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Welcome ♥
Side blog for my fanfics, fandom, and oc content. This blog is multi-fandom.
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To begin, we first must see the end - Chapter 1
Relana Lavellan never wanted the burden of leadership, she wasn’t prepared for such a responsibility. But when she finds herself standing in a broken future, she is forced to witness the events of her failure. Reluctance melts away into terror, especially when she finds herself searching through the remains of the world for the one person that can calm her heart.
A retelling of the mission “In Hushed Whispers” to focus on the pressure and despair Lavellan feels, alongside her rapidly growing affection for Solas.
Word count: 1,858
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64233802/chapters/164861257
---
The doors to Redcliffe’s tavern swung shut with a low groan as Alexius rushed out, leaving The Herald alone with her small group. The letter weighed heavily in her hand and the ink threatened to burn her through the parchment as she read the line over and over.
“Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.” She read aloud this time, unable to hide the tremble in her voice.
Just once she would love for the day to go as planned, without danger of some form lurking around the corner and ready to pounce. She pursed her lips and pulled her jacket around herself, blocking out the chilly morning air that rushed in whenever the door opened.
“Very mysterious,” Varric added, doing little to hide his amusement at her dour expression.
Relana sighed, she could already feel the weight of the day crashing down upon her despite the early hour. “We’ll be careful, it’s not like we can do anything before we figure this out. We need the mages, but first…”
She forced her features to relax, lessening the small glare she carried and threw herself into a chair by a vacant table, gesturing for the others to do the same. “We won’t be here long, I just need a moment before jumping into what could be the wolf’s den.”
Cassandra slowly moved to the chair opposite Relana, perching on the edge of the seat while Varric collapsed onto the chair next to her, making an effort to show just how tired he was. Solas remained by her side, hands clasped politely as he watched her. She could feel his eyes studying her, and she hoped to any Creator listening that her blush wasn’t visible.
“Not going to take this chance to rest? Can’t guarantee how long it will be before the next one.” She addressed him with a light tone, pointedly ignoring Varric’s questioning gaze as her voice slightly rose in pitch. She was not going to entertain that topic in public, nor in front of the person responsible for it.
Before Solas could reply, Varric jumped to his feet and grabbed a reluctant, and slightly infuriated, Cassandra by the arm. “Why don’t you sit next to her while we go and get some refreshments? I’m sick of drinking nothing but water for the past three days. Wouldn’t hurt to get some rest before something horrible gets thrown at us, 'cause you know it will, Chuckles.”
Solas nodded and swiftly moved to sit next to her, watching as Varric ignored Cassandra’s scolding as they approached the tavern keep. The further they travelled, the louder her voice seemed to grow. Whatever Varric was saying seemed to infuriate her more and more, and while Relana couldn’t hear what they were discussing, she could feel the ire in the Seeker’s glare from across the room.
It was only when they vanished into the growing crowd, full of citizens and travellers eager for breakfast, did Relana finally pulled her eyes away from the duo with a gentle smile.
A sigh escaped her lips when she absentmindedly began prodding at the anchor, days spent travelling around the Hinterlands and closing all the rifts they had come across was beginning to take its toll on her. Before all this, she could close her eyes and pretend she was back with her clan, sitting around the fire and listening to the stories being shared by those she had known her entire life. Now she was surrounded by strangers, some of which were human and templars. Neither of which had yet to earn her fragile trust, and her anxiety hadn’t lessened when it came to the sheer amount of templars situated around Haven, their eyes always following her.
To make matters worse, whenever she closed her eyes she could feel the demanding throb deep in her palm, a sickly green light occasionally slipping through the visible crack the magic had embedded into her hand.
A sudden nausea came over her at the thought of her hand, fear and apprehension clashing together and making themselves known in her stomach. How she hated the life she had found herself stumbling into, a life of champions and heroes and heralds, when she was just Clan Lavellan’s First. A dalish elf in the wrong place at the wrong time, forever marked and bound to her duty.
As she traced the sickening crack with her nail, she found herself resenting the version of her that bravely declared she would head to the Conclave. Though, as she felt the intensity of the eyes that had not once left her direction, she found that not every part of this new life was bad.
“Is the anchor bothering you?” Solas asked, jolting her mind back to the present.
She flexed the hand, flinching as the ache deepened, and nodded at him. “It’s usually easy to forget it’s there, it doesn’t tend to ache like this. Today has been a different story.”
He extended his hand, palm up, in request. “May I?”
She felt the tips of her ears flush and silently cursed herself. It was rare for someone to lure such a reaction out of her, yet he did it effortlessly. She quickly extended her own arm so she could place her hand in his, curiously watching as he inspected the magic embedded within. His hands were impossibly soft, yet she could feel the strength and power in his gentle grip. As she watched him, she carefully shifted her eyes to study his face as he examined her. Solas’ eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were calculating and focused, but as she stared she could have sworn she caught a flicker of sadness hidden within.
He turned her hand around a couple of times, checking for something she could not see before continuing to inspect the anchor. His eyes quickly flicked up to meet hers and he quirked his eyebrow at her in question before looking down at her hand once more.
“Something wrong, Herald?” His voice was calm and it took everything she had to try and emulate a fraction of his composure.
“Relana,” She corrected. If more and more people called her Herald to her face, she doubted she would last long enough to close the breach. Would she eventually forget her own name and only respond to the title, if given enough time? The thought made her shiver, earning a small tut of annoyance from Solas.
“Please keep your hand still, Relana.” He chided softly, the corners of his lips rising as he no doubt caught her wide grin in his peripheral. “And that wasn’t an answer.”
“I’m just thinking.” She sighed and began to trace the wood grain across the tabletop with her other hand, making sure to avoid any spills and stains. She scratched away at a particularly deep groove with her nail, the table was likely a victim to a bar fight, one that involved an axe. Crumbs had begun to gather, hidden away from what little cleaning the place seemed to get.
“About?” Solas prompted with his infinite well of patience that she was shocked she had yet to use up. A part of her worried that the day would come eventually. She enjoyed speaking to him, finding herself drifting towards his spot in Haven whenever she had a rare occasion to herself. Or whenever she felt like she was drowning in frustration, his voice would help her break the surface and breathe. She could only hope that he enjoyed her company just as much.
He had sought her out on occasion, prompting discussions of magic and eventually her clan. Each time she watched him venture away from his post and seek her out, she began to feel less alone in her new life.
He continued to poke and prod at her palm, the touch featherlight so as to not cause her more discomfort.
“I’m just worried about all of this, that’s all.” She eventually replied, her words coming out slow and hesitant. He paused his examination for a moment, silently gesturing for her to speak her mind. “It’s only been a week and the anchor has gotten worse.”
Solas hummed in thought and slowly began to push his magic into her palm, cooling the ache that sat deep under her flesh. He idly rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb as he finished the spell, dragging the worst of the pain out with his magic. She let out a sigh of relief as the throbbing lessened into a small thrum, one that was more tolerable and ignorable. “Thank you,” she breathed out.
“You are welcome. As for the anchor, I don’t believe it’s getting worse.” He snorted at the incredulous look Relana gave him, the sound causing her features to soften against her will and a small smile to appear on her lips. “I theorise that the pain was mainly caused by an overuse of the magic. We have come across a large number of rifts in such a short time, after all.”
“So the more I use it, the less it will hurt over time?” She questioned, suddenly aware of her hand still clutched in his, Solas’ long and slender fingers curled around her delicate palm. His hand was warm, but that didn’t stop the pleasant shiver that ran up her neck.
She made no effort to move and neither did he.
“Possibly.” His words came out in a hushed whisper as his eyes moved to watch something over her shoulder.
Before she could question him, a loud bang caused her to gasp loudly and jump out of her seat. Solas easily caught her wrist and dragged her back down with a chuckle, while Varric's boisterous laughter earned him a slap on the back from Cassandra.
“Do you mind not spilling our drinks everywhere, dwarf?” She growled out through gritted teeth and placed two cups down in front of Solas and Relana.
“Now now, Seeker. I know that deep down, in that heavily armoured heart of yours, you found her reaction amusing.” Varric retorted with a wink in Relana’s direction, ignoring the other woman’s loud scoff. “Seeker denied us alcohol, so that leaves us with tea. Though I’m sure you will be happy to chase the chill away, Herald. I think you will develop a permanent shiver if we’re not careful.”
She nodded and muttered her gratitude to her friend. Her fingers curled around the mug, almost as if she could absorb the heat and contain it within her for the rest of the day. She heard a small, strangled sigh from Solas and when she turned to ask if he was alright, she caught him glaring down at the cup in front of him. She bit her lip to hold back the laugh that threatened to escape and nudged the sugar pot in his direction. His eyes widened as he looked up at her and he gave a nod in appreciation before putting a shocking amount into his cup.
“I recommend that we leave for the Chantry once we have finished here,” Cassandra suggested, her tone leaving little room for argument.
The start and end of love
pairings: Female Lavellan x Solas
summary: He felt himself lean closer to her, a small, almost unnoticeable movement. “How would you stop them?” He challenged lightly, curiosity chasing away any apprehension that remained. “However I had to,” Lavellan declared with a furrowing of her eyebrows, almost as if she had made a vow to him in the bitter snow of Haven.
Inquisitor Lavellan carried that vow with her throughout the Inquisition and the following decade. Despite how her story ends, she refuses to regret muttering those words.
word count: 1,980
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63262885
The wind brushed against his ears, bringing along a flurry of snow that settled against his eyelashes. The corners of his lips fell as he blinked away the soft flecks that obstructed his vision. Not that the scurrying of chantry sisters around Haven was much of a welcomed sight. Solas watched with reluctant amusement as one rushed out of the tavern with a blush so fierce, he figured any fleck of snow would instantly melt upon contact.
A polite clearing of a throat captured his attention, far too quickly for his liking. He turned to meet the sharp silver eyes of the newly titled Herald. The dark grey lines of her Vallaslin stared at him in accusation as he did his best to ignore its presence.
“The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.” He greeted, noticing the way her wind-kissed nose crinkled at the title, apprehension swimming in her eyes.
“Am I riding in on a silver steed?” Lavellan retorted with ease, a playful smile on her face as she folded her arms across her chest.
She was easy to talk to, far too easy. She sought knowledge regardless of how long the answer would take, content to stand by his side and listen. He had instantly written her off as a shadow at best, a Dalish whose practice mocked the very culture they swore to uphold at worst. He had never seen a shadow shine as brightly as she did, flickering steadily against all the darkness the world was content to throw at her.
He saw how she fought on the mountain pass, spells flung in panic followed by the shocked smile when she saw they had accurately hit her target. That would get her killed one day, he thought. Solas frowned at the time and frowned once again at the memory, she was powerful, but unaccustomed to a life of danger. Where would she be now, if not for his plan backfiring? Would she be returning to her Clan with the news they had sent for her to gather?
Solas felt something old yet somehow unknown tug at his chest, constricting in a manner very unlike him. He felt it again when she asked him another question, as if such a thing came easily to her. Despite only knowing her for such a short time, he already knew that it did. She was hungry for knowledge and companionship, almost as much as he was.
“You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?” She asked, her tone impossibly light in her attempt to hide her concern for him. That jolt appeared again as he considered himself unworthy of such concern when he was the one to bring danger to her world.
“I do set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.” He said, his head tilting as he watched her reaction.
Lavellan’s expressions were unguarded and given freely, a dangerous thing for someone in her position. Solas found himself captivated by the way she found herself stuck between amusement at him leaving out offerings of food, or disgusted by the mention of giant spiders.
Almost as if she was aware of her lack of poker face, she bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes shone in the approaching sunset. “I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade. That's extraordinary.”
She gave compliments as if it were as easy as breathing, something that should have annoyed him. He wanted to be annoyed, yet found himself lacking such an emotion. In the short time he had known her, it was a common emotion, especially whenever his eyes flicked down to her marked hand. But something had changed, and as much as he was reluctant to admit it, that frightened him. The shadows around her were beginning to flicker, revealing the person underneath.
A terrifying sight, so he broke eye contact and looked away. Unable to keep his eyes on her for too long.
He should leave, wait for her to fail and then finally reclaim his lost magic.
Instead, his treacherous lips had a different plan in mind. “I will stay then, at least until the breach has been closed. Cassandra has been accommodating so far, but I’m sure you can understand my caution in staying.”
“You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you.” Yet another thing she said so easily, as if he had been someone she always knew.
He felt himself lean closer to her, a small, almost unnoticeable movement. “How would you stop them?” He challenged lightly, curiosity chasing away any apprehension that remained.
“However I had to,” Lavellan declared with a furrowing of her eyebrows, almost as if she had made a vow to him in the bitter snow of Haven.
–
“You are mortal, Elgar’nan. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Solas taunted, his voice laboured and pained. He let himself rest against the cracked tiles for a moment, feeling every century of life crash down on him in that moment.
Swords clashed and the sharp crack of magic danced around the air, Solas breathed heavily as he watched Rook and her team fight bravely against Elgar’nan. His form towered over them, his eyes glowing with blight and fury, yet they refused to relent.
With a sharp intake of breath, Solas pushed himself to his feet before the puddle of blight that dripped from the Archdemon could reach him. His ribs screamed out in protests and he swore he felt something pop out of place as he pushed on. He slowly limped towards the angry fade tear, awaiting the victory he would have to destroy.
He was so close to his goal, a lifetime of bitter regret could finally be laid to rest.
There was shouting behind him as the battle grew in ferocity. A fight for survival, for what Rook assumed to be Thedas’ survival. He distantly heard the arrival of a new figure, someone Rook had managed to pull into their cause, he suspected. Not that it would prevent the inevitable.
As Solas approached the tear, growing slightly impatient as the battle dragged on, Elgar’nan’s eyes left Rook and locked onto him. A snarl left the man’s lips as he pulled away from the woman doing her best to bring him down. The All-Father rushed toward him, conjuring an impressively intimidating spear of flame in his hand.
Solas turned too late, watching with haughty silence as Elgar’nan pulled his arm back to strike. The flames licked at his blighted forearm. Solas frantically tried to pull upon the Fade, willing his body to transform, but he was so exhausted. He felt the air shift around him, but as quickly as it came, his magic fizzled out.
For the first time in his life since he awakened, Fen’Harel felt helpless.
Helpless and infuriated. He had come so close to finally fixing the biggest mistake of his life, how dare this blighted creature try to prevent it?
He heard Rook scream, an odd reaction for someone who had betrayed her once and planned to do so again. He realised too late, with a sickening terror that sunk deep into his bruised heart, that the scream wasn’t for him.
Just as the spear of flame was about to reach his chest, his eyes locked onto a familiar pair of silver eyes. He felt the cold crystal of her new arm caress his cheek with such tender care, she smiled up at him and he couldn’t help but feel like it was a goodbye, rather than a greeting.
All at once he felt it come crashing down on him. Heart-stopping fear, bone-chilling regret, and a burning love warred within his chest, fighting for dominance as he could do nothing but watch the scene unfold.
Those eyes, ones he once got lost in a lifetime ago, widened in shocked agony as the magic pierced through her as if she were made of paper. Her lips parted, but no words fell from them as she stood frozen in pain. The magic that made up her crystal arm sputtered and flickered before fading away, the skin of his cheek felt cold with its absence.
He felt something cold press against his hand and when he finally found the strength to pull his eyes away from hers, he saw his lyrium dagger returned to his grip. He gave a single nod before he stalked over towards Elgar’nan, who had been bound by the combined magic of Rook’s mages, as if he were no more than a feral beast.
It was almost as if time slowed. Each movement made Solas feel as if he were stuck underwater, wading through deep currents.
There were a million things he wanted to say, but each time he went to part his lips he felt bile rise in his throat. Solas gritted his teeth and plunged the dagger deep into Elgar’nan’s chest, twisting it with a growl before dragging him towards the aggressively blinding light of the tear. Solas didn’t hesitate to throw the fallen god into it, watching with a carefully blank face as it greedily sucked him back into the prison.
Damning Elgar’nan to an eternity alone – where he would be tormented by centuries of stubborn regrets – suddenly felt like the only victory he could care about.
He quickly spun on his heel and rushed to Lavellan’s side, watching in horror as she remained standing. Her body trembled, a river of red staining her carefully embroidered armour. As he looked closer, purposefully avoiding the quickly growing stain, he spotted her careful embroidered recreation of his frescos decorating the hem of her black skirt, painfully paired with his jawbone necklace sitting against her breast.
Her eyes locked onto his once more and her body finally lost the fight, sending her crashing to the ground.
Solas was quick to catch her and pulled her close. His hands shook as he manoeuvred her head to rest on his shoulder, tears painted his cheeks with translucent streaks that sparkled in the sickly glow of the veil. Inquisitor Lavellan let out a sigh as she brought her hand to his cheek, her thumb drifting across his cheekbone. The sigh turned into a ragged gasp as pain shot through her torso, rushing across her nerves like lightning while her strength ebbed away from her with each heartbeat. Blood began to drip past the corner of her lips and with a shaking hand, Solas did his best to wipe it away.
"Vhenan..." Solas whispered, bowing his head to rest against hers as he pulled her even closer to him. He pressed his other hand against her wound, his stomach churning as her blood oozed past his fingers. He shifted so he could press a gentle kiss to her forehead as she whimpered from the pain. Solas did his best to push his magic into the wound, trying to knit the flesh back together, but the damage had been too great.
"Emma banal enfenim, vhenan. Tel'abelas, ir vhenas." She grasped at his forearm with what little strength she had left, almost as if he were her anchor. "Ma din in nadas, banal numin, ma sa'lath."
His tears ran across his cheeks and down onto hers, mixing together with her own. This was not how he planned their reunion to go. He expected her anger, her sorrow, not her unyielding loyalty. He felt her tangle their fingers together, but the rest of his body had long since grown numb.
“Why…?” He choked out, the words catching painfully in his throat.
She smiled up at him, that bright smile that made him envision snow and chantry sisters. A smile from before his love doomed their hearts. “However I had to.” She declared with her final breath.
(Translation: I am not afraid, my heart. I'm not sorry, i'm home. My death is inevitable, don't cry, my one love.)
Avise’davathe’din
pairings: Female Lavellan x Solas
summary: The Inquisitor has fallen ill. Luckily for her, Cole and Solas are there to look after her.
Currently ill in bed and have been for the whole week, so I wrote this to make myself feel better.
word count: 1,481
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63088276
She slowly opened her eyes, finding herself buried under a dozen thick furs that had been protectively pulled up to her chin. The room was almost pitch black, the fire having died during her unexpected sleep. A light sound caught her weary attention, and just rolling her neck drew a muffled groan from her chapped lips. She watched with bleary eyes as the curtains fluttered with the gentle winter breeze. It is then that Lavellan realised with a sinking horror that she must have fallen asleep with the balcony doors open, the crisp air continued to seep into the dark room and infiltrate her fluffy cocoon.
She mumbled incoherently as she weakly pulled at the blankets, trying to release herself from their weight. The small battle had sapped what little energy she had left despite her rest, yet she continued to crawl out of bed and shuffled towards the doors.
The tiles beneath her bare feet were ice cold, cold enough to make her regret ever leaving the plush confines of the bed.
As if sensing her weakened state, the wind picked up. What was a gentle breeze quickly morphed into a strong gust, almost succeeding in sending her toppling backwards. The wind caught at her loose nightgown, soaked with sweat, and tugged at her messy hair. Relana almost recoiled when her hand grasped at the door handle, the cold metal violently stung her sensitive skin, feeling like little needles piercing into her flesh. She bit her lip to hold back her whimper before nudging it shut with her shoulder, using the solid frame to support her body while she sagged down to the ground.
With great effort, she pulled her knees to her chest as shivers continued to take over her body. She mournfully stared at her bed, yet the thought of moving caused her muscles to ache in protest. The back of her head dropped against the door in defeat as she mentally prepared to spend the night on the floor.
Her eyes felt heavy, fighting against gravity as they fluttered shut before a voice caused them to open once more, “Vhenan?”
Solas quietly ascended the stairs and made his way towards her, but not before grabbing one of the blankets she had thrown to the ground in her struggle. He knelt in front of her and carefully draped it around her shoulders, her tired eyes not once breaking away from his concerned stare.
He placed the back of his hand against her forehead and sighed, “You still have a fever. What are you doing out of bed?”
She slowly nuzzled against his hand, relishing his kind touch with a small smile before she recoiled out of fear of inflicting him with such an illness as well.
“Cold,” Lavellan muttered as she gestured to the doors behind her with her left hand, the anchor lightly pulsing, a sickly green light highlighting her miserable expression. Despite her reluctance, Solas was quick to take hold of her hand. His magic weaved around the anchor to stifle its attempts to cause more pain.
He glanced at the doors. Frost had since begun to climb up the glass and through the murky haze of night, he could spot snowflakes beginning to fall. His eyes then drifted down to the small elf curled against the white backdrop. He pinched the bridge of his nose and did his best to hold back the sigh that danced on his tongue, “Why were they open, Vhenan? I ensured they were properly closed after I left to fill your glass.”
She parted her lips to reply, but instead of words falling from her lips, a harsh cough broke through in their place. She winced as it tore past her already sore throat, leaving it raw.
“Hot. Too hot. The flesh prickles and stings, covers sticking, becoming a new skin. She can’t think, the thoughts sink to the bottom, slipping under. She tosses and turns in a daze, aware and unaware. It merges into one. Confusion and pain.” Cole appears beside Solas, crouching down and hesitantly reaching toward Lavellan. Solas gently caught his hand before it could make contact. “She woke up after you left.”
At that, Solas finally let out the sigh he tried to restrain. Despite his fondness for the spirit, his frustration was present in his words. “I understand, Cole. But it is a cold night, I’m afraid leaving her to the elements would only worsen her illness.”
“I’m sorry,” Cole murmured to the pair, his hat casting a shadow across his face as he lowered his head.
“It’s alright, I appreciate your help.” Relana did her best to give him her best reassuring smile. If the concerned faces she got from Cole and Solas were any indication, it came out as more of a grimace.
Without warning, a strong arm hooked itself under her knees while the other carefully supported her back as Solas lifted her into his arms. Lavellan let out a small, surprised wheeze before wiggling in protest. “I don’t want to get you sick.”
“Don’t worry about me, vhenan. Focus on your own recovery.” He affectionately chided, wincing slightly when her elbow collided into his ribs while she fidgeted.
He quickly moved her towards the bed, Cole silently following on his heels like a shadow. He was careful when he lowered her onto the mattress, bringing her into a sitting position while he fluffed her pillows. He fussed around with the bedding until it was up to his standard, only then did he tap her shoulders to signal her to lean back. Once she had settled down, he reunited the furs with her chin, unable to hold back the small smile that graced his lips.
“You find this amusing?” She pouted up at him from her halo of pillows.
Solas’ lips parted, but Cole’s voice cut through before he could, “worry cuts through him like the ice outside. Cold and chilling. He doesn’t know. This is new, love and illness. Both grip and tug, worse when they mix.”
Solas’ eyebrows instantly fell into a small frown, a dusty pink settled across the tips of his ears as he watched the spirit. Cole hopped onto the bed by Lavellan’s legs, carefully maneuvering to cross his legs under him as he sat vigilant.
“Cole…” Solas warned as Cole tiptoed deeper into Solas’ mind, despite his voice lacking any real annoyance.
“You think you can’t breathe. But you can.” He supplied, ignoring Solas and focusing on her instead.
She nodded thoughtfully, as much as she could from under the blankets, at least. “I’m trying, Cole. Trust me, I’m really trying, but I feel closer to the dead roaming The Fallow Mire at the moment.”
Solas chuckled and walked around the bed to sit on his side, carefully running his hand through her long hair. “You exaggerate, my love.”
She turned her head to gaze up at him, watching as he relaxed against the headboard of the bed. The bedside table next to him was coated in various herbs and medical flasks. Too many, in her opinion.
“I can’t imagine I look any better, at least?” She amended, doing her best to keep the self conscious tone out of her voice. Her skin felt clammy and she couldn’t remember the last time she managed to sleep through the night, let alone having the energy to drag a brush through her hair. Though she found his fingers met very little resistance as he combed them through it.
He hummed and playfully tugged the end of the inky lock he was playing with, “you are always beautiful to me.”
She felt her face burn, she hoped that enough of her fever remained so she could have something to blame for her splotchy complexion.
“Months of longing, yearning, needing. Months and months. She should be used to it. She laments, her body blazes, and continues to burn with each touch, every soft spoken word. She finds it hard to believe, but she tries.” Cole’s voice caused her to jump as he peered at her from across the bed, his eyes seeming to shine in the dark.
“Thank you, Cole… You could have kept that one to yourself.” She drawled, sinking deeper into the sheets as if they could shield her from the eyes now locked onto her. Solas gently pulled back the furs and cupped her cheek, his thumb gliding to and fro over her cheekbone.
“I know,” he whispers and bends down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Now get some rest, it is still early. We will keep an eye on you in case you grow worse. Josephine has cleared your schedule for the rest of the week so you can recover.”
“Okay, thank you.” She said as she felt her eyelids grow impossibly heavy, hellbent on dragging her into the fade. “Ar lath ma, ma’sa.”
Sugar Rush
pairings: Female Lavellan x Solas
summary: The Inquisitor gifted Solas with one of his favourite cupcakes, leading him to wallow in his feelings for her.
word count: 1,444
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62818654
Solas leaned back against the wooden headboard with a content sigh, one of Varric's books in hand. His legs were stretched out under the soft covers and crossed at the ankles as he let his body relax. It had been a long week of travelling back to Skyhold from the chilly landscape of Emprise du Lion, and the chill that had settled into their bones had finally begun to thaw. Instead of fighting for their lives against the Red Templars and shivering in their tents at night, their days had finally shifted back to the quiet hum of normalcy while The Inquisitor planned their next mission.
Almost if compelled by the very thought of her, Solas couldn't help himself when his free hand settled gently against Lavellan's head, which had moved to use his chest as a pillow while she slept. His fingers played with the long black strands of hair with practised ease, now free from its usual loose ponytail. He watched the way the silken strands slipped through his fingers like spilt ink, his heart aching with a myriad of emotions.
How long until she slipped through his fingers with such ease, as if she was never there at all? How long until he looked back at these moments and felt the stabbing pain of loss and the bitter taste of regret?
He clenched his jaw to hold back the flood of guilt and admission that danced on his tongue, forcing himself to swallow such frightful confessions.
Instead, he let his eyes fall shut, breathing deeply as he locked up such regrets back into their prison in his heart and as carefully as he could, he shifted his body to reach for the small cupcake on the bedside table. He struggled to believe he was as deserving of her love as she seemed to think, her little signs of affection both pleasing and burning him. Yet he couldn’t help himself from being drawn to her like a moth to an open flame, embracing the danger of his emotions.
Her smile when she presented him with his favourite cake from Val Royeaux was now seared into his memory, just as his love for her was seared into every fibre of his being.
"Here, I got this for you. I needed to grab a few things with Josie and remembered how much you liked the cakes from there. It was the last one and I'm pretty sure there was some rich child in line behind me who was eyeing it up. I'm glad to say I got there just in time." She said while she presented the small treat for him, as proudly as if she had just admitted to killing yet another high dragon. “It’s the chocolate ones with small pieces of dried fruit scattered on top.”
“Ma serannas, vhenan.” He had replied, not even attempting to hide the way the tips of his ears almost seemed to glow pink. “Would you like to share it with me?”
“Nae, I bought it for you. Besides, that cake is tiny, enjoy it for yourself, my love.” She had smiled so brightly at him, that the lines of Mythal’s vallaslin sitting across her cheekbones shifted with the movement.
The cake had sat on his desk for the following hours, almost too precious to ruin. It had taunted and teased him, testing his control over his weak sweet tooth. Yet he still refrained, almost as if he were caught in a trance and biting into it would cause the moment to end and reality to set back in.
Funny how something as simple as a cupcake could cause his walls to begin to crumble. He continued to work on his research of the rifts deep into the night, all while the cupcake’s small shadow danced across his desk in the flickering candlelight. Right up until the hour for them to retire to her room for the night, where he had brought it with him to enjoy finally. He would prefer no other place to indulge in something pleasant, everything always tasted sweeter with Relana Lavellan curled up beside him, safe in his arms.
He found himself to be proven right when he leaned back against the headboard and brought the small cake to his lips, savouring the sweet frosting as it melted on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut momentarily, and when they opened once more, he felt his heart jolt.
“Ma’tarasyl,” he quickly muttered, not wanting to break the tranquillity that had fallen over the pair.
Relana silently peered up at him, her eyes wide open and sparkling in the firelight as she watched him from her place against his chest. Her smile widened, and with a small amount of embarrassment, he realised that she must have heard his heart skip a beat at the small scare she had provided. Once his mask of composure fell back into place, he realised what had caused her to wake: he seemed to have gently placed his book over her head, almost like a hat, to hold his current page in place.
“Ir abelas, vhenan.” He chuckled and gingerly picked the book back up, watching as she rolled her head to peek at the cover. He tilted it so she could get a better look, her smile had softened considerably when she spotted the familiar artwork on the cover for Hard in Hightown.
She did her best to wave off his apology despite her hands being trapped under the covers, “Enjoying yourself?” She asked, her voice light and airy as she watched him get ready to read; book and cupcake in hand.
“It’s impossible not to when you are settled at my side.” He replied instantly, and his lip twitched upwards when he felt her snuggle even closer against him.
She didn’t bother to fight her smile and instead let her eyes drift shut once more. “If you say so, ma sa’lath.”
He tried to continue with the paragraph he had previously started, and while the book wasn’t something he would usually choose to read, it had its charms. He tried to let his mind unwind, falling deeper into Varric’s storytelling while taking small bites out of the cake as he went along, only for his eyes to keep drifting down to fall upon her.
Her breathing was light and her body was fully relaxed, yet he could tell she had not fallen asleep yet. His eyes trailed over her cheeks, pausing at the small purple bruising under her eyes. While it hadn’t grown overly noticeable, the sleepless nights were beginning to catch up on her. Too many nights had been spent with her tossing and turning at his side, unable to let her mind drift away into a comfortable sleep, while some nights resulted in her bolting up in bed, her chest heaving with fright. How he wished he could bring some comfort to her during those nights, to fight whatever plagued her ever-alert mind.
He slowly lowered his arm and brought the cupcake closer to her, gently pressing it against her lips. He held it there for a moment, watching as her closed eyes crinkled and her lips widened into a grin. She slowly opened her mouth to take a bite, only opening her eyes to look up at him after she had swallowed the soft sponge.
“Thank you,” She breathed out, sitting up to place a small kiss on his lips. He quickly placed the book face down so that he could rest his hand against the small of her back, helping to stabilise her while also pulling her closer to him. Her hand came to rest against his chest as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gliding across her own. She tasted like rich chocolate, and he felt his mind spin, intoxicated by the feel of her soft lips against his.
He could feel himself falling deeper into the bottomless well of love he held for her, not willing to even try and slow his descent.
They finally parted, remembering their need to breathe after their lungs began to burn, too content to remain joined and explore one another’s taste. He watched the gentle blush creep across her pale flesh and slowly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears, granting him a better view of the flustered state he had caused.
“Ar lath ma,” She whispered, moving to brush a dozen tiny kisses along the curve of his jaw. Her touch was featherlight, her lips dancing against his flesh with a loving familiarity.
He ducked his head to nuzzle his nose against hers, “La ar lath ma,” Solas declared with a whisper.
Through the Mist | Part 5
pairings: Femshep x Garrus
summary: When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.
word count: 4,298
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60592000/chapters/158395303
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
A scratching gargle assaults their ears as a fragmented voice stutters through the white noise. Shepard carefully lifts the datapad, keeping it parallel to the ground so that the screen remains intact, as the audio begins to clear up. The voice fighting through the interference wins its battle. The garbled words being spat out find clarity and reveal themselves to the duo.
“If you are listening to this, I’m sorry, and to make this easier for you, the only thing you should be hearing during this recording is my voice. Whatever else you might hear isn’t real.
“What we’ve done here, it’s unforgivable, but we had no choice. They told us that we were making a weapon and that we would be helping to protect our colonies out in the Traverse and Terminus systems. That doesn’t change the fact that we’ve rendered an entire planet unhospitable. Enough is enough, I can’t undo what we’ve created, but I can help prevent unnecessary exposure. I’m recording this in secret. If they find out about this…
“Well that doesn’t matter now, it’s too late for me anyway. If you are here and listening, you are more than aware of what I’m talking about. The things that lurk in the fog. They’re not real, but that doesn’t mean they can’t hurt you. You’re not safe here. I’m sorry.”
The man’s voice wavers and he has to take a deep breath to compose himself. Out of fear or guilt, Shepard wagers, but she finds herself breathing alongside him, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart in tandem with the mysterious man. Garrus’ eyes are glued onto the datapad as if his stare can instantly pry out all of its secrets.
Shepard opens her mouth to speak during a lull in the recording, but Garrus shakes his head, silencing her. His eyes flick back to the corner of the room and his muscles contract so tightly that he begins to shake. His eyes flick towards Shepard and then back to the corner, followed by a small tilt of his head. She nods in response and waits for the man to continue.
“My entire team is dead. I am the only one that remains, for now. You can’t hear it, only I can, but something is trying to get into the room. It’s coming for me. It’s crying and scratching against the door, but I can’t let that distract me from confessing.
“Those Exogeni bastards lied to us. It should have been obvious when we were hired as an additional support group, acting outside their cooperation. We take the fall while they hide from everything they’ve made us do. We should have said no, that we wouldn’t help them, but they hid the full truth until it was too late. It kills through fear, it can’t physically harm you, but no one is immune to cardiac arrest or… being so scared you would rather die by your own hand over whatever it's shown you. That’s what happened to most of my team, one by one they fell to horrors of our own making. I’m so sorry.”
Shepard peers around the room, the fog that had been locked out of the room now seeps under the door, sneaking towards them. She glances behind her and instantly regrets it, the hexadecimal face grins down at her. It’s smile is warped, the data glitching as it falls past the expression. She quickly averts her eyes when it manages to stretch even wider.
“It’s the fog, we made it.”
The admission causes the hair on the back of Shepard’s neck to rise, along with a shiver creeping up her spine. Her eyes snap to Garrus and she finds him already staring at her. She watches as a mixture of expressions pass over his face in rapid succession before he lands on horror.
“How long have we been breathing it in…?” He whispers as if he’s unable to find the strength to ask the question. Shepard just pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes falling shut.
“For way too long.” She replies dejectedly. She reaches out to grasp at his forearm and he meets her halfway, his hand grabbing onto hers in response. “Vega…”
The voice continues, effectively cutting her off and growing shakier with each sentence as he throws them deeper into despair. A faint tapping catches Shepard’s attention, competing to be heard over the man’s voice. It keeps a steady rhythm, like the drumming of fingers along a solid surface, one by one, with elongated nails colliding against it with each impact.
He lets out a startled whimper, muttering something under his breath before he sighs deeply. He clears his throat as if to buy him what little time he has left to mentally prepare for what comes next.
“There’s no easy way to say this, and whatever is outside is getting more frantic, I don’t know how much time I have left to explain before it… So I’ll give you the basics. It’s Species 37, or more importantly, the spores Exogeni extracted from it were handed over for us to test. While the creature's mental control ended after its death, they still made us experiment on them, to see what was possible with the remains. We were able to manipulate these spores and harness part of their mental control possibilities, not in the same way as the Thorian, of course. Instead, we found a way to have them affect the amygdala. We were successful, God, it’s a scientific breakthrough, but the price we paid was too high. I’m sure you can agree.”
A light, breathy laughter follows his words, overlapping with his voice. Shepard’s skin grows cold and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, but the man continues, unperturbed by the new addition.
“The fog will latch onto your darkest moments and fears. The things that you bury deep inside because it hurt too much, it will use it against you. It already has, hasn’t it? It will warp itself, it won’t be obvious at first. It will hide. Sometimes it will be a deceased loved one, sometimes it’s a random person you’ve never met. Sometimes it manages to be both. I’ve not managed to document everything we’ve seen, there wasn’t enough time and it seems to be evolving. Some of the scientists here have started to see random things, things that we can’t seem to connect to any specific person. Forgive me.
“There is no excuse for what we’ve done. This isn’t a weapon, it’s so much worse. If more than one person is under its effect, it manages to create a sort of mental link between them. A form of shared hallucination.
“It was supposed to be contained, or so we thought. We thought we were simply the scientists developing it, but we were supposed to be the control group as well. I guess we were, in the end. I’ve destroyed most of the research, no one deserves this fate. But in doing so, I released more of the fog into the atmosphere. This is all that remains of our sin. This datapad and the planet itself. Please, for all of our sakes, destroy both. I- No… You can’t be here. Please, I’m sorry, please don’t-”
He cuts himself off with an ear-piercing scream, causing Shepard to jolt and send the datapad tumbling to the ground. The impact causes the screen to shatter; it finally gives up its fight and dies, taking the man’s voice away with it and leaving the duo in stunned silence. Shepard turns to look down at the corpse beside them, a mixture of disgust and pity filling her eyes.
“Exogeni… It was them the entire time.” She mutters, disdain lacing her words.
“And here I thought we were done with the Thorium,” Garrus adds with a sigh.
The soft tapping picks up again as if it’s trying to crawl its way out of the remains of the datapad at her feet, demanding its presence be known. It grows louder and louder until it causes Shepard’s head to throb.
Shepard quickly brings an arm up to cover the lower portion of her face, doing all she can to prevent breathing in more of the fog. Garrus follows her lead, looking around the room to find something to cover the bottom of the door with. He grabs one of the spare research jackets from its hook on the wall and shoves it into the gap, letting his head hang once it proves to be a solid barrier. Exhaustion and dread blankets the room in the fog's place.
“How’s your imaginary friend? Still staring you down from the corner?” She asks as she watches him dart around the room. Garrus double-checks the corner before resuming his task, shaking his head when he does.
“Still there, how about yours?”
Shepard spins on her heel to stare down the sinister face, only to glare at a blank screen instead. “Mine has vanished, thankfully.”
She raises a single eyebrow at the screen and tilts her head, the movement catching something in the corner of her eye. She spots something large propped up against the furthest wall, half drowned in shadows and a greying, dusty sheet. She turns to look at Garrus, who is still fussing with the door. She bites her lip in thought before her curiosity wins and she slowly starts to move towards it.
The air grows thick, a dizzying miasma that seeps into her pores. The room is still, its only occupants being far too afraid to stir up any energy and potentially breathe life into their fears. As she continues to slowly wade her way towards the object, she feels a presence falling in line behind her and strengthening her resolve with each unsteady step.
As they grow closer, she feels Garrus close the distance between them. His eyes bore into the back of her head, their weight heavier than the fog outside. Shepard can feel his breath on the back of her neck, heavy and warm, and despite the warmth of it, all Shepard can feel is her skin chilling as goosebumps follow its path.
She keeps her voice low and her head forward, whispering hollow reassurances behind her, “It’s okay, it can’t hurt us, remember?”
She is met with no reply, only silence and an oppressive heat against her back.
She steps forward, he steps even closer.
Even with the safety he provides, Shepard can’t help but notice that her skin has started growing clammy and that her hands are beginning to shake.
Her body tries to warn her, to urge her to turn around and look behind her. She slowly gives in to the urge and turns her head to the side, peeking behind her through the corner of her eye and instantly wishing she never had.
Garrus stares up at her from his spot by the door, finally done with his small cloth barricade, and now watches her from the other side of the room.
She takes a deep breath and feels it get caught in her throat before she turns back and tentatively reaches for the cloth. She holds her breath when she yanks it off, finding herself face-to-face with her reflection.
A floor-length mirror stands alone in the back of the research base.
Shepard stares wide-eyed into its silver screen, her heart comes to a rapid stop when she notices it.
A figure stands behind her in the mirror. Dark shadows obscure its face, but from what she can see, it seems to tower over her. She can still feel the heavy breath on the back of her neck and she watches in horror as it leans closer to her. It tilts its head and trails its cold nose against the side of her neck. It changes directions, journeying upwards and turns to trace her jaw with its tongue, leaving an icy path in its wake.
She lets out an ear-piercing scream, thrashing at the air behind her. In her blind panic, she doesn’t notice her fists beginning to collide against something solid. She continues struggling, screaming louder when something grips her wrists and tries to hold her still.
“Shepard? Spirits, Shepard, it’s me!” Garrus’ voice cuts through the commotion and manages to distract her from the worst of her panic. She feels the loud rumble of his subvocals wash over her, helping to ground her mind and bring her out from her frenzy.
“What happened? What did you see?” He questions while bringing a hand up to stroke her hair, smoothing down some of the stubborn strands that have broken out from the braid and have started to get frizzy.
She shakes her head, silently signalling him to give her a moment while she tries to compose herself. She swallows down the rest of the scream that wants to tear through her and finds that she almost chokes on it.
“I know it’s not real, but Garrus… It felt real. It felt so damn real.” Her voice shakes, but she finds herself long past the point of caring. When she turns her head to look back at the mirror, she finds that the figure is still there, peering directly at her over Garrus’ shoulder while mimicking his actions. Its hands follow his, hovering above the two of them. Its movements are gentle as it takes the utmost care to follow along as if it’s trying to learn from him.
The more she watches, the more the figure seems to adapt. It breaks away from its pattern of following Garrus and moves to mime its hand running up and down Shepard’s back. Almost as if it were a mother soothing a frightened child. The thought causes an ache to settle deep inside her chest, burning away next to the cold fear that still grips her.
As it turns its head to try and rest it on top of Shepard’s, the new angle allows her to see its face. It isn’t entirely hidden by shadows like she had thought. Instead, its features merge into the flesh as if the skin is trying to grow over it, covering it in blurry patches.
The longer she stares at the figure, the stronger the feeling of unease flows through her, bringing tears to her eyes. She drops her head against Garrus’ shoulder and inhales deeply, letting the scent of metal distract her from reality. She holds her inhale and counts to five before releasing it. As she does, she can’t help but feel like a teenager in counselling all over again.
“Hey,” Garrus says, his voice soft as he turns her attention away from the mirror and back to him. His mandibles flutter awkwardly and he struggles to find the right words to say, “At least… At least it’s throwing random things at us now and not anything personal?”
She lets out a startled laugh, which comes out as a breathy scoff, and his mandibles begin to relax. “I dunno, Garrus. What if I have some deep-rooted trauma that involves being licked by an entity with no face?”
“Well…” He drags the word out, making a show out of searching for his words. “The only entities that currently don’t have faces, that we can see, would be the quarians. Don’t worry, I won’t let Tali know about your fear of her licking you.”
“You,” she punctuates her point with a sharp poke to his armoured chest and both of them ignore the way her hand trembles, “are terrible. Absolutely terrible.”
“Terribly good at distracting you from hell itself, you mean?” He retorts playfully, catching her wrist and pulling her away from the mirror.
She tries to look at it, to watch the unknown figure follow their every move, but he beats her to it and blocks her view with his body. She starts to grumble out a protest but bites her lip to silence herself instead. She closes her eyes, hoping that by the time she opens them again the panicked Raven Shepard has vanished; that the calm Commander Shepard has returned.
“Sure, let's go with that.” She says instead as she lets him drag her closer to the door.
After a few metres, she feels his fingers sporadically flex against her wrist, followed by a sharp inhale. Almost quiet enough to not be heard over their footsteps, almost.
“What’s wrong?” She questions, watching as he carefully avoids looking in a certain direction.
“It’s nothing.” He replies quickly, too quickly.
She frowns and comes to a stop, he slows down next to her and keeps his eyes glued to the ground. She is silent for a moment, watching his face for a reaction. She gets one after a short pause when he flinches, his eyes shutting tight and his head lowering even more.
“Garrus…” She tries again, resting her hand on his bicep and lowering her head to catch his gaze.
“It’s nothing, Shepard.” He reluctantly opens his eyes, unable to clear the hurt from them before she can notice. Her frown deepens and she moves her hand down his arm until she can slot her five fingers with his three. He breathes out, the sound harsh and ragged.
“It was my dad. Or, well, it was a version of him as a marauder.” He admits before taking a second to collect his thoughts, “He was telling me how it was my fault he was like that, that I should have done more to prepare Palaven for the reapers. What a great Reaper Advisor I turned out to be, I should have done more.”
“You did everything you could, Garrus. You have done so much to stop the reapers, from the very moment we learnt about them. You have been by my side through it all, facing their horrors since the start. No one knew what to expect, even with all the information we collected. Don’t blame yourself for the damage they have caused. That wasn’t your father and while I’ve not met the man, yet, I know he would never say that to you. I also know he would never become a damn marauder. From what you’ve told me about him, his stubbornness could beat even the reapers.”
He chokes out a short laugh, nodding slowly as he processes her words instead of the ones only he can hear. “Yeah, he’s more stubborn than I am, I’ll give him that.”
“More stubborn than you, is that even possible?” She smiles up at him, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. He tugs her closer in response, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers.
“Just wait ‘til you meet him, then you will probably regret agreeing to.”
She nuzzles into him, letting her nose brush against his, “I’ll be the judge of that. Let's get out of here and then we can get EDI to contact his refugee ship, hm?”
He nods, moving her head with his before he finally parts from her. She watches as he tentatively looks around the room, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Right, it shouldn’t be too bad now that we know none of this is real. We just find the shuttle, if it’s still there, or find a way to contact Cortez.”
The look she gives him causes him to falter, embarrassment creeping into his expression. “Easier said than done considering the last five minutes, I’m aware, Shepard.”
“That’s not what I was going to say, but yes, that as well.” She says plainly, her expression one of pure disbelief.
“What was that look for then?”
“You just jinxed us, again.”
He rolls his eyes and turns away from her, approaching the door. He slowly pulls away part of the coat he had shoved against it and recoils when the fog continues to leak through the small gap. Shepard kneels next to him with a pensive expression.
“Considering we’ve been breathing the fog in for hours, I don’t think we can make things any worse by continuing our exposure to it.” She says as she watches it curl around the coat and slip into the large room.
“You’re probably right. Even after we blocked the door, we still saw things. It might take a while for the effects to wear off.” Garrus mumbles, deep in thought as he pulls away the rest of the coat and tossing it to one side.
“If it ever does,” Shepard says quietly, the thought causing her to pause. Garrus stops moving beside her before wringing his hands together.
“Then we will find a way to reverse the effects.” He states firmly.
A distant sound breaks the growing tension in the room, the echo of footsteps drawing closer.
Shepard and Garrus jump back from the door, hands hovering over their holstered weapons. They stay silent and Shepard holds her breath as she listens. The sound continues, picking up in pace before stopping. The sound of something light slapping against the ground follows the pause between footsteps, and then the cycle repeats.
“One of the scientists we saw earlier?” Garrus whispers, leaning closer to her as he does.
“Maybe.” She replies, unconvinced. She strains her ears and begins to hear mumbling between each pause, followed by the occasional struggle.
She unholsters her weapon and aims it at the door. Garrus follows her lead, moving to lean against the wall beside the door while she remains centre.
The noise grows louder.
Heavy, armoured footsteps. Then the light slap of something landing on the stairs, then more footsteps.
Shepard raises her gun and begins to shine blue, the scent of ozone fills the room as she prepares her biotics for the worst.
Whatever approaches lurks just behind the door. She can see the fog parting around it while it slinks its way under the gap. Her heart begins to quicken and she raises an eyebrow at Garrus, earning a tilt of his head in response. She nods and steps back before the blue shine intensifies.
In a flash, she rips the door off the hinges, tossing it to one side just as Garrus spins around to aim his weapon at the entrance; his finger twitching against the trigger.
A startled yelp echoes around the room, followed by an out-of-breath exclamation, “Mierda!”
“James?” Shepard asks, slightly startled by his appearance. Shepard and Garrus keep their weapons raised, making no move to lower them. James raises his eyebrows at them before his hands slowly follow.
“Yeah, Commander, it’s me.” He speaks slowly, confusion and wariness becoming visible on his face when he glances between the two.
“Prove it.” She commands, staring down at him and smothering the hope that dares to grow in her chest.
“Prove it?” He parrots in disbelief. “How am I supposed to prove that it’s me?”
She raises her rifle higher, her finger resting comfortably against the trigger guard. A subtle warning that he quickly catches.
“Okay, okay. Geeze Lola, don’t need to start acting loco. Uh, how about that time when I saved your ass on Mars with my amazing shuttle driving? Or that time I almost beat you during a sparring match on Earth?”
“Yeah, that’s the real Vega, Shepard. Not even the fog could create something that annoying.” Garrus says with a grin as he holsters his weapon, nudging James with his elbow.
“Damn, Scars. Low blow.” James replies with a playful glare. “So… I take it you guys have been seeing stuff as well?”
Shepard isn’t as quick to trust as Garrus and keeps her weapon raised until he gives her a questioning look. She bites the inside of her cheek and forces her body to relax.
“Yeah, it’s a long story. We’ll catch you up on what we’ve discovered once we’re back on the Normandy. Where have you been all this time?” She demands, her voice taking on a harsh edge before she can stop it. She holsters her weapon and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Sorry, but seriously, where did you go?”
“What do you mean? You told me to go back to the shuttle?” He frowns, all prior amusement vanishing from his face. “You came back into the room after roughly five minutes and then ordered me to tell Cortez to prepare the shuttle. We waited around for two hours, then decided that I would come and search for you instead.”
He gestures to an amusingly long rope wrapped around his arm, draped across the stairs behind him, “Hence the rope. I didn’t want to find you, only to have lost the shuttle again.”
“I never told you to do that, Vega.” An uneasy expression takes over her face. “I was in the other room with Garrus the entire time. Once we came back to the main room, it was covered in dust and bodies, and you were nowhere to be found.”
Now it’s James’ turn to look unnerved. He begins to shuffle on the spot, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stares at her. “What do you mean the room was covered in dust once you came back? The room always looked like that.”
Before Shepard can respond, Garrus cuts in with a question of his own. “Vega, besides Shepard in the research base, what else have you seen in the fog?”
She waits for his response, carefully watching his face. She notices every minor muscle twitch and the way he swallows roughly. “My dad. It wasn’t a fun encounter. I also heard Shepard over the comms, saying stuff like how I should have never been allowed on her ship. Knew it was bullshit though, who wouldn’t want me around, ay, Lola?”
“You’re right, it was bullshit.” She declares with a single nod, brushing past the two men to start ascending the stairs. She stretches her shoulders before mumbling under her breath for what must be the hundredth time, “I’m sick of this planet. Let’s go home.”
Through the Mist | Part 4
pairings: Femshep x Garrus
summary: When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.
word count: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60592000/chapters/156559765
ao3 link: 3,618
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
“This is where you– or what I thought was you– led me,” Shepard speaks slowly, her eyes cast down at the steel cover on the ground between them.
“Led you?” He questions, which only gets a shrug in response.
Garrus lifts the heavy object with ease and lets it fall back. It hits the ground with a loud bang that echoes down the newly revealed stairway, winding deep underground. Despite the ringing in her ears, Shepard hears movement in the distance behind her. An out-of-sync shuffling that roams around aimlessly, searching for its prey. The bang has stirred something up around them.
“Are you sure you want us to go into the creepy underground bunker? That one of the fog…things lead us to?” Garrus queries. Shepard just nods in reply, sending out a small shockwave down into its depths to gauge how deep it goes. She watches the bright ripple of light shoot down the stairs, growing dimmer until it hits something solid at the bottom.
Her back begins to prickle, the heavy weight of eyes falling upon it. “We might not have a choice, I think the scientists are back.”
“Oh great,” he mutters dejectedly, “I was really hoping for them to show up again.”
Shepard snorts, the sudden sound causes her to startle and she feels her cheeks redden. She pointedly ignores his smug smile and begins to march down the stairs, following her shockwaves and refusing to let her limp slow her down. Garrus is glued to her back, staying as close as he can. He methodically checks the opening behind them, making sure nothing has the chance to sneak up on them again.
The walls are too narrow. Spacious enough for a human, but not so much for a turian. The sides of his armour scrape against them, producing an ear-piercing sound. Shepard rubs at her forehead, trying to soothe the budding headache. She can’t tell if it's from stress or the sound, and at this rate, she’s willing to bet on either. Garrus mutters a small apology from behind her and grimaces at the angry lines it’s likely leaving behind on his armour.
The fog refuses to follow them down, giving them relief from its heavy presence; without its ghostly visage, the staircase is revealed to them in short, bright bursts. The walls surrounding them are cracked, the plaster peeling off in thick, heavy clumps and littering the rusted metal below them. The more they descend, the more Shepard begins to notice the rise in temperature. Her underarmour begins to cling to her skin, her braid sticking to the back of her warm neck.
“You know,” Garrus drawls out, if only to break the silence, “Your gun’s torch would provide a more stable source of light.”
“What? You mean to say you don’t enjoy seeing in short intervals? I think it adds to the atmosphere.” She keeps her voice light and lets herself smile when he releases an amused huff. “If something happens to be hiding at the bottom, they will become visible sooner and then get knocked back before they can strike.”
“I think you just want to show off your biotics.” He retorts playfully, his hands itching to hold his rifle, just for his own peace of mind.
“Is that jealousy I hear?” She jokes back before holding up a closed fist, signalling him to stay behind when she reaches the door. The pair fall silent and Shepard holds her breath, only a faint buzzing can be heard beyond the door.
She unholsters her rifle and removes the safety, giving the weapon a quick once-over before toggling its torch. She cocks her eyebrow at Garrus before tilting her head towards the door, he gives her a nod and moves closer, getting ready to grab his own weapon the moment he follows her into the room; ideally one that has more space than the current stairwell.
Shepard slowly opens the door, letting out a sigh of relief when it doesn’t put up a fight. She rushes into the room, shining her light into each corner as she advances.
The room is dimly lit with the blue and orange glow of functioning consoles. Large screens, flooded with data, cover the wall opposite the door. A black leather chair sits in front, it’s back turned towards Shepard. She slowly creeps towards it, keeping her steps as light as her sprain will allow her. Once it is within arms reach, she violently swings it around, keeping her rifle trained on its every move.
Her finger twitches against the trigger and she recoils when the sharp scent of decay reaches her.
A figure sits in the chair. Its limbs are long and bony, the skin having started to flake and peel. Its ribs and shoulders jut out of its body, revealing the hollow depths of what remains of its skin between the bones. What remains of its hair hangs limply over the face. The long, brown strands cling together in thick clumps. Through the greasy strands, Shepard catches a glance at its face.
Its eyes are wide open and bloodshot. Translucent and inky tears stained its sunken cheeks.
She nudges its knee with the muzzle of her gun and thankfully, it remains still. “It’s dead,” she declares after a moment.
Garrus lowers his weapon and steps closer, his eyes scanning every inch. “The uniform is similar in style to what we saw earlier, but the colours are different. The previous ones wore white, but this one is wearing light green.”
“Maybe a higher-up?” Shepard thinks aloud and her eyes fall upon the name badge. Scratches cover the surface, rendering all the information unreadable. She stares at the uniform, her eyes tracking over the textured material before falling on the missing armband. “None of the uniforms have logos.”
Garrus moves towards one of the consoles, his three-fingered hand running across the keys with practised ease. “No, which is strange for a group of scientists apparently good enough to catch Hackett’s eye.”
“So, we either have a group of underground scientists working independently, or we have a group that is purposefully hiding themselves.” She pauses for a moment, glancing over at the door, “I’m going to put my money on the latter.”
Garrus hums and his fingers pause, his index finger tapping the edge of the console. “Or a smaller, independent team that was working alongside an organisation that kept them in the dark. Effectively using them as a cover-up. Think about it, Shepard. Everything has been too clean until now, too careful.”
She nods, biting her lip and crossing her arms as she moves to lean against the console beside him. “Then something went wrong and everyone was either killed or managed to get out. But what were they developing and why here of all places?”
Before he can reply, the large screen flickers. A hexadecimal face slowly appears in the lines of code scrolling down the screen.
Shepard is the first to notice, her muscles lock in place when its binary pupils fall upon her.
“Garrus?” She whispers harshly, trying to remain as still as possible. He quickly picks up on her distress and turns to look at her. She flicks her eyes in the direction of the screen, watching as he slowly drags his eyes over to it.
He pauses for a moment, eyes squinting around the room before he turns to stare at her once more. “Shepard?”
“Over there. On the screen,” Shepard mumbles, her eyes not once breaking away from the monitor.
“Shepard, I don’t… There’s nothing there.” Garrus’ voice, full of certainty, hits her hard. Shepard feels her stomach drop and shuffles away from the console. The glowing green digits that form its eyes follow her movements, carefully sliding across the screen to keep her in focus.
“Great, just perfect.”
“Nothing has hurt us yet. I’m beginning to think that it isn’t able to, not physically, at least.” Garrus says, his eyes flicking through all the information popping up from the console in front of him. He pauses, breaking his eyes away to look at her for a brief moment. “Not that I’m in a rush to prove that or anything.”
“If that massive face begins to crawl out of the screen and tries to eat me, I’ll let you know if it hurts,” Shepard says, sarcasm coating her words.
“Much appreciated.”
Shepard rolls her eyes and finds the strength to finally look away from the screen. She takes a deep breath and steels herself, doing her best to ignore its presence entirely as she moves around the room. She spots something on the desk, glistening in the vibrant lighting of the tech surrounding them.
She moves closer and feels her heart freeze in her chest. A dainty hairbrush sits atop the desk, its silver back is engraved with a dainty “R.S ”, and the letters are almost worn away with constant use.
“How is this here?” She mutters, her fingers ghosting over the top of the item. Her eyes glaze over, missing the way her fingers glide through the object, rather than across. Small tendrils of fog, thin enough to be overlooked entirely, wrap around her fingertips.
“Raven, if you keep refusing to let me cut this mane of yours, you’re going to need to learn how to look after it yourself.” A gentle voice floats around her and a hand is placed on her shoulder, guiding her to sit on top of a large bed.
She follows the hand without question and the room around her warps into a memory.
“But it makes my arm ache, so you do it for me.” She replies with a wide grin, her voice sounds more carefree and youthful as she lets her legs dangle over the edge, too short to rest comfortably on the ground.
The warm evening sun slips through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. She feels the familiar bristles pass through her hair, tugging slightly as it reaches the tangled ends. Her mother hums a lullaby and keeps one of her hands on Shepard’s shoulder, holding her still whenever she tries to squirm when the brush passes through a stubborn knot.
She hears someone shouting her name outside, the deep rumble feels familiar, but it is too far away for her to discern. She lets her eyes flutter shut, but the voice is persistent. The hand on her shoulder twitches, the lullaby halting for a second before picking up once more.
The notes float around the room, weaving and diving through the air with ease. The offbeat ones catch against Shepard’s ears and send a sharp jolt to her brain. An unpleasant buzzing sinks through her skin, down into her very bones and travels through her nervous system like cracks across a frozen lake.
Her mother is never offbeat.
“Can we go to the market tomorrow?” She asks, letting the dying warmth of the sun sink into her skin.
“Oh honey, there’s no need.” The gentle voice replies. She places the brush on the bed beside Shepard and runs her fingers through her long, black hair.
“Why not, mom?”
“Because there won’t be a tomorrow, silly girl.” The hand on her shoulder tightens; the smell of smoke and blood fills the air. Shepard turns her head and glances at the hand. The skin is grey and its black veins try to break free from their confinement of flesh.
The voice outside tries again, growing more desperate.
She feels her muscles contract, her nerves set alight, yet she tries to remain calm. Her mother moves behind her, leaning closer until they are cheek to cheek. The other woman’s skin is clammy and warm and almost sticks to Shepard as she presses against her even more. Her mother brings her other hand up to clutch the side of Shepard’s head, pulling her as close as physically possible.
Shepard squeezes her eyes shut, biting her cheeks to hold back the scream that wants to tear itself out of her throat.
“You always regretted surviving Mindoir, didn’t you?”
Before she has the chance to reply, a sharp pain startles her and causes her eyes to fly open. The warm sun is missing, chased away by the colourful fluorescent light emitting from the room. She looks down and spots Garrus’ hand wrapped around her arm, his eyes both apologetic and full of concern.
“Are you okay? I lost you for a moment.” “Did you pinch me?” She asks, slightly bewildered as she lightly rubs her cheek.
“Ah. Sorry. You zoned out pretty badly there. You weren’t responding to anything, then I remembered something James mentioned a while back, something about pinching him to make sure he was awake.” He brings up a hand to hold hers while the other strokes the small red mark on her cheek.
“Thanks, I don’t exactly know what happened.” She glances at the desk, now void of any personal memorabilia. When she looks up at the screen, she sees the face continuing to stare down at her. She sighs before squeezing his hand. “I was back on Mindoir, Garrus. It felt so real. It wasn’t a flashback though.”
“You’re back here now, it’s okay.” He tries to give her his best, most reassuring smile. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart as much as she can and nods.
“Well, considering the circumstances…is it really ‘okay’?” She uses her free hand to mimic air quotes, grinning when he gives her an unamused glare. “At least we’re not out there with all the creepy not-quite-zombie people still.”
"Shepard, are you really joking at a time like this?" Despite his expression, he struggles to hide the humour in his voice. The planet hasn’t broken them yet, despite its many attempts.
"It's that or throw up, so I'd prefer to try and joke."
Garrus replies with a quiet hum and gives her a gentle pat on the shoulder. She wobbles slightly and struggles to find her footing without putting too much weight on her ankle. She fiddles with her gloves, apprehension etching itself onto her face.
“This isn’t real, that much we know. We can also guess that it has something to do with the fog.” Garrus nods along with her, confirming her rambling without interrupting her thought process. “The why and how is still up for debate.”
“Shepard, is it just me or does it seem like it’s been, I don’t know, helping you?” He asks, a talon steadily tapping against his thigh in thought. The gentle melody floats around them, chasing away her unease, if only for a moment.
Her theorising comes to a sudden halt and she gawks at him for a short moment. “It’s you.”
“I’m being serious, you said it led you here earlier.”
“Yes, and it also said that I was supposed to have died when I was a teenager, Garrus. I’m not entirely certain that it has our best interests at heart.” She shoots back and moves to cross her arms against her chest. She glares down at the floor, silently damning the planet to every deity in the galaxy.
“Hear me out, at least? It led us to the bases, it brought me back to you when we got separated, and now it brought us here. There’s some correlation there.” He mirrors her body language but keeps his eyes locked on her instead.
“Or it could be one huge coincidence. We still don’t know where the hell Vega is, it doesn’t seem to be helping us find him.” Shepard says, ignoring the pointed look he gives her.
“I know you don’t believe in coincidences, Shep.” Garrus leaves her to her thoughts, moving to inspect the corpse as best he can.
She watches him carefully poke and prod, trying to get more information out of it. Much like all the other bodies that littered their path, this one remains an anomaly. Garrus’ frustrated growl does little to fill her with confidence as each inspection grants him more questions. He continues despite each roadblock if only to find something to focus on before having to begin the trek outside once more.
He peels back part of the name badge, his mandibles flaring out in surprise. “Recognise this logo?”
Shepard inches closer to look at his discovery, squinting her eyes to get a better glance. The familiar symbol sits proudly behind the fake name badge, haphazardly thrown on top. Two white lines encasing a green less-than sign.
“Exogeni?” She whispers, almost as if saying the name aloud will breathe life into the body before them.
She spots his eyes flickering to the corner before falling back on the body. His visor glitches. The blue light that drowns half of his face dies before coming to life once more, but he doesn’t seem to notice. She stands a little straighter when she watches him flinch. His head snaps up to face the corner fully, abandoning his search. He steps around the chair almost mechanically, his body as still as stone when he comes to a halt.
Shepard warily drags her eyes away from him to look at the corner of the room. Besides the slight shadows hiding from the reaches of a technological glow, the corner is empty.
She slowly approaches him to stand by his side and if he hears her, he doesn’t show it. When she looks up at him again, his mandibles are pulled painfully tight against his face. His eyes are wide in terror and Shepard feels her own beginning to return to her.
“Garrus, tell me what you see.” Despite being the only two in the room, Shepard keeps the order confined to a hushed murmur.
He shivers and finds Shepard’s hand with his own, all while his eyes stay glued to the walls. “You don’t see it?”
She shakes her head, knowing he would catch the movement of her inky hair in his peripheral. He sucks in a shallow breath through gritted teeth.
“There’s a human. A woman, but her hair is closer to wet string than human hair. It’s all clumped together, but it’s patchy in areas like it’s been pulled out. Her scalp is inflamed in those spots, I can see the swollen skin from here.” His voice wavers as he rattles out descriptions. His training at C-Sec falters in the face of his fear and Shepard squeezes his hand in reassurance.
“Her skin is too pale, almost grey and her veins-”
“Are black and protruding?” She finishes his description for him, a quiet dread falling onto their shoulders with her words.
“Yes. Do you see her now?” He asks.
“Sorry, Garrus, all I see is an empty room. But I did see something similar in my… I don’t know, not-quiet-a-flashback?” She rolls her head to and fro as if the action could bat the memory away. “There was a woman behind me, I thought it was my mom and I didn’t see much of her besides her hand, but the skin was almost identical.”
“Could…?” He falters, not daring to finish the question that neither of them wants the answer to. Shepard simply sighs, resigning herself to it anyway.
“Does she have black hair?” Garrus shakes his head, the action is so rigid that Shepard can feel her own neck ache in sympathy. “Then it's something else entirely.”
Her words do little to reassure him, if anything, he manages to grow even more tense. His fingers grip hers as if she were a lifeline. She is almost certain that if she were to remove her gloves, there would be light bruising in the form of three fingers wrapped around her hand. Not that she minds, considering Garrus most likely has a matching set on his.
“That’s not all, Shepard. Her face… she’s smiling. Her eyes look sad, but Spirits, it’s not natural. It’s so wide, Shepard. Her skin is cracking at the corners.”
A heavy dread settles within Shepard’s stomach, sending ice into her veins despite the warmth of the room. She slowly unlatches her rifle and aims it towards the corner, she catches Garrus’ eye out of the corner of her own, waiting for his signal. He gently nudges her gun, lifting the nozzle higher and then gives her a small nod.
Shepard quickly pulls the trigger back, shooting straight ahead. The impact of the shot hitting the wall rings around the room, only to be interrupted when Garrus lets out a sharp intake of breath and scrambles backwards, dragging her along with him.
“It moved closer.” He replies, a quiet shiver infiltrates his subvocals.
“What happened when I shot it?” Shepard asks, reloading her rifle with a glare aimed at the air in front of them.
“Nothing, it just went through her.” She lets out a silent sigh at his reply but continues to point her gun forward. “But the smile grew even wider if that helps?”
“It really doesn’t, Garrus. I hate to say it, but I think I’m shooting at a hallucination.” She does her best to keep her voice calm and steady, but the lingering anxiety refuses to unlatch itself from her tongue.
“Yeah, knowing that doesn’t make it any better though.” He frantically scatters backwards again, putting the chair between him and the unknown figure. A loud crack breaks their attention and when Shepard looks down at the ground, she spots an old datapad, clinging onto life under his boot.
“That definitely wasn’t there before, was it?” Garrus gives her a small shrug, but before he can vocalise his answer, the datapad wins against its struggle and flares to life.
A familiar static fills the room.
Through the Mist | Part 3
pairings: Femshep x Garrus
summary: When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.
word count: 4,742
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60592000/chapters/155683033
Part 1 | Part 2
Shepard limps aimlessly around the room. All of Garrus’ consistent protests for her to sit fall on deaf ears as she relentlessly searches every nook and cranny for information. Despite her meticulous rummaging, her attempts lead her to nothing but dead ends. Her hands curl into tightly held fists and despite the thick material protecting her hands, she can still feel her nails digging into her palms.
The sensation helps to ground her, if only for a fleeting second. A million thoughts begin to rush through her mind as she forms plan after plan, each one falling short for one reason or another; not enough information, not enough visibility, or not enough people.
“You’re not enough,” she thinks briefly, the thought shocking her out of her hyperfocused state. It rattles around her brain, hitting every concealed sore spot with deadly precision.
The lamp flickers, casting an array of shadows around them for a brief second. It was only a slight flicker, barely noticeable under any other circumstance, and yet Shepard felt her lungs constrict. Her past experiences have trained her to assume the worst at all times.
She watches as Garrus falls back into his past C-Sec mode, still scanning through dozens of old reports and making mental notes of anything that stands out to him. He works silently, with the occasional hum breaking her concentration and pulling her amused eyes over to his corner.
He stands still besides the occasional shuffle to keep his legs awake. The clinking of metal and rustling of paper encase his space while his mind processes everything. She watches him tilt his head to one side, deep in thought, before slowly nodding to himself in agreement—a gesture of hers that has rubbed off on him, no doubt.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” He mumbles to himself, flicking through the same report for the hundredth time. He turns to meet her gaze, gesturing down at the collection of records. “Nothing here seems to be relevant to the planet or the research bases. It’s like someone’s made a collection of random reports to throw people off their trail, nothing is linked.”
“What sort of stuff is it?” She asks wearily, half-expecting the bad news before it had been delivered.
“Noveria stock reports, biology reports on all council species, Attican Beta transport routes, ‘The Art of Live Subjects’: A published dissertation by Dr Ross.” He reads out before dropping the datapad back onto the shelf. “You’d think someone would have left at least one piece of evidence behind.”
“If it was a harmless project that went wrong, then maybe.” She says, her mind filtering through what little information she has. “But from what we’ve seen already, I don’t believe any of this was a mistake.”
“Cerberus?” Garrus asks, his voice hardening as he struggles to hide the small growl threatening to follow the word.
Shepard simply scrunches up her nose and shakes her head, “It better not be, otherwise I’m going to be even more pissed, but I don’t think it's them this time. As resourceful as they are…The stuff it…”
She trails off and her shoulders relax when Garrus picks up her sentence for her, “Hm, you’re right. It was far too personal, almost tailored to hurt us in a specific way. Even with their connections, Cerberus couldn’t have that much accuracy on our weaknesses.”
“Yeah, about that, how are you doing?” The words come out hurried, as if speaking of the events might summon a new round within their sanctuary. “I know I said we’ll talk about it on the Normandy, but that was… intense.”
He gives her a half-hearted shrug, “No better than how you’re probably doing, all things considered. It was weird, but it’s nothing I've not already told myself anyway. You were right before though, we will have time to spill the lions or whatever once we’re back on the Normandy and not waiting for it to strike again.”
That startles a laugh out of her, and if the proud smile on his face is any indication, his plan was a success.
Now safe from what awaits them in the fog, Shepard finally lets herself drop down against the wall. Her armour clunks against itself while she shuffles to rest her injured ankle on top of the other. The pain throbs up her leg, the swollen appendage pressing painfully against the firm fabric of her boots. She lets her head fall back as a new wave of pain washes over her, all the adrenaline that had kept her active now fades away into bone-deep exhaustion. Her mind feels like it’s been set alight, buzzing with ancient anxieties and long-buried memories that have been dredged back to the surface.
Her skin prickles and a heavy weight falls over her like a blanket. Familiar feelings overtake her, feelings that she has since tried to forget: regret, loss, and helplessness.
It has been a long time since she let the sensation of failure fall over her. With too much to do and far too much to lose, it had been much easier to push them deep down.
The room suddenly feels too hot, a sickly oppressive feeling seeping in through the cracks and into her flesh. The walls close in on her and Shepard has to bite her tongue to hold back the strangled groan clawing up her throat. She suddenly feels like the scared sixteen-year-old girl she was and not the thirty-two-year-old, battle-hardened woman that she is.
The safety of the building is beginning to feel more and more like a gilded cage, whatever respite she had is being rapidly sucked away from her with each passing second. Something unknown sneaks inside of her, urging her to move. The stillness burns at her flesh.
“This is all your fault, you brought them here. And now one of them is lost, dealing with who knows what.” Something whispers in the back of her mind in an unrelenting caricature of her voice.
“Do you think James is alright?” She asks if only to drown out the thought. Her eyes are trained firmly on the ceiling.
Garrus pauses his work for a moment as he considers her question, “We’ve gone through worse so I doubt he’s in trouble. He probably got the lucky side of things and reached the others to let them know the situation.”
“Have we?” Shepard’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper as she lets her eyes fall shut. “Gone through worse, I mean.”
“Shepard?” The concerned trill of his subvocals floats around her, loud enough to fill the small room.
“Can you honestly say you’ve been through worse than what we’re currently up against? It’s not like we can exactly shoot our way, or talk our way, through this.”
“Well…Yeah, I can, Shepard.” His voice is tense and he awkwardly shuffles to lean against the wall, idly adjusting his gloves just to have something to do with his hands. “We’ve already gone through the stuff it’s throwing at us. As much as it hurts to re-experience, it’s not exactly new to us, in a way.”
That catches her attention and she slowly drops her eyes from the ceiling to fall upon him. She can’t read his expression, which is rare for her after all the time spent by his side, yet the look in his eyes causes her heart to crack.
“Garrus… I’m sorry, you’re right. What would I do without you?” She lets out a long breath, feeling her lungs and eyes burn.
“We both know you would kick just as much ass with or without me, Shepard. I’m just here so you can do it in style.” He tries to joke, but the words come out too slowly, his voice wavering with each word. “I’m scared as well, for the record.”
Her eyes fly open and her head snaps to look in his direction. Garrus is avoiding her gaze, purposefully shuffling his evidence around as if it could drown out his admission. Her protective instinct wakes up from its slumber and she slowly rises to her feet. She has to use the wall as leverage, palming at it firmly while she shuffles over to the door. She runs her hand through her long hair, parts of it falling loose from the braid she wears during missions.
“Where are you going?” Garrus asks warily, refusing to look away from her.
“To get some air and to check our surroundings, there’s no point in having both of us cooped up in here. I might as well make sure nothing is trying to break in while you scan through all those.” She waves her hand in the direction of his small pile of records and datapads, neither of them willing to address the way her hand trembles.
“Are you insane, Shepard?” He counters automatically, his voice echoing in the space between them. She turns to stare at him with a single, slender eyebrow raised. He breathes in slowly, holding his breath as he considers his words. “Look, we don’t know what we’re up against. It’s your call, but… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Alright, so I’ll stick my head out of the door and shoot anything that approaches,” she says bluntly.
“Spirits, Shepard.”
“We’re never going to know what we’re up against if we stay hidden away in here, Garrus.” She argues before relenting, giving him an apologetic smile. “Look, I understand your concern. I’ll keep the door open and I won’t leave your line of sight unless it’s strictly necessary, okay?”
Garrus gives Shepard a long look before slowly nodding. He turns to lean against the wall so he can watch her, grumbling something about “stubborn humans going to give their boyfriend an aneurysm” under his breath the entire time. She gives him a soft look before flaring her barrier and letting its soft, blue light encase her form.
She opens the door slowly, her body thrumming with built-up biotic energy at the ready. The air is still as if the breeze they felt upon their arrival never existed. The pair hold their breaths as the fog snakes its way into the room, yet nothing follows. The night is silent, no shuffling or groans breach the darkness. She strains her ears to be certain, not wanting to be ambushed by god knows what, but the only thing she hears is the frantic thumping of her heart. Shepard lets out a relieved sigh, her body keeping up its protective glow.
“See, everything is fine.” She says casually, her tense shoulders doing little to help her calm facade.
“Sure, but that doesn’t explain where the horde of corpses went. They have to be out there somewhere.” Garrus calls from his corner, watching her like a hawk.
Shepard shakes her head as the fog curls around her, feeling heavy on her flesh. She lifts her arm and extends it out of the door, she’s mesmerised by how it floats around her and sneaks into the small gaps in her armour. “Do they?”
Garrus cocks his head at her, he carefully places the datapad to one side before rising to his feet. She watches him for a moment before turning her head to stare outside. She lets the fresh air wash over her, cooling her skin. As she stares deeper into the darkness, not a single star or moon in the sky above, she spots something. Someone.
She squints, willing her eyes to focus while her hand twitches with the urge to grab her rifle; if only to feel the comforting weight of it in her hands. The figure moves closer and the fog almost seems to part itself to reveal the person within. She feels her heart stop before solace sparks through it instead.
“Vega?” She calls, hope blooming in the words. She’s already moving, letting the fog pull her further outside. “Garrus, stay here.”
She hears Garrus sprint forward, not caring about damaging any of the reports scattered around him as he reaches to grab Shepard’s arm.
She’s too quick and is instantly swallowed by the consuming darkness, leaving nothing but mist in his grasp.
“Shepard?” Garrus shouts into the night, the words coming out frantic. She turns to give him a reassuring smile, only to find that she is alone. Her smile becomes strained and her cheeks begin to ache from the expression now frozen upon her face.
Where the building had been just a second ago now sits an empty void, fog and darkness as her only companions. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, the thick air sticking to the back of her throat. A rare, yet naive part of her hopes that once she opens her eyes, she will be back in the room. Garrus will be in his corner complaining about a lack of evidence.
Too late to regret her every move, she exhales slowly. She opens her eyes to stare into nothingness once more.
She grits her teeth, “Garrus, can you hear me? I can’t see you.” Her words come out desperate, her lower lip beginning to wobble. There is no answer and she has to bite back the shaky sigh that threatens to escape her. “For fuck’s sake.”
Her heart begins to race and her hands begin to shake, but she pushes forward towards James. She had already let him slip from her side once before, this time she refuses to let him be snatched away.
“Garrus will be fine, he’s inside the base. Just grab Vega and find wherever the base is. Then we will get the hell out of here.” She mutters to herself, believing her own words less and less.
She hobbles over to the younger soldier, glad to see that he’s unharmed despite everything that’s happened. She reaches out to pat him on the shoulder but makes no contact, her hand slides right through him as he flickers in the fog.
“...James?”
“Commander,” he answers, his voice disjointed and wrong.
She stares up at him, her pale eyes morphing into a glare. “What are you?”
James lets out a low laugh, the sound coming out deeper than normal. “Can’t you tell, Lola? Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”
She freezes, completely taken aback by his words. The eager lieutenant would never dare to speak to her like that. She wants to argue, to demand what it’s done with her squad member, but James pins her with a cold look.
“Nah, I guess you’ve always relied on luck, haven’t you?” He begins to circle her like a shark, the movements are sharp and jagged compared to his usually casual actions. “Is luck gonna win us this war, Commander?”
“I don’t know what you are, but you’re wrong,” she replies while his words stab at her heart. “We are going to win this war, all of us, united together to defeat the reapers.”
“Uh-huh. How can you unite a galaxy when you can’t even help yourself, Commander?” James looks her up and down, appraising her before scoffing, the action expells a small puff of fog from his lips. Shepard feels a hot flush of anger and moves to jab a finger at his chest, feeling more fury when she simply phases through him.
“I don’t know what you are talking about considering we’ve done a fairly good job so far. We have the turians, the krogan, the quarians, the geth, and even the rachni.”
James just smiles, his eyes dull and void of life. “What about the asari? What about Thessia?”
She bristles, white-hot guilt running through the fresh scar. Since the invasion of Earth, things haven’t been perfect, but Thessia was a whole new level of misery for her. Shepard’s jaw tenses and her teeth grind together while she slowly builds her composure back up, small brick by brick. “Thessia was…a failure.”
“Yup,” he drags the word out, letting the sharp pop of the word ring through Shepard’s ears. “Maybe that’s why you’ve been so careless, Lola.”
“What?” She asks coolly.
“It’s not like you to rush in so carelessly, is all I’m saying. You hardly had any info and it’s not like it was a time-sensitive mission. But you just charged in and dragged us into hell with you, all because Hackett asked nicely.” He replies, his tone equally unfriendly as his eyes bore into hers. “What were you hoping to achieve with this mission, Commander? Redemption? Payback? To prove that you are still worthy of our support?”
“I was…” She clears her throat, letting conviction fill her voice, “I was doing my damn job. We need people to build the catalyst, so Hackett sent me to get people.”
The figure with James’ face just laughs, the sound is harsh and ragged against her ears. She clenches her hands into fists, teeth digging into her cheek as she stares at him. She watches as his mirthful face warps and flutters before he fades from sight, “keep believing that and you will stay lost, Lola.”
Shepard is left alone in the darkness. She is alone and cold, and as much as she would rather die than admit it out loud, she is very afraid. The black void around her sinks into her heart, weighing it down.
She drops to her knees and her armour cushions her fall. She presses her forearms against the ground, leaning against them and feels as if her body is made out of lead. She lets her head drop, her inky hair covering her face as she struggles to breathe.
Her chest is tight, too tight to allow enough air to pass through her lungs. Her chest burns with each attempt. Her fingers curl against the floor, digging in as deep as they can as she gasps for air. Panic claws at Shepard’s throat with an icy touch, her fingers move of their own accord to mimic its ghostly caress; her chest begins to heave with every syncopated breath.
“What a sight,” she mutters miserably, “the renowned commander on her knees in the middle of a mission. Another mission that I’ve fucked up as well.”
A gentle touch on her shoulder sharply brings her back to the present and she jumps to her feet with a strangled gasp, instantly unholstering her rifle in the process. Her muscles ache from how tightly she holds herself together and she stares up at the turian standing in front of her with wide eyes.
“Garrus?” She chokes out as she lowers her weapon and attaches it to her back. She gives him a watery smile as she moves closer, seeking comfort in his presence. “You startled me there, big guy. Did you have to sneak up on me like that?”
He just shrugs, his mandibles flicking out too quickly for her to discern the emotion.
“Did you find anything?” She asks quickly.
He repeats the action, looking over her head and deeper into the night. Shepard tenses and crosses her arms against her chest to hide the shiver that shoots through her.
“Did something happen to you as well?” She tries again, trying not to take offence when he simply looks away again and begins walking away. “It’s alright, Garrus. It’s difficult now, but we will make it back home.”
She has to scramble to catch up with him, his longer legs letting him cover more ground. Worry gnaws away at her while she watches him out of the corner of her eye. He wears an expression that she can’t quite pinpoint, his mandibles are too stiff and his eyes are unfocused. Without any warning, his pace begins to quicken, turning into a small jog. She tries to match his pace and her ankle protests with each step as she runs alongside him.
She grits her teeth and pushes through the pain, refusing to leave his side again. His silence unnerves her. Each moment slips by without a word, only the sound of their boots hitting the floor and her muffled groans accompany them.
He comes to a sudden halt, staring down at the ground with a frown.
“Garrus, what’s wrong?”
“You really wouldn’t be able to do anything without me, would you?” His voice cracks out at her like a whip, the duel tones of his voice ringing out with his discomfort.
“What do you mean? Where is this coming from?” She keeps her voice sharp, hoping that the bluntness of her regular ‘commander voice’ can hide the hurt within.
“Where is this coming from?” He repeats, disbelief colouring his words. “Maybe the fact that I have done everything for you. I left my job at C-Sec to follow you. I was ready to throw away my life for your suicide mission. I am the only reason you haven’t worked yourself to death and lost us this damn war.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. Garrus stares at her before rolling his eyes and continuing, “But what have you done for me, Shepard? You weren’t even there for me when my mother died.”
“Garrus, I was under Alliance custody. I would have done everything in my power to support you regardless. But I was locked up without any form of contact or information.” Her voice wavers and she can feel her pulse race.
He moves closer, now towering over her. She refuses to meet his eyes, unable to cope with what she might see in them.
“You always have an excuse, don’t you?” He lets out a hollow laugh, moving closer. “And why were you in Alliance custody again? Does the number three thousand and five hundred ring any bells?”
Shepard feels something snap inside her, a burning coil that warms her chest and laces her tongue with a bitterness she only reserved for the mirror. “No, you do not get to use that against me. You don’t get to use any of that against me. It was the Bahak system or the galaxy, I didn’t have much of a choice and you know that. I know you do.”
He gives a lazy shrug. His mandibles flick out and he opens his mouth to reply before she interrupts him, “I’m not finished. You have always had the choice to follow me, so don’t put that on me if you’re regretting it now.”
“Yes, because you are perfect and can do no wrong.” He moves closer, the fog growing more opaque.
“I never said that.” She argues, her vision wavers with the tears she refuses to let fall in front of him.
“That’s why you worked with a terrorist organisation.” He takes another step, ignoring her distress.
“That’s not why, I had no choice.” She takes a step back, his face distorts and warps as he follows her.
The air around her drops, and her skin freezes when she looks back at Garrus. His features are now missing entirely, nothing more than a shadowed figure flickering in the fog.
“You always have a choice, maybe you just pick the bad option every time, Shepard.” His voice is followed by the familiar static, ringing loudly in her ears.
Shepard flinches, startled by the sudden, almost deafening noise. Her heel catches on something hard sticking out of the ground and she topples backwards. She throws her hands out to soften her fall, trying to prevent yet another sprain. Her eyes are shut tight as she tries to keep her tears from falling.
When she finally sits up and reluctantly opens her eyes, the figure is gone.
She remains on the floor, her limbs suddenly feeling heavier than an elcor as hot tears begin to flow down her cheeks. Her heart pounds against its skeletal case with a frantic beat and she has to bite down on her fist to muffle a sob. Fury and anguish dance inside of her, mixing and stealing away what resolve she had left. Her body begins to shiver, growing worse with each sob.
Something sharp pokes against her thigh. There's something solid and freezing protruding from the ground, but Shepard can’t find the strength to move from her position. She would have to move eventually, too many lives depend on her continued survival, but for now, she lets the shock wash over her; far too tired to fight against it. The fog sits heavily against her tears, sticking against the wet trails they’ve left down her cheeks.
A sudden tap in the distance breaks her out of her wallowing. She tilts her head to listen, the sound repeating in a soothing pattern.
The taps grow louder, the rhythm becoming more recognisable as they grow closer. The sound of boots against stone. Heavy boots.
She curls her hand into a fist, letting her biotics flow down to cover it in a shield, waiting for her to strike. She remains frozen on the ground, letting the fog wash over to cover her. She has never felt more like the predator and prey than she does in this moment.
She hears the familiar click of a thermal clip sliding into a rifle. It causes her to flinch and she whips around with a dizzying speed. She darts towards the figure, her glowing blue fist raised to strike. Her biotics drown them in a bright light and moments before she makes contact, she spots a very stunned turian staring back at her through the blue haze.
Shepard quickly pulls her fists back, letting the power die and taking the light with it.
“Spirits, Shepard. I didn’t realise that was you.” Garrus powers up his omni-tool, shining it in her direction to get a better look.
“No, get away from me,” she commands as more tears rush down her cheeks. They glitter in the orange glow of his omni-tool. “Not again, I don’t want to do this again.”
He falters for a moment, watching as she shrinks away. He watches as she hunches over, gripping her chest tightly as she struggles to breathe. Garrus ignores her order and reaches for her. He gently places his hand on her elbow, pulling her closer to him so he can press his forehead against hers.
“Shepard, sweetie… What happened?” His voice is a whisper and his fingers curl in her hair, grounding and soothing her with each stroke. She is tense, but the more she breathes in the familiar scent of metal and gun oil, she feels her traitorous body begin to relax.
“You’re not real.” Her voice cracks at the admission.
“You are Commander Raven Shepard. The best damn CO I’ve had the pleasure to serve under, the most reckless one as well. You are also the kindest woman I’ve met and the love of my life. Shepard, I’m here, this isn’t a trick.” He moves to nuzzle her, wiping away the rest of her tears with his hand. She lets out a soft sigh when he moves to cup her cheek, gently stroking her cheekbone with his thumb.
“Then the stuff you said. You didn’t mean it?”
“The stuff it said was wrong.” He sighs and Shepard feels his hand shake against her skin. “If it was anything like what I had thrown at me, then yeah, it was wrong.”
That gets her attention and her head snaps up to look at him, her eyes shine more than sadness now. “What happened?”
Garrus rubs the back of his neck with the hand not clutching her, as if she might slip away again. “Oh, you know, the usual. I’m sure we will have a day-long mission debrief to go through all the wonderful experiences we’ve had.”
“But are you alright?” She questions, catching his hand and holding it tightly. She rubs small circles on the back of his hand.
“I feel like I should be asking you that.”
“Well, you know, the usual,” she echoes, giving him a small smile before rolling her shoulders and taking a deep breath. “So, James wasn’t actually James. Which still leaves us a squad member down.”
Garrus lets out a small hum as he surveys the new area they’ve reluctantly found themselves in. “So, something is trying to separate us? It would make sense, or maybe…”
He trails off, letting his words fizzle out when he nudges something with the tip of his boot. The loud clank of his heavy armour hitting its target confirms his thoughts.
Shepard watches as he squints, waving his omni-tool closer to the ground. “Shepard, this looks like a hatch. There’s something below us.”
Through the Mist | Part 2
pairings: Femshep x Garrus
summary: When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.
word count: 4,257
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60592000/chapters/155122225
Part 1
They quickly return to the previous room before stopping dead in their tracks, dread seeping into their bones.
The once-clean room is full of dust. Inches of it cover the surfaces, building up in piles against the corners of the room. Some of the grey flecks begin to float around them in the air. Wires now hang from the ceiling, bright sparks cascading into the room. The flickering lights illuminate a dozen corpses scattered around them.
She warily steps into the room, doing her best to avoid treading on the bodies. Every step is muffled by the dust, deep footprints trailing behind her. She crouches down to closer inspect the deceased group. Everybody happens to be dressed in the same pristine uniform, matching the one from the first base. Not a single spec of dirt mars the white fabric, despite the state of the room around them. They show no signs of injury, but as Shepard looks closer, she feels her heart plummet.
The sparks of dying light shine down on their expressions. Their eyes are glazed, wide open, and their mouths are agape in a silent scream.
This time, their jaws hang open far too wide for any human. As if they broke the bone in their fright, the jaw hanging open to accompany what must have once been a chilling sound.
“Garrus…?” Her voice is low, yet he picks up on her unspoken question.
“I see it too, I think we found the rest of the team.” His voice is tense as he pulls his mandibles tight against his face, every muscle in his body becoming as tight as his voice. “We were only in there for a couple of minutes. Eight minutes according to my visor.”
“Vega?” She calls out, her voice taking a high note when her gaze falls upon the chair he had claimed. Now empty and just as dilapidated as the scenery surrounding them. “He can’t have gone far. We need to get out of here.”
“Why would he just wander off without telling us…?” Garrus mutters before falling silent, his head tilting as if straining to hear something.
Shepard watches him carefully, her face guarded as his head whips around to face the exit. Without saying a word, he creeps towards the door and hits the lock. The door is quick to open, revealing the black void beyond, the damn fog still sitting thick in the air.
“How is it so dark already? The sun was just starting to set when we got here,” she questions, only to cut herself off when Garrus silently holds up his hand, his eyes wide. She tilts her head and silently moves to stand next to him, but all she can hear is the muffled buzzing of the damaged wires.
He gently grabs her wrist and drags her out of the building, following something into the fog. She moves alongside him, peering around for danger as she lets him guide her. She squints and swears she sees the fog moving around them, swirling into different shapes deep into the night. Garrus suddenly stops moving, his shoulders sagging when he turns to look at her.
The sight unnerves her. The confidence he tends to wear on missions has now been replaced with an expression she has never seen before. One she never wants to see again.
“I’m sorry… I could have sworn…” He trails off, rubbing his neck awkwardly before clearing his throat and continuing, “I thought I heard my mother. Which is impossible since she died before the war started.”
She stares up at him, unsure of what to say. He rarely spoke about his mother to her, always moving the subject to a less painful one instead. She had always complied, not wanting to hurt him, especially when she couldn’t be there to comfort him during the worst of the pain when she was in Alliance custody.
Now she stands in front of him, and for the first time in their relationship, she finds herself lost. It's rare for her to be at a loss for words, yet this planet finds every way to drain them out of her. She silently raises her hand to caress his scarred face, her thumb gently gliding along the blue marking under his eye.
“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t exactly know what is happening, but what I do know is that we need to grab Vega and then get the hell off this planet before we can find out.” She says, grabbing his hand and flaring her biotics. The subtle smell of ozone surrounds them, a bright blue light erupting from her and causing the black braid behind her to rise as she covers them in a small barrier. The fog curls around it, relentlessly trying to get through to them as they push through its murky haze.
“Comm…der… She..pard?” Liara catches their attention, her voice frantically trying to cut through the interference, “...Can’t reach…Don’t know…but it’s bad…”
Her words are jumbled, crackling over the line and being swallowed by whatever is trying to block their communications, yet one sentence manages to come out as clear as day, causing all the hair on Shepard’s arms to stand up. “You… need…Commander? You need to get out of there.”
“Fuck,” Shepard breathes out, the air around her tasting bitter. “Liara, I need you to get Cortez to land the shuttle exactly where he did last time. Garrus and I will try to find the first research base to guide us in the right direction.”
Her command is met with silence.
“Line’s dead again,” Garrus adds unhelpfully, his voice more subdued and lifeless than usual.
“Let’s just keep moving, there was only one entrance to the base, so we must be heading in the same direction that we came from. With any luck, Cortez has already had the same idea and has landed already.”
They stumble blindly for what feels like hours, pushing forward with no discernible landmark in sight. No more research bases, no trees or bushes, and no shuttle. Just them and the hard stone beneath their feet. And the fog, Shepard thinks bitterly while she drags Garrus around in the dark. As she opens her mouth to complain, her foot collides with something solid. The blind fall startles her and the shield around them quickly collapses, the blue light shimmering before fading out. She lands on the ground with a small crash, groaning when a sharp pain flares through her ankle.
“Shepard?” Garrus shouts, rushing around the object to help her up. His hands flailing through the fog as he tries to find her. He holds her steady while she stands and hesitantly puts weight on the injured ankle, wincing when more pain shoots up her leg.
“I’m fine, it's just a sprain.” She watches as Garrus lights up his omni-tool, waving it close to the object. “Great, another dead scientist. I’m getting fed up with this fucking planet,” she grumbles as she pulls him away and continues her march into nowhere, albeit now with a noticeable limp.
They come across more and more bodies, each in varying stages of terror. No matter which direction they walk in, they are greeted with corpses, almost as if they were being directed by them.
Lured, a small voice whispers in the back of Shepard's mind.
They swap directions, turning left and right, yet each route leads to more of the missing research team. They must have stumbled across hundreds of them now, but as Shepard thinks back on the mission debrief, she is met with a worrying realisation. Hackett had only mentioned a small group, no more than twenty members stationed on the planet.
Without warning, static flares up in the silence between them, causing the pair to jump.
“Vega? Liara? EDI?” Shepard yells into her comm, hope flaring in her chest.
A laugh interrupts her attempts. A soothing laugh, yet it causes her throat to tighten with an emotion she let die years ago.
“Raven.” It calls out through the static, warm and welcoming.
She glances at Garrus and he gives a small nod, confirming her fears. This time he had heard the voice as well.
“Raven… Shepard?” It repeats, the voice growing more desperate. More familiar.
She feels herself grow pale, looking as if she's seen a ghost, and instinctively reaches out to grab Garrus’ wrist, pulling him closer. He leans down, his breath ghosting her cheek as he whispers, “Shepard, do you recognise the voice?”
She squeezes her eyes shut tight as if she could block out the voice. As if she would wake up in her cabin beside Garrus, with the events of the day being nothing more than a bad dream.
The laughter crackles through the static once more, growing louder and demanding her attention. She can feel Garrus moving next to her and hears the click of his rifle being filled with a fresh heatsink. She reluctantly opens her eyes and the laughter dies.
“Mom?” She grits her teeth, trying to stop her voice from shaking, yet it does regardless. She feels Garrus stiffen beside her, his hand itching to grab her properly.
“Why did you leave us to die?” The voice is no more than a whisper but somehow echoes around the space. The sentence is thrown out so gently, yet Shepard can feel the reprimand hidden deep within.
A cold fury and sweltering blame hiding in the words.
She hangs her head, somehow feeling like a child being lectured by her mother all over again. A mother who she had watched die sixteen years ago.
“Excuse me?” Garrus growls, eyes glaring through the fog as his fear fades into anger.
“Shh, it’s not your time yet. I’ll get to you later, boy.” The voice retorts, stunning him into silence. “Now, baby bird, why did you let us die?”
“I don’t understand, why are you saying this?” She bites out as her traitorous hands begin to shake, her lungs begging for more oxygen as she holds her breath.
“Look at you, such a well-known and beloved hero. Who does everything she can to save people she doesn’t even know. A shining paragon of justice. I’m so proud of you darling, you were always good at climbing over a mountain of corpses to survive. Akuze, Virmire, Earth, Thessia…” The gentle, almost nurturing voice becomes harsh, mocking her with every word. “Where was that strength, that heroism, when you hid and watched as we died? Where was the determination to help when you did nothing but listen to our painful screams as flesh fused into bone?”
“You told me to…I was sixteen, what was I supposed to do?” She yells into the air.
“You should have died with us. The Shepards were never supposed to live. You’ve learnt that yourself already, haven’t you, darling? When you lifelessly floated over Alchera, cold and alone.”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Garrus grabs Shepard by her forearm, turning her to face him as he disconnects the comm from her suit. Silencing the voice while Shepard stands frozen, her own eyes wide with unshed tears. She can see the disturbance on his face; in the way his mandibles twitch, the way his eyes frantically check their surroundings –despite all previous attempts being futile– before locking onto her again.
“That wasn’t her, Garrus. She would never… How did…” She clears her throat and swallows down her unease with a practised composure, “How did it know all that?”
“I don’t know, Shepard. And frankly, I don’t care. Let's just get away from this damn fog in case it’s somehow the source and clear our heads.”
She nods weakly, deferring to his lead as a familiar and unwelcome numbness flows through her veins. She swallows roughly, limping close next to him, his arm tight around her waist for support, as he sets off on a warpath. His subvocals are loud enough for her to hear and from her best guess, none of them are positive sounds as they stagger through the uncomfortable darkness, side by side.
Her skin feels clammy, the cool fog sticking to her as her vision blurs. She tugs on his arm, catching his attention when her throat tightens, allowing no words to pass. Stumbling to a halt, Shepard raises her left foot, relieving herself of a fraction of the pain she endured from walking on it.
“I just need a moment, damned medi-gel isn’t being applied by my suit.” She groans out as she rolls her foot in a small circle, testing the mobility she has left.
“I’ll carry you,” Garrus says softly, already forcing his rifle into her hands.
“Absolutely not. It’s not broken, I’ll be able to finish this mission on my own two feet.” She argues, her classic stubbornness leaking into her words.
“Shepard,” he sighs out, feeling and sounding years older already. “We don’t know how long we will be trapped here. At this rate, you’re going to end up being stuck in Chakwas’ med bay for a lot longer than you’d like if you keep walking on it.”
She stares at him for a moment, then tilts her head to frown down at his Revenant lying heavy in her hands. The air around them is growing colder and Shepard can’t tell if it's simply because it's getting late or if it’s due to the sheer pain thrumming up her leg. She considers her options: hobbling along for god knows how long, or being pressed close across a warm turian’s chest, even with his metallic armour blocking most of the heat. She hates appearing weak on missions, especially after being thrown off-kilter already, but it’s not like there's anyone nearby to see.
Not with the thick fog surrounding the pair.
“Fine.”
Without missing a beat, Garrus is quick to scoop her up. He takes care to not jostle her injured leg while she wiggles around in his grip until she’s as comfortable as she can get. She leans his rifle across her torso, keeping the muzzle aimed outwards, her index finger tapping impatiently against the trigger guard.
“Aww, isn’t that sweet?”
A feminine voice rattles through the air and Shepard’s finger twitches. The voice is old and frail, almost as if speaking is a great effort to her. There is no malice in this voice, only a painful longing. Shepard growls out a curse while what remains of her brittle patience begins to crumble. She hears Garrus take a sharp inhale, holding it as he ignores the voice and forges ahead.
“Why don’t you talk to me?” It begs as a soft whine rumbles under its words. She hears a second whine coming from above her and the myriad of tones within causes her chest to ache.
“Garrus? The comm, you disabled it.” She whispers, not missing the way his grip on her tightens. He pulls her as close as their armour physically allows, moving faster despite the ache that must be setting into his muscles. She raises her hand to gently stroke his mandible, breaking his concentration for a moment. He flicks his eyes down at her briefly, sadness evident in his gaze, before looking back to the distance, giving her a small shake of his head.
“Garrus… Yes, that’s the name…” The voice mumbles, recognition fluttering in its words. “Garrus, my wayward son.”
“Stop,” He snaps.
“Why did you never visit me? Why did you never come home?” The frail voice becomes stern, the subvocals buzzing angrily.
“Instead of visiting, instead of returning to where you belong, what did you accomplish? You’ve left nothing but a trail of bodies in your wake: Your entire squad died because of you, and let’s not forget about your precious Commander. Where were you when she was snuffed out?” The voice grows harsher with each passing second. “You’ve been so busy playing a burnt-out cop, turned vigilante, turned soldier. But never my son. No wonder your father never looked at you with pride.”
“Stop,” he begs instead, his voice is almost drowned out by the deep rumbling. Anger, disappointment, and admonishment, all flaring out at him from the fog.
Shepard can feel her vision wavering, tears leaving a damp trail down her cheeks as she watches his brow plates pull together in despair.
“Hey,” Her voice is soft as she captures his attention, not missing the shakiness of his breath. “Don’t listen to it. It’s not real, it’s just doing this to hurt you.”
“Shepard, do you… Do you know what’s happening?” He asks, his hold on her still impossibly tight.
She shakes her head, not missing the defeat that sneaks into his eyes. She bites her lip, trying to find the right words to say, but the mission has left her too frazzled, too out of her element to think straight. Her mind is a mess of old nerves that had once been buried but have now been dragged back to the surface. Fresh and raw all over again.
The planet doesn’t give them a chance to gather their wits when a heavy shuffling begins to circle them.
Shepard squints to gaze into the darkness and spots movement. Something approaches with jagged and inhumane movements, almost twitching as it draws closer. She flicks her gaze around and feels her blood rush to her ears, her throat tightening as her treacherous hands begin to shake.
The once dormant bodies now stand around them, facing them with their mouths hanging wide, a low groan echoing from them. Their eyes sunken locking onto the duo, staring at them with unseeing eyes.
“Shepard, do they look familiar to you?” Garrus asks, his voice kept low to avoid alerting the dead.
“I don’t know. And frankly, I don’t care right now,” she echoes as she struggles against Garrus’ hold, tapping his arm to signal for him to release her. She instantly raises the weapon and aims it at the closest figure, her grip on his gun is tight and her knuckles audibly crack when it tightens even more. She glares at as many corpses as she can, refusing to back down. She can feel the reassuring weight of her rifle against her back lessen as Garrus unlatches the mag locks, following her lead and aiming it towards the group.
All of a sudden, one of the strange figures twitch. Its arm jerks to the side, bent at an unnatural angle before being pulled close to its torso. Its head falls to the side and the thinly stretched lips rise into a wide smile.
Shepard doesn’t hesitate, a loud bang rings through the small crowd as a hole cuts through the figure's head. Her eyes are sharp as she watches it go stiff before falling backwards. She blinks slowly when it vanishes, almost turning into dust as it hits the cold ground. Not a trace of the strange body is left behind.
Another one steps forward, only to be instantly cut down by Garrus’ perfect aim. It lets out a hollow gurgle as it melts into the fog, ceasing to exist once more.
"Commander," the voice is amplified by a dozen unmoving mouths, causing her eyebrows to furrow as she grinds her teeth. Garrus shoots out at another figure, only for a new one to take its place.
Shepard watches, momentarily frozen, as multiple bodies approach from beyond the fog. The more they take down, the more they seem to materialise out of spite. Shepard furrows her eyebrows and for the first time in her life, she finds herself struggling to think of a split-second plan. Almost as if the fog had invaded her mind and ripped out her hidden weapon.
A low growl rips through her throat as she sends a bright blue shockwave hurtling towards the figures, taking very little satisfaction as they fly back. They remain prone against the cracked floor, but she can still hear the chat of her name emitting from them. Garrus manoeuvres his arm around her waist and helps her to quickly limp through the clearing as he scatters proximity mines behind them, just in case.
The figures turn to watch, and what remains of those of them standing slowly advance; their limbs jolting into unnatural angles with each slow step.
Garrus quickly slots her gun into its position on her back before taking his own from her, almost dragging her in a random direction until he spots something. A small prefab standing against the dark haze like a lighthouse welcoming them to safety. Shepard can’t help but stare at it in suspicion but makes no effort to pull away from Garrus as he kicks open the door, rushing to place her down on a chair before fortifying the only entrance.
The prefab is surprisingly bright as a small lamp floods the room with a warm glow. The furniture within is sparse, but Shepard isn’t too keen to stick around long enough to worry about what it’s lacking. Its design is sickeningly corporate, with stark white walls broken up by faded green details. Something flutters in the back of her mind, the memory dying before she can even begin to focus on it.
She watches Garrus double-check, then triple-check, the security systems in a pained daze. Her head drops back against the headrest, a dull throbbing beginning to make itself known as she tries to let her body relax. She rubs at her temple, feeling more lost than ever before. Garrus kneels in front of her and gently grabs her ankle, raising it slightly to help reduce the swelling. He flicks his mandibles out in a silent apology when a small hiss falls from her lips.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, watching her carefully. She gives a wordless groan before waving her hand around in the air, gesturing wildly.
“Besides the obvious?” She retorts, her defences still firmly in place, even within relative safety. He gives her a stern nod, his eyes not moving away from her as he urges her to continue. “Ankle’s throbbing, head’s pounding, and I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack if just one more… thing decides to mess with us. You?”
“Uh, pretty much the same. Besides the ankle part, I didn’t manage to get myself injured by something already dead.” He grins up at her and it takes Shepard a surprisingly long second to catch his playful teasing, even longer to recognise that it’s for both of their benefit. That he’s just as scared as she is and is seeking comfort in familiarity.
“Okay, big guy, you can laugh about that all you want once we get out of here safely. You can even be the one to tell Joker, how about that?”
“That certainly is an honour, are you sure you’re feeling alright, Ravs? You’re not normally that self-sabotaging.”
The sound of her nickname on his tongue washes over her like a cooling balm, bringing part of her mind back to the present.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m being overly nice, I know.” She laughs, revelling in the way it releases some of the pressure building in her chest. The fog in her mind recedes despite the relentless –and very much real– type awaiting them outside. “Okay, we’ll take ten minutes to rest up before walking into hell again.”
Garrus stands and spots the nearby coffee table, dragging it over to her so Shepard can rest her ankle while keeping it elevated.
“Don’t move, I’m going to look around and see what’s been left behind.” He fixes her with a knowing look before moving to the back of the room, his eyes and fingers darting through the display cases and bookshelves lining the walls.
Never one for sitting still, Shepard silently rises from the chair and hobbles around the room, willfully ignoring Garrus’ groan. She keeps the door in her line of sight at all times while limping her way over to him, his arm automatically reaching to hold her steady once she’s close enough.
“Find anything useful or is it just like the previous buildings?” She asks as her eyes scan over various books. He simply hums in response.
“Well…” He states slowly, “There are a bunch of old research reports, some dating back to three years ago.”
“Please don’t tell me that any of these reports mention the Reapers,” She groans out, squinting to skim-read over the one in his hand.
“Nothing has mentioned them yet, thankfully. I’m hoping it stays that way as well.” He mumbles, his voice faltering for a second. “Though, those… things back there didn’t exactly resemble husks. They didn’t glow… or hiss, for that matter. There’s no dragon's teeth around either.”
“No, it’s also not like the Reapers to play around with people like this. We’ve not been outright attacked yet.”
“Which is a first, all things considered.” He adds, earning himself a small laugh. “Are we going to… talk about what happened back there?”
Shepard flinches at his question, suddenly hyperaware of every movement she makes when she feels his grip around her reflexively tighten in response.
“Later. When we’re back on the Normandy, we can’t… I can’t afford to open that can of worms while we are still stuck in the lion's den.”
“Shepard…” He groans out in exasperation, raising a hand to rub at his face, “I have no idea what half of what you just said is supposed to mean. But I think I can understand… We’ll talk once we’re safe?”
She nods in response and doesn’t miss how his eyes dart to the door.
Through the Mist | Part 1
pairings: Femshep x Garrus
summary: When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.
word count: 4,213
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60592000/chapters/154704487
“Commander, a handful of scientists are located in a remote facility near you. Their knowledge is invaluable, and we could use them for the crucible. I’ll send you all the information I have, Hackett out.”
The blue holographic display fizzles away, leaving Shepard alone in the QEC as she mutters out a quiet “Yes, sir.” to the air. She heaves out a sigh before opening her comms, “Joker, we have a new destination. Set course for the Rosetta Nebula.”
“Aw, seriously, Shepard?” He groans, the sound coming out muffled and even without seeing him Shepard can tell he’s rubbing his face. Exhaustion has quickly become more prevalent across her crew, the war wearing them down physically and emotionally, especially after losing a lot more than just their pride to Cerberus. A fact that still gnaws away at her, despite her brave mask which has since been carefully reinforced to keep up what morale is left in her crew.
“Yes, seriously. Orders from Hackett,” she replies, her voice tense. She bites her lip before forcing out a smile, hoping it comes across in her voice. “I don’t like this any more than you Joker, but it needs to be done and it’s better to do it now while we’re nearby. Think of the fuel prices otherwise.”
“You’re buying me three drinks next time, each with their own little umbrella.” He declares, pausing for a moment before adding, “And a damn good dinner, you’re killing me here, Raven.”
Shepard snorts just before the line drops, letting herself flop against the railing in front of her, safe in the privacy of the war room. She feels Garrus approach her slumped form, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to him.
“Let me guess, one more mission and then we’ll go to the Citadel for shore leave?” He asks, his fingers drawing comforting circles against her waist.
She gives him an apologetic smile as she leans into him, resting her head against the cool plating of his armour. “It will be quick and easy, we just need to pick up a small group and drop them off. We might as well do it now and then take them with us to the Citadel, though I don’t like putting off shore leave like this.”
“Well, at least the wait will be worth it,” he jokes, catching her tired expression. “Hackett just wants you to collect some people? Sounds like he’s going easy on you with this one.”
“God, please don’t jinx us, Garrus.” She laughs, letting him hold most of her weight against him.
“Me? Never…”
From what is visible, the planet appears to be a desolate wasteland; all grey stone and barren of all signs of life. She has yet to learn what the scientists have been working on here and regrets not pressing Hackett for more information, despite the Admiral sending all he had. A high clearance team, working on something secret. A weapon, she theorises, maybe something even shady.
Liara was not much help either, finding very little about the base besides a suspicious number of funds being funnelled into the group from an unknown benefactor; all of which does little to calm the annoyance beginning to build. Discomfort twirls in her gut as a familiar and hated group springs to mind.
“If this is Cerberus again, I think I'm going to lose it,” She mumbles under her breath as she looks through the available data they have about the planet; a base temperature of twelve degrees, breathable air, and splatters of human colonies slowly being formed across the rock.
Shepard hates going in blind and it’s almost as if the planet has decided to use that against her, taunting her. The shuttle shudders as it approaches the ground. She can hear Cortez mutter a swear under his breath as he battles to control the vehicle, her grip tightening on the handrail above. Without any warning, she is thrown against her seat, her knees buckle as they hit the object and she comes crashing down into it. Garrus’ hand is instantly on her shoulder, stabilising her with a strong grip. She gives him a thankful nod and leans back in her seat.
“Everyone alright?” She asks, watching as James knocks his head against the back of his seat before giving her a thumbs up with one hand, the other rubbing at the base of his skull.
Despite the turbulence hellbent on giving them a few bruises before the mission can properly start, they touch down without any other issues. She lets out a small sigh of relief, biting back a smile when she hears her crew do the same. Shepard is quick to leave her seat, giving orders for Cortez to return to the Normandy until they signal for extraction, hopefully with the scientists, before hopping out onto the unknown planet.
A thick fog instantly wraps itself around Shepard and her squad, drifting to and fro and obscuring their vision. They instinctively move closer to her, almost standing shoulder-to-shoulder while their eyes dart around the blank landscape. The area is silent, not a single bird chirping or a tree swaying its leaves in the wind; as life itself has abandoned the planet.
She can see James nervously glancing around as if expecting an ambush from beyond the thin barrier, despite their lonely landing zone. Their battle-trained senses are useless to them now, sending them into a state of high alert, and if the disconcerted grumble from her sniper is any indication, his visor is doing very little to aid him. He catches her questioning gaze through the blue display and shakes his head.
“I’m getting no readings through my visor, Shepard,” He confirms, his hand raised against the metal frame to fiddle with its settings.
“I’m not surprised. Good to know that we don’t need to worry about any surprises so soon, at least.” She says, securing her Mattock onto her back with ease.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m not getting any readings through this thing, including your own.” She watches as his brow plates come together in a small frown, his hand dropping in defeat as the tech continues to fight against him. “As long as you are suited up and we’re not lightyears apart, my visor will display your vitals. There’s no reason for it to not show while you’re standing in front of me. The thing still works, the kill counter and the current galactic time are still lit up…All biometric data, however…”
The air chills and a thick tension is carried over to them with the gentle breeze. She opens her comm link to the ship, hoping EDI can have more luck scouting the place than they will.
“EDI, we’re going to need some guidance here. Are you able to lead us to the closest structure?”
A loud buzzing sparks from her comms in response, along with a barely audible voice fighting through the interference, “Comman… We can’t… Unable to…Signal is…”
Shepard drops the link with a frown, her mind running through a million scenarios and plans as she speaks. “Okay, we are effectively cut off from the Normandy, so we’re on our own until we reach our targets. They are our best shot at the moment.”
"Shepard," Garrus mutters warily and she can hear the concern buzzing through his sub-vocals as he begins to expect the worst, "This isn't the ideal place for a firefight, we are completely blinded."
"I hear you. While it may seem quiet, something’s not right. Everyone stay close and on alert. If you hear or see anything, we avoid it for now." She clenches her fists, quelling the urge to wrap everyone up in her biotics before something has the chance to strike first. She bites back a groan as she rolls her neck, the last thing she wants is to reveal their position if something lurks in the distance. “Maybe the weather can be used to our advantage here,” she mutters as she turns from the group.
She steps further into the fog, waving her hand in front of her and slicing through it with ease. She watches as it parts around her hand before forming again shortly after, dancing around them in a thick haze. An unusual silence hangs around them as no one dares to speak and break it; their footfalls are amplified with every step, almost echoing around them.
They keep moving, the rhythmic clunking of their armour accompanying every step before James suddenly comes to a halt, groaning in frustration. “This is loco. How are we supposed to find anything when we don’t even know how far we’ve been walking?”
“I don’t know, but what I do know is that we need those scientists. You’re not afraid of a little bit of fog, are you, Vega?” She throws him a smirk from over her shoulder, her smile widening when she hears Garrus chuckling beside her. She much prefers that sound to the empty nothingness that’s been following them.
“You never know, Shepard. He might be, what you humans say, a chicken.”
“Oh low blow, Scars. You don’t even know what that is.”
“According to the extranet, it’s a bird from Earth that is usually killed for food. According to humans, everything tastes like it and they are fearful creatures.” He casually retorts, grinning triumphantly when James scoffs in defeat.
“You spend too much time with Lola.” James gives Garrus a small nudge, grimacing when the impact of their armour rings through the air.
“And you say that as if it’s a bad thing, Jimmy.”
Shepard rolls her eyes at their back and forth, biting down a laugh at the unique insults being playfully tossed around. She has to step away from the group to focus, she hears Garrus shift to keep her in his line of sight before the familiar warm glow of her omni-tool causes the fog to light up around her. She lets out a small huff as it does nothing to improve their vision, somehow making things worse.
She shuffles back to the duo and glances between them, James half-heartedly glaring at Garrus, and finally spots the outline of a large, grey building, highlighted by the smothered rays of sunlight. Frustration rattles around in her brain at the obvious structure hiding in plain sight, a structure she is positive she would have noticed, yet she does what she does best and throws her emotions into yet another bottle.
"There, ahead of us. That must be the research base." She looks back at Garrus and James, making sure they can see where she’s pointing. An uneasy feeling begins to snake around her heart when she glances back at their destination. Their previous banter had helped to lighten the tense atmosphere surrounding them, but with each ebb and flow of the fog, the thin relief begins to crack again as they approach the base.
"You know, Shepard. We should find some rope and use it to keep us all together." As if reading her mind, Garrus' duel-toned voice breaks her out of her worry and she gives a low chuckle at the suggestion, not entirely disagreeing.
"Uh, no offence, Garrus. What you and Lola do in your free time is up to you, but I don't want to be involved." James says with a cheeky smile that only grows when both Shepard and Garrus roll their eyes at him.
“Very funny, Vega. We’ll just leave you behind then,” Garrus drawls out, his shoulders finally dropping as he relaxes. He catches Shepard’s eye and she gives him a gentle nod, the pair almost speaking without words. Yes, this is weird, and yes, I’m alright.
Shepard is quick to open the structure’s door and usher the others inside, the fog stalking them in through the wide entrance and dissipating into the room. The room is dark, with only the emergency signs providing any light, casting shadows up onto the steel walls around them. There are no other doors within the small room, just a few windows that have since been securely boarded up.
The air within is still and stale, and Shepard grimaces when she catches a hint of something slightly rancid. She glances around and spots a dozen datapads littering the surfaces. Chairs are stranded away from the desks and numerous personal belongings have been left behind. She picks up one of the datapads, a large crack running across the screen, and begins to read aloud what remains of the corrupted file.
“...Day 5, no progress has been made. My head has been killing me, but I refuse to rest until we get results.
“...Day 8, we might finally have good news. Callum from base two has made some improvements. We will need to make adjustments to the formula, but any news is good news at this point.”
The words begin to blur, seemingly dancing across the cracked screen, the flickering worsens the longer she reads before the datapad goes black, cutting her off. She lets herself relax for a moment, holding back a scoff for being so on edge.
She catches Garrus roaming the room out of the corner of her eye before becoming rigid. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stick up once more, a shiver creeping down her spine as he speaks.
“Spirits… Shepard, you should come and see this.”
She’s quick to reach his side and spots a body curled up in the small space between the wall and one of the desks. His head is leant back against the cold steel, letting them see more than they wish to. His skin is pale, almost taking on a grey tone. There are visible veins under his paperlike skin, bulging along his neck, trying to break free. His eyebrows are pulled together, almost impossibly close. Sending unnatural wrinkles along his forehead. The body is young, too young to have such deep lines.
The worst part is his mouth. It hangs open in a silent scream while his glazed-over eyes are open wide in pure terror.
She moves closer, keeping her footing light as she approaches the body to read the name badge across the arm of his attire. Without any warning, the man’s head rolls forward. Greying hair falls with it, covering his face. The group instantly jump back, aiming their rifles towards the body and waiting with bated breath for any more movement. After a minute of stillness, Shepard raises her hand, signalling for them to holster their guns.
“He’s dressed in uniform, this must have been one of the researchers. What happened here?” She says softly, leaning down to carefully make a note of the man's name for her report before she stands back up and steps away from the sight.
“No clue, Commander. Half of these datapads are damaged. Some have been trampled on, whatever spooked these people spooked them badly. Bad enough to leave in a hurry.” James appears behind her with a worried frown.
She takes a moment to think, gently tapping the datapad against her thigh in concentration before a sound breaks her attention. The noticeable whirl of a nearby shuttle flying overhead. She tosses the datapad onto the table and quickly signals for them to follow her as she rushes out of the building, peering up at the sky. Garrus falls into position on her right, gazing down at her oddly before shrugging at James.
Everything is silent, even the breeze that had greeted them has since fallen still. She wanders away from the building, hearing her team scramble to stay close. She continues to watch the sky, her confusion is evident on her face as no shuttle is fast enough to vanish that quickly.
The more she stares into the white void around her, the more she notices that the fog has grown thicker. It has started to take on an almost yellow hue as it blocks out more of the sunlight. She can feel it glide over the exposed skin of her face, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She feels her spine straighten and her jaw tightens, confusion flowing around the group.
Out of nowhere, she hears footsteps and her head snaps around to trace the sound. She sees nothing out in the distance, but the sound grows louder as it approaches them.
She is quick to grab her pistol, ignoring the alarmed two-toned rumble from her right.
She keeps it low, her finger away from the trigger as she listens. She signals for the others to remain silent, her heart pounding.
The beating of the organ is loud in her ears, almost to a painful degree. Yet the footsteps grow louder.
She is almost a statue, eyes alert and trained on the direction of the sound, yet she sees nothing as the mysterious figure darts past them and deeper into the fog. In her peripheral she can see her squad standing still, Garrus’ eyes are locked onto her, his mandibles fluttering with uncertainty, while James is frantically looking around, trying to follow her line of sight.
She swallows down her unease and turns to face them fully, “One of the researchers must still be out here. They were heading north, so that could be where the other base is. We can’t know for sure if that was a researcher or what killed the team, so be careful.”
Garrus and James glance at one another momentarily before they nod and continue to follow her deeper into the unknown. Unease stalks their every step, their postures rigid and on high alert. A new building reveals itself before them, grey steel walls reflecting the now-setting sun like a beacon awaiting their arrival. A hastily drawn number two sits just above the door, the paint beginning to chip after being left to withstand the elements.
“Let’s hope this is the right place, I don’t enjoy the idea of wandering out here for much longer. You’re certain the person ran this way, Shepard?” Garrus mumbles, back pressed against the wall next to the door.
“I know what I heard, Garrus,” she mutters as she watches James take his position against the wall on the other side, awaiting her signal. “Even if this isn’t the building they ran to, there’s got to be something here that would explain what happened.”
“...Heard?” He questions, his mandibles flaring in badly concealed bewilderment.
She cocks her head at him, pausing for a second. Shepard gives him a careful nod and bangs a fist against the red omni-lock to open the door, hoping they don’t have to fight against firewalls to gain access. Much to the group's surprise, the lock flashes red a few times before it complies and turns green, the door opening with a small groan.
“A technical malfunction or a research base that has very little security?” Shepard questions, opening up her omni-tool to provide her with some light as she peers into the room.
James shrugs, his back pressed firmly against the wall. “Who knows? Possibly both with how quick the other team was to leave, they probably didn’t have time to properly lock the place up. That or they didn’t think they would have to, with how remote they are out here and all. Can’t imagine anyone loco enough to visit.”
“And whoever we were following probably didn’t expect us to make our way here without getting lost first, giving them no time to fix any issues,” Garrus adds.
She signals for the two men to stay put as she begins to stalk into the room. Even with the door open, it’s darker than the previous base, all the technology within has since lost power after being abandoned. This room is larger, with another door leading deeper into the structure.
“Hello?” She calls out, her hand hovering close to her pistol, just in case. “I’m Commander Shepard, I’m with the Alliance Navy.”
Silence answers her and she holds back a sigh as she creeps deeper into the building, away from the safety of the door and checks out the room, her omni-tool guiding her every move. Unlike the previous base, this one is relatively clean. It shows no signs of struggle or distress, no corpses hiding away in the shadowed corners.
The base is tidy, too tidy, she notes. Not a single data pad has been left behind, and with the power drained, they are left with no way of accessing the consoles to read through their logs. Shepard runs an armoured hand through her hair as she turns to the entrance, waving the others in.
“This is getting us nowhere. James, stay here and guard the exit while we check out the other room.” She says as she approaches the door, exhaling in relief when it opens without a fight.
“Aye aye, Commander. Leave this mess with me.” He gives her a playful salute before throwing himself down into one of the office chairs, facing the exit. His grip on his Revenant is tight, and the skin stretching over his knuckles turns pale.
There’s only a short corridor connecting the rooms, but the air within is thick and old. As if it hasn’t been disrupted in weeks. A thin layer of dust covers everything in sight, not a single surface is safe from the fluffy, grey specs; a sharp contrast to the room a few metres away.
The room itself is tiny, barely containing more than three desks pressed tightly against the walls.
“There’s no one here,” Garrus whispers, double-checking all the corners and under the desks. “Looks like this is just an extension of the other room…Just as empty as well.”
“Not quite,” Shepard says as she spots a rectangular object, obscured by a thick layer of dust. She brushes it off, cringing as some of it sticks to the fabric of her gloves. She suddenly spins to face Garrus, waving the half-dead datapad in front of him with a victorious smile. He gives her a smile in return as he moves closer to read over her shoulder.
“...Day 20, we messed up. I don’t know what went wrong, maybe it was our calculations, or maybe it was… Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore.
…Day 21, if you… read… We…can’t…It’s too late.”
“Well, that’s horribly ominous,” Garrus states as Shepard finishes reading. He glances down at her and spots the telltale sign of exhaustion creeping across her expression. Another dead end, another failure. He gently bumps his shoulder against hers, keeping his voice light. “They could have fled, abandoned the bases and left. Or they were relocated to another project after this one. With the Reapers here, it would make sense why Hackett and Liara couldn’t trace them.”
“Maybe…Let’s grab James and get out of here. Liara might have found something by now. There’s no point standing around in a dusty room and possibly catching something.”
She opens up her comm to try and contact the Normandy once more, wincing at the static rumbling through the line. She listens closely, her focus stolen by the white noise. For a moment she swears she can hear a voice calling out to her. The voice is low and feminine, but not the smooth, metallic tone that she is accustomed to with EDI.
This voice is old and familiar. A memory that had faded with time, crawling back into the present through the static.
“Raven.”
She freezes, feeling like a bucket of ice has been thrown over her, or just injected directly into her veins instead. Tears instinctively rise through her ducts and it takes all that she has to force them back down, doing all she can to hold her commander mask firmly in place. The galaxy hasn’t broken her yet and she refuses to let this planet be the tipping point, not after everything that's happened.
With more force than what is needed, she quickly cuts the comm link.
Sensing her growing distress, Garrus gently places his hand under her chin, raising it so he can meet her gaze. She lets him manoeuvre her but refuses to meet his eyes. He lets out a quiet sigh and she can feel his concern in the tender action when his thumb brushes against her cheek.
“I think the stress is getting to me. I made a bad call, we should have done this after our shore leave. When everyone is better rested and more focused,” she admits and attempts to hang her head in shame, getting nowhere thanks to his strong grip keeping her head held high.
“I’m not sure, Shepard… I’ve been getting bad vibes from this place. I’ve not once doubted your judgement and I’m certainly not going to start now.”
She gives him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, feeling his body relax at her attempt. He reluctantly releases her after quickly pressing his forehead against hers, doing all he can to give her some reassurance while she secures her mask of authority once more, feeling slightly pissed at how often she’s let it slip on this mission. It’s rare for something to get under her skin, yet she begins to feel as if the planet was designed purely to do just that.
Shakarian Masterlist
; Memory Lane
// fluff, comfort
In the early morning hours, Shepard’s mind begins to wander. Is she still the same woman who hunted down Saren? She would like to believe so, but recent actions have made her reconsider. Luckily for Shepard, Garrus is there to comfort her.
Set in the first half of ME2, but before Garrus’ loyalty mission.
; Pillow Talk
// fluff
Shepard has finally been convinced to take a break from her work. Meanwhile, Garrus reflects on his relationship with Shepard and comes to the realisation that they both had feelings for one another a lot earlier than he initially thought.
Set during ME3.
; Sing me to sleep, I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore
// fluff
Raven Shepard is struggling to sleep with the nightmares plaguing her mind. Too nervous to head to Garrus for comfort after their discussion about reach and flexibility, she goes to spend time with Joker. Unaware that he is more than willing to play the wingman for them while they tiptoe around their feelings for one another.
Set during ME2
; Our love in one hundred words
// fluff
A collection of my Shakarian drabbles that use the MEFFW 100-word prompts.
; Through the mist
// check Ao3 for the full tag list
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.
Sing me to sleep, I don't want to wake up on my own anymore
pairings: Femshep x Garrus
genre: fluff, comfort
summary: Raven Shepard is struggling to sleep with the nightmares plaguing her mind. Too nervous to head to Garrus for comfort after their discussion about reach and flexibility, she goes to spend time with Joker. Unaware that he is more than willing to play the wingman for them while they tiptoe around their feelings for one another.
Set during ME2
word count: 4,507
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59922712
The quiet padding of bare feet on the cold metallic floor guides her as Shepard floats around the Normandy, feeling more like a ghost than a human. All things considered, she probably looks closer to one as well.
It is late into the ship's night cycle, granting her peace as she stalks the near-empty mess hall, most of the crew have since retired for the night. Those who remain simply greet her with a respectful salute, being far too tired for small talk themselves. She prefers it at this hour, as it carries less risk of being questioned over why she's not taking the chance to sleep. She doesn’t want to have to come up with a plausible lie right now, nor does she want to open that can of worms in front of some poor crew member.
Shepard softly pads over to the coffee machine, feeling her oversized Alliance T-shirt rising along her thighs to reveal her shorts as she lifts herself to grab a mug. The t-shirt had been gratefully borrowed from Joker to avoid being branded by Cerberus during the hours she should be using to relax. Not that she puts those hours to much use, instead filling the gap between filing reports with copious amounts of coffee.
Just as she gets ready to prepare a new cup, the hot water steaming from the kettle, a smooth voice cuts through the silence and causes her to jolt in surprise.
"Dr Chakwas has recently asked me to alert her if you consume any caffeine during the hours you should be asleep, Commander." EDI’s metallic voice is gentle, yet Shepard can pick up on the subtle threat and she tries to conceal the shudder that rips through her. She doesn’t want to concern Karin, not with the already lengthy list of topics the other woman has been trying to broach with her as it is.
With a deep sigh, Shepard abandons the empty mug with a small wave of her hand, dismissing the AI's concerns as she continues to idly wander around the ship, already looking for more reasons to stay awake. It's not like she wants to forgo sleep every night, especially not when she has a somewhat new team to take care of, but she can't shake the cold feeling of nothingness that creeps up on her whenever she dares to close her eyes. Dying had left its mark on her. She can still feel its icy fingers gripping around her throat and on a particularly bad night, she can see the torn remains of her original ship when her eyes are closed.
Tonight had been one of those bad nights. She hadn’t been alone in her dreams however, this time her mind decided to make the event even worse than it already was. Instead, the nightmare featured Garrus alongside her. The two of them drifted silently towards Alchera while their oxygen supply quickly depleted. Even within the safety of the waking world, Shepard can still hear the muffled gasps that escaped him before she was left floating in silence, soon to follow. For the first time in her life, she is thankful that Garrus wasn’t by her side on that day. She’s not sure she could cope coming back to life, only to find out that he hadn’t been extended the same privilege.
For a brief moment, her eyes flicker over to the doors of the main battery, but she quickly shakes the thought from her mind. It would be selfish of her to risk waking Garrus just because she's uncomfortable in her own skin after the sixth nightmare of the week. She had already confirmed his vital signs with EDI upon awakening, letting the knowledge that he’s safe bring a small comfort to her pounding heart. Besides, the last thing she wants to do is to cause worry and potentially ruin the delicate start of whatever it is that's growing between them.
The flirting between the pair has since grown in frequency, moving from friendly banter into something more heated, and more meaningful. But she doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable, especially not with the weight of her position. She lets out a small huff of laughter, letting her head fall back against the ship's cool interior. If anyone could see past her calm and collected mask, it would be Garrus.
Shoving the desire for his comfort deep into the back of her heart, she lets her body carry her through the ship, occasionally swaying from the exhaustion.
She eventually finds herself in the cockpit, the warm orange interfaces glowing within the dim space. Joker turns to greet her and whatever jest he has prepared on the tip of his tongue dies instantly when he glances her way. He watches with badly concealed concern as she drags herself to the co-pilot seat and all but throws herself into it, bringing her knees up against her chest while she curls into herself with a small groan.
“EDI, this conversation is classified and unrelated to Cerberus. So shoo for a moment and stop listening, or just pretend that you aren’t here and delete any logs that are being made, I don’t know. Just… shoo.” Joker’s tone is light, yet his voice is tinted with worry.
“Very well, Mr Moreau,” EDI announces before her blue hologram dies down, leaving the duo in silence.
“You know, I would make a joke about not realising how easy it would be to get some peace up here, but I feel like that trick was a one-time use.” He adds flippantly. Shepard gives him a small chuckle in response and shifts to rest her cheek against her knees, now facing him and for the first time since their reunion, he properly takes her in with a slight frown.
“You didn’t need to send her away,” Shepard says slowly, feeling a small amount of pity for the AI.
He doesn’t bother to reply, instead, he continues his inspection. She can feel his eyes on her and she doesn’t want to imagine how much of a mess she must look like. She’s visibly exhausted, that much she knows is obvious, she’s also aware that her usually expressive eyes have since lost their gleam, leaving her much less lively. Raven knows what's coming, so before he can release an onslaught of bad jokes to distract her from her worries, she stops him in his tracks.
“It wasn’t your fault, Jeff. I know you’ve been carrying that blame for years now, I also know better than anyone that words alone won’t change a damn thing. But it was my choice and I don’t regret it.” Her voice is low and gentle as she completely drops the commander mask within the comfort of the cockpit. Joker clenches his fists, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm while he tries to argue, but no words dare to come out. The silence hangs between them for a moment before she continues, “Besides, how can you blame yourself for a death when the dead person is sitting here right now, alright and alive?”
She flashes him an awkward smile and she can tell he knows the angle she’s playing, using his own form of humour to diffuse the situation. A ticket out in case he’s not willing to let himself become vulnerable while he’s still expected to fly the ship.
“Yeah, yeah, thanks, Shep. Did you come all this way to give me a midnight pep talk or are you serious about taking up that co-pilot seat? Cause no offence, I trust EDI more than you with that task.”
“Ouch. That hurts, Joker,” She says lightly, throwing her legs over the arm of the chair as she gets comfortable, ignoring the way he carefully tries to swat them off, “It’s my ship, so this is technically my chair as well. I can sit here if I want to. You didn’t complain when I came to hang out with you on the SR-1.”
“Yeah well, back then you would sneak me a coffee. You didn’t bring the peace offering this time.” He rolls his eyes at the bright laugh he lures out of her.
“I was about to make some coffee, but EDI would have snitched on me to Chakwas.” Joker doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s pouting, shooting a playful glare to the AI who shouldn’t be listening.
“Probably because she knew you would have made two cups for yourself and then one for me. Speaking of… As much as I enjoy you gracing me with your presence, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He doesn’t miss the way she freezes up, suddenly finding the distant stars more interesting than their current conversation, “Shep- Raven, when was the last time you slept?”
Her scoff cuts through the dull hum of the engines as she grows more frustrated by the question. Frantically, she runs her hand through the silky black hair that has since been released from its usual braid. She takes a moment to control her breathing and smothers the spark of annoyance before she tries to speak.
“I can’t.”
He shrugs in response as he turns back to focus on flying the Normandy back to the Citadel to re-stock. She relaxes further into the chair, making the most of the soft leather while watching the stars twinkle around her. They are different here compared to the view from her cabin, they don’t seem to mock her down here. Her quiet musings are interrupted by Joker dramatically clearing his throat, she raises an eyebrow, urging him to get on with it.
“Well, I was just thinking,” he starts before being instantly interrupted.
“Oh no.” She deadpans.
“First of all, rude. Second of all, why did you come to me of all people?”
“What do you mean? I’ve known you since before the original Normandy, you’re like my brother by now, Joker.” She stares at him incredulously before being overtaken by a small yawn.
“That’s oddly sweet of you, sis, but I already knew that and it’s also not what I meant,” a small smirk appears on his face as he continues to stare straight ahead, “I’m just surprised you didn’t go to Garrus, that’s all. Considering you seem to take him everywhere, talk to him about everything, and funnily enough, you speak about him all the time.”
“Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she mutters and bites the inside of her lip in thought. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. Not that she needed to in the slightest. “I didn’t want to interrupt him, that’s all.”
“Ah, so you came to pester the one flying us through space at an unholy hour. Thank you, Commander!” Joker states cheerfully, ignoring the glare he can feel emanating from his right. He glances over at her again before they can settle into an easy silence, “Am I ever going to get that t-shirt back, by the way?”
“Nope.” She punctuates her point by tilting her head, her cheek now resting against the back of the soft chair as she stares at the flicking displays around her. The fluorescent interface captivates her and she finds her eyelids beginning to grow heavy.
As a comforting peace descends over the pair, she can’t help herself from thinking about Garrus once more. They had flirted a lot, a new and dangerous game of chicken where they were both more than happy to lose. Sure, she has a lot to say about the man to any who would listen, but his skills with his rifle are impeccable. No one could blame her for boasting about her squad, not when it has saved her life more than once. If she boasted about one over the other… well, maybe there was more truth to Joker’s words than she realised. She just hopes no one else has caught on enough to inspect too closely. The last thing she needs is a potential audience to witness her fumbling through her words and emotions. Doing it in front of him is daunting enough already.
Shepard’s bones feel heavy as the nauseating wave of built-up exhaustion washes over her, demanding her eyes to flutter shut despite her battles against it.
“I think I really like him, Joker…More than…” She confesses before succumbing to sleep, leaving the pilot in stunned silence.
Joker stares at her momentarily before giving a small eye-roll, spinning his chair to the side to watch over her.
“Yeah, kinda knew that already, Ravs…Glad you’re finally catching up. Hey EDI, can you get Garrus up here?” He waits for a moment, expecting the blue glow of her display to flicker to life, only to be met with nothing. “Seriously, EDI? You can stop pretending to not listen now and go tell Garrus to get his spiky butt up here.” “Understood, you should have started with that.” If she possessed a mouth, Joker would be certain she was smirking.
The steady hum of machinery floats around the main battery, grounding Garrus as he stands before the Thanix Canon, doing his best to ignore the aching of his limbs. He taps away at its amber screen, improving its firing algorithms and squeezing out the extra 0.23% he has been working towards all evening. He quickly flicks his eyes towards the time displayed on his visor, the vision becoming blurry as he confirms his suspicions with only a small amount of regret: he’s been working late into his off-duty hours again.
“If Shepard were to find out, she’d have a small speech about how I should look after myself more already prepared…” He mutters to himself, his mandibles fluttering out into a small grin.
Despite the weariness that has sunken deep into his bones after days of sacrificing sleep for survival, he’s still unable to keep himself still for more than a few minutes, not when there’s a new ship with even newer weaponry to inspect. Even though it’s been a handful of weeks, a part of him still can’t believe he’s stood within the Normandy yet again. Not after Joker had broken the news to him two horrible years ago and certainly not after attending the funeral of his best friend. Yet she was back, and so were all the complicated feelings he wanted to run from, ones that she always drew out of him the second she hovered into his line of sight.
Feelings that no good turian would act on.
With a deep stretch, he takes solace in the shining walls of the ship, providing an old comfort as a sharp sting travels throughout his injured mandible. He tries to conceal his flinch, not wanting to agitate the healing wound more than he already has done, Spirits knows he doesn’t need that lecture from Dr Chakwas again. Before he has the chance to continue with his work, his six fingers hovering above the console and ready to inch closer towards that 0.25%, a smooth voice cuts through the silence.
“Officer Vakarian, Mr Moreau requests your presence on the bridge.” Her tone leaves very little room for argument as the hologram pops up in his peripheral.
“Right, thanks EDI.” He replies plainly before making sure to save his progress, not wanting something to mess it up and waste his hours of mind-numbing work.
The journey to the cockpit is uneventful as the ship silently floats through space, a skeleton crew working diligently through the night to keep everything running, even with the AI onboard. The rhythmic echo of his shoes against the metallic floor is his only companion as he lets his mind wander. Its destination rarely changes away from Shepard.
The way her black hair, as dark as the void that surrounds them, swings behind her. Her hair always fascinates him whenever he sees her tie parts of it together, her fingers quickly weaving the strands together in a way that makes his head spin. Or how she bites the inside of her cheek, doing her best to hold back a smile whenever something amuses her when in “commander mode”. A part of him aches as he watches her lock more of herself away for the good of the many, leaning towards the icon they expect of her and further away from the human she is. Well, she does whenever they’re not together, he notes with a small amount of smugness.
His mind still comes to a screeching halt when he replays the moment she blatantly revealed her feelings for him as if it were easy, proposing a night together to push their friendship towards unknown territories. Except he knew her well enough by now to know she was just as nervous as he currently is. He could easily spot the nervous scrunch of her nose when she smiled up at him after the proposition. The same scrunch that appeared the day she became a Spectre, or the day he pitifully begged her to consider using the Mako’s breaks before they both got covered in krogan vomit. Her gentle words spoke of blowing off steam and yet her eyes screamed for more, for stability, and he couldn’t deny his own feelings that mirrored hers.
He always was a bad turian, he thinks with a small snort.
It’s not long before he is dragged out of his mind and greeted with the back of the pilot’s chair. He can’t remember the last time found himself in the cockpit. He never normally needed anywhere other than the crew deck, or the hangar unless they were docked. Before he can even announce his presence, the chair quickly spins to reveal Joker, a single finger against his lips while the other points towards the co-pilot's seat.
He cocks his head to the side in confusion before his cerulean eyes trail over to the corner, only to widen at the sight while his mandibles flick out in shocked amusement. Commander Raven Shepard is sprawled out within the wide chair, making the woman look oddly small in contrast. What’s even more shocking is the fact that she’s sleeping, deeply if her position is anything to go by. Her legs are thrown over the armrest in a way Garrus can’t imagine being very comfortable, while a single arm dangles off the side of the chair. Her chin is tucked tightly against her chest and her loose hair has fallen against her face, creating a small barrier to hide her sleeping expression from sight.
“Ah…”
“So you can see why I called you up here,” Joker adds, deepening Garrus’ confusion.
“To witness the fact that she can rest for more than twenty minutes at a time, without finding something else to do instead? Or did you need a witness to confirm that you’re not hallucinating and that she is asleep?”
“No, not that. Well… partially that, but that’s beside the point. Someone needs to take Ravs up to her room. Preferably before she wakes up with her muscle aching in five different places and I somehow get the blame for it.” Joker pauses for a moment, his eyes not once moving away from Garrus. “It’s not like I’m capable of helping her, even if she would let me. Which is why you are here, considering you’re the only one that she would let close enough in this state.”
Garrus opens his mouth to interject with a witty retort, but he struggles to find one. It’s not like he can lie to Joker. Well he could, but the man could also quite easily call him out on his bullshit. He never used to consider the Normandy’s pilot a friend, not back when they were nothing more than working together to hunt Saren down. Things slowly changed between them when they both lost her. One was wrecked with guilt, the knowledge that he had condemned his oldest friend. The other was wrecked with the loss of his only friend, torn from his side too soon.
He finds himself silenced as he stares down at her, completely unable to form a response and for a moment, he wonders if Joker can see the conflict. The deeply hidden fear that he will mess everything up and lose her once more.
“For what it’s worth… You have my seal of approval.” His voice is unnaturally soft and void of all humour. It’s not often that Joker shows his serious side, “You’re good for one another and work well together, you will make a scarily good couple.”
Garrus surprises himself with the relieved laugh that escapes him, only to be silenced by a low, harsh, shushing sound.
“I’m glad that you’re happy and all, but the last thing we need is a groggy biotic getting a rude awakening in my bridge. So if you can escort sleeping beauty back to her cabin before that happens, I would appreciate it.”
With a small roll of his eyes, he gingerly approaches the small corner of the bridge, lowering himself before her. From the new vantage point, he can easily see the cybernetic scars peeking through the shield of hair. They had already started to heal, finally letting the skin hide the harsh orange. A selfish part of him will miss them, even with the knowledge of her insecurity surrounding them. At least with them vanishing, it showed progress when it came to her letting herself relax, one less thing for him to worry about.
He slowly raises his hand and tucks the hair behind her ears. The black strands feel like silk within his fingers and flow like water when a stubborn lock escapes, hellbent on covering her. Garrus keeps his subvocals subdued, aware that Cerberus had given her an advantage in that department, despite the hum of contentment and adoration threatening to claw its way up his throat. Before Joker can open his mouth and ruin his mood, Garrus carefully places one arm under her legs while the other weaves around her back, easily pulling her into his arms. He slowly stands, turning to give the pilot a grateful nod before turning to make the trek back to her cabin.
Garrus takes his time as he enters the spacious cabin. Now that she is in his arms, he is reluctant to put her down. After lugging around a thirty-nine-kilogram sniper for hours on end, she weighs next to nothing in his arms without her usual armour. A small part of him wants to get used to the way her head rests against his cowl, the picture of comfort despite the way her cheek is pressed against his armour.
He glances around the room as he advances deeper into her space, noting the dozens of datapads overtaking her desk before he lowers her onto the large bed. The thick duvet has already been thrown to one side, a clear sign of her previous attempt to rest. After draping it over her, Garrus hesitates, unsure if he is overstepping before a sudden burst of courage guides his hand and tenderly tucks her under the multitude of spare blankets she has collected. He doesn’t miss the way multiple of them cover the leather sofa, nor the pillows that had been taken from her bed accompanying them.
With a satisfied flick of a mandible, he turns to leave before a pale hand quickly shoots out from under the fabric nest, strong yet slender fingers wrapping around his wrist. He slowly turns and is greeted by two grey eyes staring up at him.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Garrus accuses, unsure of what else to say. “I didn’t tiptoe up here in heavy armour for you to wake up now.”
She gives a tired chuckle, her eyes crinkling with mirth as she snuggles deeper under the covers. “I could pretend to be asleep if it makes you feel better?” “I would prefer it if you were actually sleeping,” His eyes slowly trail back over to the sofa, “preferably in your bed.”
Shepard gives a noncommittal shrug as she follows his gaze, the remnants of sleep slurring her words. “I don’t wake to see stars over there.”
His eyes shoot up to the window above her bed and a chill creeps across his body. His subvocals share his discomfort and anger on her behalf and for a moment, he forgets that she can now pick up on parts of it. He awkwardly clears his throat, hoping it could contain his emotions. He gives her a strained smile, noticing the way she has begun drawing small, comforting circles into the smooth underarmour covering his wrist with her thumb.
“Well, next time we’re at the Citadel, I’ll find you a nice banner to stick up there instead. What do you want the design to be? Blasto? The Mako flying off the side of a mountain upside down?” He can’t help the joy that flutters in his chest when her laugh reaches him, her hand coming up to cover her face. “Hm, I’ll find something, I’m sure. You should try to rest until then, Shepard.”
She lets out a deep sigh, sinking deeper into the bed before tugging on his wrist. “Would you stay?”
Garrus feels his mind blank, not for the first time in her presence.
“Not like that, I know we said we would wait for…that. It’s just…” She trails off, running a frustrated hand through her already messy hair as she looks for the right words to say. “I feel safe when I’m around you and even though I’ll probably still have a nightmare, it’s less daunting knowing you’re around.”
He watches as her face reddens with the confession, her fingers nervously twitching against his wrist as she waits for him. She averts her eyes, staring past him to watch the fish idly swim around their tank. He gently pries her fingers off him, the disappointment in her eyes sending a knife through his heart.
He takes a step back before unlatching his chestplate. “I need to remove this armour first, I doubt you want cold metal pressed against you all night?”
“I’m sure I’ve slept against worse things during my time in the Alliance,” she mumbles half-heartedly before growing serious again, “thank you, Garrus.”
Garrus gives her a calm smile before he removes the rest of the armour, carefully placing it on one side of the sofa. He then slides under the covers with her, pulling her close to him. Her back is pressed against his chest while his hands rest over her stomach, holding her tight. She shuffles slightly, finding a comfortable spot on her side and he lets out a small hiss as her bare, and cold, foot brushes against his leg. She mumbles out a small apology before she gets lectured on how turians and the cold don’t mix, earning her a small grunt of acknowledgement. With the sounds of his quiet breathing and the steady hum of the fish tank, she finds her eyes growing heavy once more.
Pillow Talk
pairings: Femshep x Garrus
genre: fluff, comfort
summary: Shepard has finally been convinced to take a break from her work. Meanwhile, Garrus reflects on his relationship with Shepard and comes to the realisation that they both had feelings for one another a lot earlier than he initially thought.
Set during ME3.
word count: 1,517
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58434538
The quiet hum of the ship's engines echoes around the quiet room, occasionally broken by the bubbling of the fish tank’s filters when Garrus lets out a quiet sigh of relief, it had been a war of its own to convince Shepard to get some rest. He's still surprised he managed to get her bundled under the soft blankets with him. Now he only needs to get her to actually sleep, but knowing her, he will take what he can get. He can’t complain considering that either way, he gets to hold her for a few hours and she’s not running herself ragged with work.
It’s better to have her mind resting in any way it can, especially when she all but refuses to sleep.
Garrus looks down at the smaller woman, idly fiddling away with her omni-tool, the object casting a warm orange glow upon her face. A part of him thinks that he will never come to terms with just how lucky he is while another part of him fills with concern that she might be working still, but her reports don’t usually cause her to smirk at the orange screen, so he’s ready to let that concern die as quickly as it arose. While they cuddle in a gentle silence, he can’t help himself from subtly admiring her; from the way her silky hair brushes against the bare skin of her shoulders, down to the way her odd amount of fingers glide over the virtual interface around her arm.
Back when he first got to know her, he had pushed down the flickering flame that ignited whenever she flashed him a gentle smile, fully convinced she would never have a flame of her own, not for him, at least. They had more important things to worry about at the time, a stupid thought in comparison to the not-so-stupid things they worry about today.
He wants to smack his younger self for letting the chance to kick things off early go to waste. But as he watches her chew on her lower lip in thought, her eyebrow creasing slightly before typing away, he wonders if things are better this way. Sure, they haven’t gotten the chance to experience a relationship without the constant stress and anxiety that a suicide mission or war happens to bring, but they were both different people back then. Their strong relationship was built upon the back of such a close-knit friendship, after all. Despite that logic, Garrus’ mind can’t help but replay those tender moments from their hunt for Saren back to him, what-ifs filling the gaps in his memories when he thinks of the way she would gently rest her hand on his bicep after a particularly rough mission. The way she always sought him out first during her rounds of the ship, even though it would have made more sense to start with the crew deck. Or the way she would always extend an offer to him whenever she had a sliver of extra time to kill on the Citadel, usually while the Normandy was being refuelled or when they needed to stock up on supplies.
His mind comes to a sudden halt and for a brief moment, Garrus would admit to being an idiot, just this once. A small giggle breaks him from his musing and he gives her a questioning look as she turns to gaze up at him.
"Joker's placed a bet on who's going to be the first to pick a fight with Javik. I'm not going to encourage that one, but I can't exactly say that I blame him." She explains, waving her hand dismissively.
Garrus lets out a chuckle of his own, muttering his agreement as he shuffles their positions, shifting to hold her in his arms from behind. She grins before turning off the omni-tool and leaning back to be as close to him as possible.
"Were you flirting with me?" He lowers his face to nuzzle her hair, causing his voice to come out muffled despite the embarrassed hum of his subvocals.
"You're going to have to be more specific, love, considering we're currently lying in bed together." Her voice is light and he doesn’t need to see her to know she’s smirking.
"I mean back on the SR-1, when you would come and chat with me while I worked on the Mako." He watches her fidget, burying her face into his arms wrapped firmly around her, almost as if it could hide her from his sharp eye.
"Oh..." She mutters quietly, her face flushing crimson.
"Are you really getting embarrassed over flirting with me back then, considering we are, and I quote, "lying in bed together"?" Garrus brings his hands up in front of her, making sure she can see the exaggerated air quotes while he pitches his voice up a few octaves, earning him a small scoff as she resurfaces. She gives his shin a playful kick with her heel before wiggling out of his grip so she can turn to face him.
"Hush, Vakarian. Yeah, I did flirt with you here and there. It wasn't the most obvious, but I had no idea you were that blind to it, are you really just noticing?" She tilts her head to watch his reaction intensely, a catlike smile taking over her expression as she notices the blue tint taking over his neck. She does her best to stifle her chuckle and reaches up to gently stroke one of his mandibles, "...Now who's the one getting embarrassed?"
“Yeah, well, I caught up in the end, didn’t I?” He does his best to sound confident, full well knowing the retort she was preparing, ready to shoot his way.
“Sure, but only because I had to risk an HR incident with you to test the waters.” The groan she gets from him in response causes her eyes to light up with glee, she then shuffles closer to rest her head against his carapace, sneakily stealing most of the covers as she does. He lets her get away with it, just this once.
He gently glides a talon up and down the length of her arm, never growing tired of the way her skin reacts to the touch, before pressing his mouth plates against her forehead. If anyone were to tell him back then that Commander Shepard would look adorable within the arms of a turian, Garrus probably would have laughed in their faces. If anyone were to tell him that she would look this adorable within his arms, well, Garrus would probably have passed out from laughter instead, not once believing that he of all people would be her choice. Now, he simply thanks the Spirits each day for the sight.
Shepard slowly rises in the bed, instantly catching his attention and before he can question her, she not-so-gently bumps her forehead against his and holds it there. Despite the adoration overflowing in his chest, he can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him. He catches the confusion in her eyes and holds the back of her head before she can pull away, not wanting the moment to end so soon.
“You really need to stop hanging around Wrex and Grunt. A turian kiss is supposed to be gentle, not a krogan headbutt, sweetheart.” He lectures, subvocals humming with amusement as she rolls her eyes at him.
“That takes the fun out of things,” she retorts, her voice taking on a songlike tone as he lets out a small snort before she continues, “But yes, I was flirting with you back then. I wasn’t entirely sure if you weren’t catching onto it or if you were just not interested. Guess I got my answer there in the end, though you can see where we were both going wrong considering my own flirting skills were basically non-existent.”
“Were?” Garrus mutters, earning him a collision with one of the spare pillows.
“Hey, I’ve improved since we first started dating! Besides, you wouldn’t have me any other way.” She declares as she wraps her legs around his own and clings onto him tightly.
“You’re right, I wouldn’t” He punctuates his point by taking the blanket and re-arranging it, making sure she’s properly wrapped up as she begins to let out a small yawn, “Looks like it's time you tried to get some sleep and no arguing, I’ll be right here.”
She instantly goes to argue, despite his words, only to be stopped when he lightly presses his finger against her lips, effectively silencing her protests. She gives a small huff of defeat before nodding and he searches her eyes for a moment before dropping his hand, placing it between her shoulder blades and holding her close.
“If it distracts your mind and helps you fall asleep easier, you can just think of ways to improve your flirting techniques,” Garrus suggests flippantly as his own eyes flutter shut for the night and as unhelpful as his suggestion is, Shepard finds herself taking the advice and letting a dozen scenarios flood her mind, just for him.
✍️ It’s WIP Wednesday ✍️
If you get this, please reply with a snippet of a random fic wip or art wip!
ahh, thank you for this!! sorry im a bit (very) late, its been a busy week! <3
I've been pretty inspired after replaying me1 and 2, so this is a small wip of my current post-arrival fic
She grips her knees tightly, knuckles turning white as the image of the mass relay exploding flashes through her mind. She rapidly stands with a strangled sob and darts to her bathroom, nausea rising as her mind replays the event over and over. The cool metal of the floor soothes her, but nothing helps the buzzing under her skin, the urge to keep moving before her actions catch up with her. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and for a second, she almost recoils. What has she become?
and one of my current levi x reader wips as well! Something a bit more fluffy!
You place the basket down on the ground, avoiding crushing a small cluster of mushrooms, hiding within the shade of the trees, before taking out the checkered blanket you had packed the previous night. You carefully unfold it then place it down in the centre, taking the time to smooth out any creases daring to mar the fabric before dramatically dropping down onto it. Levi slowly undoes his shoes, slipping them off and placing them beside the basket before joining you on the blanket. He stretches his legs out, leaning back on his arms before giving you an appraising look. “I’m guessing you packed us a lunch to share out here?” You bite back a smile before rolling on your side, stretching out to reach the basket with as little movement as possible, you grab ahold of the edge and tilt it so you can reach inside and remove the items within. Levi snorts as he watches you and before you know it, you feel your body shift forward onto the grass as his toe meets your side.
Memory Lane
pairings: Femshep x Garrus
genre: fluff, comfort
summary: In the early morning hours, Shepard’s mind begins to wander. Is she still the same woman who hunted down Saren? She would like to believe so, but recent actions have made her reconsider. Luckily for Shepard, Garrus is there to comfort her.
Set in the first half of ME2, but before Garrus’ loyalty mission.
word count: 2,662
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58132921
The mission had gone well enough, a simple in-and-out task. One that came with a lot of bullets required. But they had successfully recruited the assassin and gained another ally to help with the impossible, a feat Shepard should be pleased by. Still, nothing had helped to stop the simmering anxiety that had been hounding her since her reawakening. The anxiety had returned to her when they arrived on the Normandy, clawing at her heels and trying to slow her escape to her quarters.
She does her best to weave through the crew members, avoiding their eyes all while strategically using a random datapad as an excuse to not be social. Not that anyone could blame her given the hour.
Throwing open the doors to her cabin, she tosses the datapad onto the desk, not bothering to see where it lands before slowly dragging her aching body to the sofa. If she’s lucky, she might be able to schedule in a small nap before they arrive at Pragia, but Shepard knows by now to not push her luck in that department. The cool leather presses against her bare arms, helping to ground her as she stares up at the ceiling, making an effort to avoid the obnoxious window above her bed.
Her long hair hangs off the side of the couch, brushing past her dangling arms before she finally gets the energy to push herself into an upright position, forgoing her attempt at a nap altogether and instead resting her head in her hands with a barely concealed sigh.
Her skin feels wrong. Sure, it feels the same as two years ago; the same softness, the same freckle resting just below her left elbow, but now it doesn’t feel like it belongs to her. The uneasiness buzzes under the surface, wanting to tear itself out and be free from its manufactured prison. How can she be so sure she isn’t the puppet they claim she’s not?
The commander of the SR1 was a kind woman, preferring to use her words until she was sure they were no longer an option. She wanted to help as many people as possible, going as far as letting the Batarians escape to secure the hostages' safety back in the Asgard system. The old commander would never aim her gun at someone who hadn’t aimed their first, she would never play with her targets, using cheap taunts for even cheaper satisfaction. She was a kind and proud woman, a woman worthy of the title of “The First Human Spectre”, nothing like the ghost now masquerading as her.
The commander of the SR2 had risen to taunts and replied in kind. She had put her words aside and jumped straight to violence on that damned mission, something she was not proud of and now feels the overwhelming guilt and fear creeping up on her as she reflects. She can no longer run from the fact that Commander Shepard has changed, that she no longer recognises the woman who stares through the mirror at her.
Before the sob building up at the back of her throat has a chance to escape, a smooth, metallic voice breaks her focus.
“Commander, Garrus Vakarian is outside your quarters, shall I let him in?”
She takes a moment to compose herself, pushing the fear back down into its designated bottle and hoping that whatever expression she’s contorted her features into doesn’t give her away.
“Go ahead, EDI.” She replies, her voice lacking its usual warmth.
She watches the blue node flicker away after giving a simple “affirmative”, interrupted by the gentle swoosh of her doors being opened. She lifts her head to give him a small grin, feeling her muscles relax at the sight of him easily waltzing through her room.
“Hey, Garrus.” She cringes at the small wobble in her voice and she can only hope that she can play it off as exhaustion. Shepard doesn’t miss the way his head tilts once he reaches her, but before she can say anything, he drops down onto the space next to her.
“Hey, Shep.” He keeps his voice casual, yet she has known him long enough to pick up the traits of hesitation and worry clinging to his voice, “So, you were quick to avoid everyone after that last mission, I think you gave Chambers whiplash with how fast you shot past her. Are you okay?”
She turns her head away, letting it hang as a curtain of hair shields her face from his concerned gaze. She debates telling him, letting him into that dark part of the supernova known as Shepard. But right now, she doesn’t want to be The Commander. She wants to talk to her friend.
“Garrus, it might be selfish of me to ask, but I need to know. How did... How do you know that I'm me? Some days I'm not even sure. I don't act the same as I did when we took Saren down, not entirely. It's got me questioning myself.”
She leans back on the couch, rubbing a hand over her forehead as she tries to corral her frayed thoughts into a coherent sentence. She’s thankful for the silence hanging between them as they both approach the delicate subject that has been a long time coming.
“I'm tired and I'm more stressed than back on the SR1 and it's now starting to show, I'm becoming blunter and less tolerant. It's... It's beginning to scare me. I don't feel the same, hell, I don't even look the same now that I'm missing my old scars and gained brand-new, glowing ones. That paired with the fact that I'm starting to act differently, how can I be certain?”
She finally turns to stare up at him, her eyes wide with unconcealed fear and for a second, she worries that she’s said too much. Garrus is silent, his mandibles slowly fluttering with nerves as he takes the time to properly look at his best friend.
He would be blind to not notice the changes in her, both physical and mental. Humans can be resilient despite their squishiness, he will give them that. But no human has managed to perfectly heal a decades-old scar, let alone two of them. The new scars Cerberus had left her with stand out more than the lack of eyebrow and lip scarring, given the way they ominously flicker against her smooth flesh. The raw, unnatural cracks in her skin only skimmed the surface of the cracks her death had left her with on the inside.
He can’t deny that he was concerned to see her almost push a man out of a window, not after all she had taught him before her untimely departure from the galaxy, but he also can’t deny the fact of who she still is. It’s not like he hasn’t changed, possibly for the worse depending on who you ask, in those years either.
He gives her a small shrug, flicking a mandible out in the turian equivalent of a smirk as he throws his arm across the back of her sofa, leaning closer to her.
“I knew from the moment I first saw you, Shepard. Cliché, I know, but come on, who else would be crazy enough to run across a manufactured death trap, not to mention towards the sniper hellbent on killing everyone around them?”
A small chuckle breaks past her lips and she is quick to try and cover it with her hand, her nerves being settled with each passing moment. Garrus simply watches her for a moment before clearing his throat and trying to put on a more serious front. It would have worked, but she knew him too well to see the growing amusement in his eyes.
“But if you really do need convincing, then I guess it's come to this. We're doing it.” His low voice drawls out as he finishes it with a single, firm nod.
“Doing what?” She asks, suspicion rising in her voice.
“What's one shared memory that only you, the real Commander Shepard, would know?”
Shepard gives Garrus an unimpressed look, doing her best to push down the giddy, juvenile excitement before taking a moment to think. Her lips stretch into a gentle smile as she gets lost in the memory.
Everyone was so different back then, she realises, not just herself.
“Noveria. It was shortly after we helped take Anoleis down, but before we reached Peak 15.”
Garrus interrupts her with a loud groan, running a single hand over his fringe. She happily continues, purposefully ignoring his dramatics. He did ask, after all.
“We had to park the Mako for a moment while you repaired one of the wheels that had been damaged by the Geth. Liara had opted to remain inside the Mako, not wanting to leave her spot near its heater. You were so focused on the task at hand and completely unaware of your surroundings.”
She pauses momentarily, trying to stifle her giggles as best as she can as she feels her eyes beginning to water from the effort. Garrus rolls his eyes, trying to look annoyed despite the fondness squeezing his heart. He loves it whenever she lets herself laugh, the sound simultaneously foreign yet familiar to him.
“You were a little bit too focused and didn't realise what I was up to until it was too late. Before you knew it, you were bumped on the head with an impressively large snowball.”
Garrus shivers from the memory before rising to her bait, his words coming out as dry as possible. “Bumped is putting it lightly, I still don't believe you when you say you didn't use any biotics to help you with that throw.”
“I didn't, I swear!” She throws her hands up in mock surrender as he narrows his eyes at her, watching as a small smirk begins to appear on her lips. “But... I guess it is true that only the real Commander Shepard would know how loud your yelp was. Seriously Garrus, I was concerned we would trigger an avalanche.”
“I believe I did warn you that Turians aren't exactly fans of the cold weather,” Garrus replies, coolly.
“How could I forget? You made sure to repeatedly remind me after that. It was worth it though, I wasn't aware that your voice could even hit that pitch.” Her words are light, unrestrained glee flowing free as she shuffles even closer to him.
Garrus scoffs, finding the fish swimming around the comically large fish tank more interesting. He would never let her know that he surprised himself that day, equally unaware his voice could go that high. He also keeps the way her maniacal cackling instantly warmed the chill caused by the snow a secret. One he’s more than prepared to take to his grave.
“Ha. Ha. You know, I do believe that you have an equally embarrassing story from Noveria. Before Anoleis, when we were still trying to get into that garage.”
It’s now her turn to groan, bringing her knees up to her chest and burying her face against them to hide the harsh crimson that begins to take over her cheeks. She tries to silence him, moving to place a slender hand over his mouth, but he’s faster and stronger and can grab both of her wrists with ease before continuing with his recollection.
“It was shortly after we spoke to Lorik Qui'in in the Mezzanine. We had left to go grab the data from his office and on the way back, you managed to fall down the stairs.” He doesn’t bother to stop the smirk from leaking into his voice, proud at the reaction he’s drawn from her.
Shepard remembers this day well, even if she wishes she didn’t. She was younger, technically speaking, and full of fake confidence as more and more bullshit got thrown her way. She wanted to appear more put together than she felt, especially in front of her new crew which happened to be full of aliens who had very little human interaction before her.
She had always loved the cold, especially the snow, feeling more calm whenever snowflakes descended from the sky. Noveria was like heaven to her, even if the rest of her crew made their displeasure known. During the small lull in urgency, she had let her guard down for a mere second, wanting a moment to appreciate the raging storm outside. If only she hadn’t decided to do so while walking down the stupidly steep stairs.
The horrible clacking of her armour against the polished stone stairs rang loudly through the building and brought all eyes to the figure sitting awkwardly at the bottom. The way Garrus gave a loud huff of laughter, once it was shown she was alright, at least, still echoes in the back of her mind. If that’s what it took to lure it out from him, she would take the bruised ego and flesh.
“Okay, big guy, "fall" is a bit dramatic. I might have slipped and skidded down the last 4 steps on my arse, which was an easy mistake to make! My boots were still slippery from the snow!” Commander Shepard doesn’t pout, she’s too old to stoop to such levels and she definitely didn’t have a hint of one in her voice.
Garrus simply chuckles, nodding along and letting her have her excuse, no matter how flimsy it is. They sit in silence for a moment, simply existing in the gentle mirth. A moment where the two of them don’t need to put on a mask or hide behind a title.
It had been too long since Garrus was able to simply sit beside his friend, he had honestly thought he would never get the chance to do so again, not after Liara broke the news of her death to him. But if he has learnt anything from having her back, it’s to not doubt the lengths Shepard will go to just to do the impossible. If anything, he shouldn’t be surprised by her cheating death itself.
A small voice breaks the silence and draws him out of his thoughts. He registers it as Shepard’s, yet he has never heard her voice sound so gentle before.
“Thank you, Garrus. Thank you for helping me up. All those times back then and all the ones that I'm sure will happen in the future. But more importantly, thank you for this, for helping me feel like myself again. For convincing me that I am who I’m supposed to be.”
The fragility of it shakes him and the vulnerability that shines in her eyes shoots through to his heart. The sound lures out emotions that he had tried to force down and they begin to bubble with a renowned strength. Without thinking, he moves to tenderly tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, momentarily fascinated by how silky it felt against his finger. Her eyes widen at the action for a second before she turns to give him a shy smile.
“You're welcome, Shepard. I've got your back, then and now. No one can blame you for acting differently under the circumstances, and there are a lot of circumstances to consider. Cerberus, a new crew, being brought back only to be thrown towards a suicide mission... Not to mention the fact that the people you once gave everything to help are now acting differently around you. I would be even more concerned for you if you weren't showing signs of stress.”
She huffs out a humourless laugh, nodding along with his words, she then shocks the both of them when she lifts her hand to carefully rest it on his knee. “I’m lucky to have you, Garrus.”
One day she might know just how backwards she’s got it and that he is the lucky one. One day he might be brave enough to tell her if she doesn’t get the courage first.
Attack on titan comm for @topaz-carbuncle
I need more people to give me anime boys for my style please he looks so good!
Hey AoT fanfic writers, not to spread worry or anything, but there is currently a bot going around and scraping fics off Ao3 and uploading them onto a different site
My Ao3 uploads for levi x reader fics:
and my fics uploaded by a random person/bot account on the other site:
There are currently 9 out of 11 of my fics uploaded without my permission, all of them levi x reader focused (my levi x oc one seems to be ignored if it's an indicator for what it's targeting?) So for anyone who uploads AoT fics, especially x reader ones, I would double-check your username on this site: https://rivd.net/
It also seems very tricky to report the fics on this site in order to get them taken down, which is a second slap in the face...
