recruited a team, set ourselves up as the enemies of the thugs there. But I failed. I couldn't do what you did. I couldn't protect everyone. I listened to your voice in the back of my head and trusted in others, and I was betrayed. I'm not like you. I can't make others loyal to me. I can't make them want to die for me. And so, because of that, I found myself sitting at the end of a bridge, waiting to die, trying to bring down as many of those murdering bastards as I could.

I hadn't blamed you. I had wished I could have done better. I had wished that I could have said one last goodbye to my father, my mother. I had wished I could have teased Tali one last time, or argued over the best way to bypass a module with Kaiden, or asked that cute turian girl back on the Citadel for one last drink. I wished I could have protected my men. I wished I could have made a difference.

I glance around the corner, checking to see if the next group of mercs is ready yet. I swing around, line up a shot, and fire. One merc down. I pause, using my scope to get a good look at the situation, and duck back as gunfire rattles past my head. I hear the mercs shouting, mobilizing for another wave of attack. I'm darkly pleased. The more come the more I can put under my scope, and the more I have under my scope the fewer there'll be left to bother Omega when I'm gone.

I set up my sights again, taking aim at one of the many in the throng that's jumping over the barricade, and pause, stunned. I know that face, that stance, that way of moving that exudes authority and confidence.

Shepard.

I stiffen my resolve, pulling myself out of my resignation and concentrating my focus. Shepard usually worked with a small team; I'd have to be careful not to accidentally pick off one of her men.

I take to shooting the mercenaries on the edges of the bridge, trusting her to deal with those I let slip past. There's gunfire below me, indignant cries, and I smile to myself as I take down another merc. Shepard hasn't changed, still using her wits.

The gunfire has moved up to the back hallway, but I'm not really worried. Even when the door bursts open and Shepard comes barrelling in with her team, guns drawn, I take only a moment to confirm it's her before returning to my work.

"Archangel?" she questions authoritatively, but I only raise a hand to ask her to pause while I take out the last merc. My shots rings out casually across the unusually silent bridge. I turn to her, rising, settle myself comfortably on one of the ledges, and take off my helmet.

"Shepard," I say, glad, but so weary. "I thought you were dead."

Her eyes light up as she recognises me, and she lifts her arms in delight.

"Garrus," she laughs. "What are you doing here?"

I think back on the faces of my butchered men, but now isn't the time to bring that up.

"Just keeping my skills sharp. A little target practice," I reply, worn. Concern colours her features.

"You okay?" she asks, and I shrug in response.

"Been better, but it sure is good to see a friendly face." Of that I am holding nothing back, for seeing her face, above all others, is best luck I could ask for. If anyone can get me out of this mess, it's her. "Killing mercs is hard work," I continue, more soberly. "Especially on my own."

I can see that she logs this bit of information away, but she chooses instead to focus on the mission, for which, oddly enough, I am grateful.

"Well, we got here," she says, "but I don't think getting out will be as easy."

"No, it won't," I agree, rising, and we settled in to take stock of our position and devise our plan of escape.

I remember the gunship. I remember the pain of its bullets biting into my limbs, the burn of the explosion feasting on my flesh. I remember, dimly, the sound of your anxious voice as you realised I wasn't dead. My journey to the Normandy was all a blur, and the sedatives knocked me out quick, but I remember waking up. I remember Dr. Chakwas going through the checklist, making sure I was alright, making sure I knew I would have to take it easy for a few days yet. I remember walking to the comm room, and I remember you comforting me in that strange, human way of yours. I have never been vain, but it is disheartening for even the ugliest of us all to learn that half our face has been blown away. Although… I do appreciate the thought, even now. You're always looking out for me, aren't you? Always there to pick up on those frustrated, or lonely, or hopeless signals I unwillingly send out. Just like with Sidonis. You knew when to talk, when to push me, when to listen, and even when to get in my way. I still don't know if it was the entirely the right thing to do, but I trust your judgement. If you say take time, I'll take time.

I set the car down gently, my temper already burning near the edges of my control. I wanted to do more than smash that idiot Harkin in the face. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to shoot him in both kneecaps and watch him while he writhed on the floor.

"Harkin's a bloody menace," I say, giving voice to my thoughts. "We shouldn't have just let him go. He deserved to be punished."

I glance at Shepard, watching her watching me.

"I'm a little worried about you, Garrus," she admits at length. "You were pretty hard on Harkin."

"You don't think he deserved it?" I shoot back, frustrated.

She looks away.

"It's just not like you."

I'm quiet for a moment, thinking on her words. To her I am still the naïve, idealistic C-sec officer who helped her defeat Saren. She doesn't know the pain I've gone through, the pain of losing her, of losing C-sec, of failing my father and failing my men… I'm not the same man I used to be, but I'm not sure if I want her to see that or not. I watch the other cars go whizzing past.

"What do you want from me, Shepard?" I ask, finally, not meeting her gaze and my voice sombre. I don't know what she wants. I don't know if she disapproves, or if she simply disagrees, or if she wants me to be something I'm not. "What would you do if someone betrayed you?"

She's quiet for a moment, but she answers will all the honesty and conviction she always has.

"I'm not sure, but I wouldn't let it change me."

Inwardly I scoff at her remark. For the first time in all my knowing her, I feel like I'm the seasoned warrior who has seen and experienced all. She doesn't understand. She's never been betrayed before.

"I would've said the same thing before it happened to me," I reply, meeting her gaze hard with my own.

"It's not too late," she insists. "You don't have to go through with this."

Frustration and hopelessness rushes through me.

"Who's going to bring Sidonis to justice if I don't?" I answer angrily. "Nobody else knows what he's done. Nobody else cares. I don't see any other options."

"Let me talk to him."

I glance back at her briefly before looking out the window again.

"Talk all you want, but it won't change my mind. I don't care what his reasons were, he screwed us… he deserves to die." The vehemence in my own voice almost frightens me, but it is a vehemence I've tempered in the dark nights while I've laid alone, haunted by the ghosts of my men. I can't turn away from my path now. I have to avenge them. Sidonis has to pay.

"I understand what you're going through," Shepard says quietly, "but do you really want to kill him?"

The memory of Sidonis' eager face as he offered his talents to the squad flashes through my mind, but it is crowded out by the images of my murdered men.

"I appreciate your concern," I reply to her, "but I'm not you."

"This isn't you, either," she says, but I don't quite believe her.

"Really? I've always hated injustice," I counter. "The thought that Sidonis could get away with this… Why should he go on living while ten good men lie in unmarked graves?" I glance at her, but she is looking ahead out the windshield. "I'm sorry, Shepard. Words aren't going to solve this problem." The expression on her face hurts something inside me, so I turn away, clinging fiercely to my anger. "I have to set up," I finish, and focus on the terrain around us, searching for a vantage point. I ignore her silence. I won't be manipulated out of this.

"I can get a clear shot from over there," I say, pointing. She follows the line of my arm and nods, satisfied. Resigned, she speaks.

"What do you need me to do?"

The irony of my next few words is not lost on me.

"Keep him talking," I command, "and don't get in my way. I'll let you know when he's in my sights. Give me a signal so I know you're ready, and I'll take the shot." She sits, unspeaking, so I add, "You'd better go. He'll be here soon." It's the first time since she's returned that I don't want her to be near. Why that is, I'm not sure. My resolve is strong, I won't let her change that, but part of me… part of me doesn't want her to see what I've become. She doesn't understand. I have to do this.

I get out of the car, meeting Jacob's gaze as I do so. Why did she bring that son of a bitch with us? I see how he looks at her – he hides it, but I know – and it makes me angry. Shepard is too good for him. She's too good for any of us. No one in this damn galaxy deserves her.

Suddenly I realise that my anger at Jacob is misdirected. I'm angry at myself… for everything. I can't blame him for doing what's natural. Kaiden had said Shepard was very attractive for a human, and the Cerberus operative was being a gentleman, keeping his feelings to himself as best he could. He was doing better than me. I was lashing out at anything that moved; my feelings were always boiling near the surface.

Fighting my disgust, I stalk off to my staked position, kneeling down with practised ease as I set up my rifle. Taking a calming breath, I put my hand to my transmitter.

"Shepard? Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," her voice crackles over the speaker.

I glance through my scope, finding first her and then Sidonis where he sits waiting on a bench. My fingers tremble anxiously and my shoulders immediately tense. I want to kill that bastard. I have to stay calm.

"All right. There he is," I report. "Wave him over and keep him talking."

Shepard pauses, searching for my target, then finds him in the crowd and motions him over. He rises, looking uncertain. My mandibles flex slowly and uncontrollably with apprehension and stress.

"Let's get this over with," I hear his voice say over the comm. He stops just in front of Shepard, her head blocking the shot.

"You're in my shot," I tell her. "Move to the side."

She refuses to move. Fury rushes through me. How dare she? She agreed to this – she can't change her mind now!

"Listen, Sidonis. I'm here to help you."

Briefly I contemplate putting a bullet in her head, but the thought is swiftly and ashamedly banished.

Sidonis leans in, looking nervous.

"Don't ever say that name aloud," he whispers. I get some cold satisfaction out of seeing him so agitated.

"I'm a friend of Garrus'," Shepard continues. I bitterly think on how her behaviour at the moment hardly merits the term. "He wants you dead, but I'm hoping that's not necessary."

"Garrus? Is this some kind of joke?" Sidonis glances about fearfully. My temper gets the better of me.

"Damn it, Shepard," I growl. "If he moves, I'm taking the shot!"

"You're not kidding, are you?" Sidonis continues, disbelieving. "Screw this," he says. "I'm not sticking around here to find out. Tell Garrus I had my own problems…"

He turns to leave and my finger readies on the trigger, but Shepard reaches forward and grabs his arm.

"Don't move," she snarls, but Sidonis throws her arm away.

"Get off me!" he cries, and I can hear the contempt in Shepard's next words.

"I'm the only thing standing between you and a hole in the head," she hisses. Sidonis looks at her, surprised, and then lowers his gaze in defeat.

"Fuck," he mutters, and I get sick consolation out of knowing he knows he's doomed. "Look," he says, "I didn't want to do it… I didn't have a choice."

Anger burns through me.

"Everyone has a choice," I reply darkly.

"They got to me," Sidonis continues. "Said they'd kill me if I didn't help. What was I supposed to do?"

Disgust piles high on top of anger. I can't believe I ever let this man into my squad.

"Let me take the shot, Shepard," I demand. "He's a damn coward."

I see her considering, but she doesn't move.

"That's it?" she asks. "You were just trying to save yourself?"

Sidonis wanders to the side, and Shepard follows him, determinably staying in my way.

"I know what I did," Sidonis' voice echoes over the comm. It sounds… defeated. "I know they died because of me, and I have to live with that." Some small part of me relates to the turian. I know that feeling of remorse well. "I wake up every night… sick…" he continues, his voice low, "and sweating. Each of their faces staring at me… accusing me." I don't want to hear any more. I don't want to know he can regret, that he can feel. "I'm already a dead man. I don't sleep. Food has no taste. Some days I just want it to be over."

"Just give me the chance," I mutter. I can feel my resolve weakening. This man had been one of my own; I know Omega is cruel. I have to take the shot before I lose it.

There is a moment of silence, and then Shepard's voice is sounding over the speaker.

"You've got to let it go, Garrus. He's already paying for his crime."

I don't know if he is, but Shepard's words get to me. Yet if I don't kill him, how can I face those nightmares? How can I meet those accusing stares?

"He hasn't paid enough," I reply forcefully. "He still has his life…"

"Look at him, Garrus. He's not alive. There's nothing left to kill."

The hopelessness I've fought off so fervently comes rushing back, swallowing me. I can't let it end this way.

"My men…" I whisper, harshly. "They deserved better."

Sidonis lifts his head from where he had been staring at the floor, capturing Shepard's attention.

"Tell Garrus," he says slowly, trailing off. "I guess there's nothing I can say to make it right."

I hear the pain in his voice. I know he regrets it. He'd do it over if he could. I pull my eye from the scope, unwilling to look down at the scene.

"Just… go," I growl, anguished. "Tell him to go."

Shepard turns to the turian.

"He's giving you a second chance, Sidonis. Don't waste it."

"I'll try, Garrus," he replies, looking vaguely about. "I'll make it up to you, somehow." And then, more quietly, to Shepard, "Thank you. For talking to him."

...

I stood at the control panel, meticulously checking and recalculating calibrations. The new gun would be arriving soon, and I wanted to make sure everything was working smoothly before we tried to install it, although there wasn't much to do. There was a whoosh of opening doors and the click of boots upon the floor, and I glanced back to see Shepard walking up to me.

"Shepard," I said, turning around to face her. "Need me for something?"

"Have you got a minute?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Sure," I said with a shrug. "Just killing time, anyway." There was an awkward pause as she settled herself more comfortably on one of the nearby cargo crates, and I did my best to summon up my courage.

"I wanted to thank you again for your help with Sidonis," I said, finally. She glanced up at me with her knowing eyes, and I continued. "Whatever happens with the Collectors or the Reapers or whoever else comes after us, I know you'll get the job done."

"You actually think we'll find something worse than the Collectors or Reapers?" she asked with a quirk of her eyebrow. Such a funny, human expression.

"I like to expect the worst," I replied. "There's a small chance I'll be pleasantly surprised."

A smile touched her lips, and I felt one of my own rising.

"I couldn't do this without you," she said soberly, not moving her eyes. I jumped in before she could say more – I didn't want the mood to get dark.

"Sure you could," I teased back. "Not as stylishly, of course." I paused a moment as she smiled again. "Although it is strange going into a suicide mission on a human ship. Your people don't prepare for high-risk operations the way turians do."

She sat up straighter, her interest piqued – if I was reading her expression correctly, that is.

"How do turians crews get ready for high risk missions?" she asked, watching me. I clasped my hands behind my back, straightening up myself.

"With violence, usually," I replied. "Turian ships have more operational discipline than your Alliance, but fewer personal restrictions. Our commanders run us tight, and they know we need to blow off steam. Turian ships have training rooms for exercise, combat sims, even full-contact sparring. Whatever lets people work off stress."

She frowned, tilting her head a little to the side.

"You mean turian ships have crewmen fighting each other before a mission?"

"It's supervised, of course," I explained. "Nobody is going to risk an injury that interferes with the mission, and it's a good way to settle grudges amicably." I turned, pacing as I lost myself in my memories. "I remember right before one mission. We were about to hit a batarian pirate squad. Very risky. This recon scout and I had been at each other's throats. Nerves mostly. She suggested we settle it in the ring."

"I assume you took her down gently?"

I turned to Shepard, shaking my head.

"Actually, she and I were the top-ranked hand-to-hand specialists on the ship. I had reach, but she had flexibility. It was brutal. After nine rounds, the judge called it a draw. There were a lot of unhappy betters in the training room. We, ah…" I suddenly realised why I had never told the commander this story before, but between her expectant patience and the sinking feeling that it was too far gone, I blundered on. "We ended up holding a tiebreaker in her quarters. I had reach, but, ah, she had flexibility." I glanced over her, almost sheepish but for the fact that I was rather proud of the story, in the right company. "More than one way to work off stress, I guess."

She shook her head with a smile at my tale, but when she next lifted her gaze to meet mine, I saw… hesitation? Uncertainty?

"You know, ah… It sounds like you're carrying some tension." She rose, looking off deeper into the batteries, not meeting my eyes. "Maybe I could help you get rid of it."

Shock hit me like krogan on a rampage.

"I, ah, didn't think you'd feel like sparring, Commander," I said, trying to regain my composure. She faced me, her arms crossed in front of her, more of the confidence I was so used to seeing in her stature.

"What if we skipped right to the tiebreaker?" she offered slowly. She moved closer, settling herself against the console as she faced me. "We could test your reach… and my flexibility."

My mind raced through a dozen possible reasons as to why Shepard would be saying such things, but none of them made sense. I glanced away, caught off guard and unsure of how to respond. She couldn't possibly be offering what I thought she was offering… could she?

"Oh! I didn't… Huh." I abruptly threw caution to the wind and decided to take the commander's words at face value. "Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars." When she said nothing, but simply smiled at me, I continued. "Well, why the hell not? There's nobody in this galaxy I respect more than you. If we can figure out a way to make it work, then… yeah. Definitely."

She continued with her satisfied smirk, holding my eyes as she rose and strode past me, her confidence and attitude returned to normal. And as the doors closed behind her, I realised, fully: why not? She'd always been there for me. She was always watching my back, always there to patch me up, always saving me, even from myself. Suddenly it didn't seem so strange for her to spend all this time on me – even if she had my loyalty, even if I had nothing more to give. For, somehow, I'd come to feel for her in this strange way, and I knew, although I could not pinpoint its beginnings, that I had been hers for some time, and that this bond, this unbreakable friendship, had been true.