“Blue. His blue. It became my favorite color—the only hue that mattered in a universe turned to ash. But I eventually learned that blue is also the color of stars that die in total silence."
I fell in love with a Turian of arctic eyes in the middle of a funeral that had no body to mourn. Garrus Vakarian was my only anchor in the void, the sole horizon I could see whenever the towering shadow of my brother, the Great John Shepard, threatened to eclipse me. But in this galaxy, love between species often feels like a cruel joke—and I was the only one who didn't catch the punchline.
He vanished without a goodbye. No note. No reason. He left me standing like a hollow statue in a Citadel that reeked of his absence.
When Cerberus approached me with the Lazarus Project, I didn't say yes out of heroism. I said yes because I was already dead behind the eyes. If my flesh, my blood, and my very breath could serve as the scaffolding to rebuild the "Important Shepard," then let them take it all. I was nothing but a cosmic ghost searching for a place where it finally hurts to breathe.
I was ready for the fluid in that tank to drown his name out of my mind. I was ready to be the sacrifice John needed to save the world.
But destiny has a twisted sense of humor: my brother has awakened, the galaxy is tearing at the seams, and somewhere on Omega, a lone vigilante is still firing into the dark... never knowing that I died just so he could have a hero to follow once more.
Can Mara Shepard survive the resurrection of her brother and the ghost of the man who shattered her soul?
🖋️ Writing by Dummy_love7 > ✨ Project: MBS (Mass Effect Series) > 🌌 Read the full story on AO3: Dummy_love7 > Please don't repost.
If you enjoyed this snippet, the best way to support me is by reblogging! It helps my stories reach more stars. Thank you! 💙
Update: After nearly a whole month (I know, I'm sorry) I have completed another S.O.S. chapter!
Click Here to Read the Chapter
Once again, I am sorry for the delay in updates BUT I hope I can make up for it by giving you what I think might be the longest chapter I have ever written. So, I apologize if there are any spelling and grammatical mistakes, I've read through it a few times, but might not have caught all the errors. As always, when I find them, I'll edit them.
Chapter 13 Summary: Milligan arrives to the island to find Kate in trouble. Curtain's attempts to uncover his brother's spy once and for all leads to a conflict between him and his son. Meanwhile, Nicholas and his team make a plan to rescue the children while Garrison makes some surprising discoveries.
Once again tagging everyone who originally expressed interest in the fic: @myfairkatiecat @mvshortcut @kneeslapworthy @serial-serializednovelreader @sophieswundergarten @itsgoghtime (as always: please let me know if this is annoying, because I know that while the tumblr-only people find it helpful, some people might not like or need the notification, especially when they have an AO3. And let me know if you aren't tagged, but want to be!). I'm especially interested to know what @oflightningandstars thinks of this chapter, because it focuses a lot on the Wetheralls, which I believe you might be able to guess from the chapter title. (And don't worry @lemondropletters, I included some Reynie angst in this chapter as well).
(but like, not really, and they all just love each other so much)
aka the crack oneshot where the gang gets fuckin zooted and talk about a Dark Secret from milligan and mr benedict's past
(read on ao3)
“You’re down to one left,” Number Two said, tapping her finger lightly on the table. “If you refuse one more dare, you lose. And that means I win.”
“Technically, Mr. Benedict is not out yet,” Milligan said calmly, unfazed.
“He’s out of the room, if I win while he’s not here… I win.”
“I feel like that’s not how this game works,” Rhonda said, “But I’m too entertained to make a formal complaint. Continue.”
“Right,” Number Two said. She gave him a thoughtful onceover. “What’s something you won’t do… but that still falls within the rules of the game?”
There were, of course, rules, and things that had been veto’d beforehand. They weren’t monsters, after all. And anyway, it had to be physically possible, so no daring him to turn into a physical manifestation of the concept of time.
He raised an eyebrow. “I could always pick Truth,” he said.
“…But you won’t.”
Milligan tilted his head in acquiescence. He didn’t have much Truth to give, and anyway, he was quite curious to see what dare she came up with, whether he’d admit it out loud or not.
Her eyes flicked to the doorway, and she straightened slightly. Aha! her entire expression screamed smugly.
“Truth…” she said, “Or dare?”
She sounded very pleased with herself. Milligan almost wanted to say Truth just to mess with her, but—
“Dare.”
She gave a Cheshire grin. “I dare you to get Mr. Benedict to kiss you,” she said triumphantly. “Ha! I win!”
Milligan considered this.
She caught his look of consideration. “Hey, wait—”
He stood.
Mr. Benedict, completely oblivious to what had just happened (despite Rhonda’s wide-eyed stare, a mix of fascination, delight, and horror) walked into the room with snacks.
“I got some of those little lemon cookies from the fridge,” he was saying, “there’s enough for everyone, but they are bite sized—”
“Mr. Benedict,” Milligan said, formally.
“Milligan—” Number Two began, but he held up a hand.
“Mr. Benedict,” he repeated. “May I kiss you for science.”
He said it so flatly it was barely a question.
Mr. Benedict’s expression was—well, comically surprised. He nearly choked, blinking bewilderedly.
“Ex—excuse me?”
“May I ki—”
“No, I heard, I just—” he glanced around the room, and it was really unclear if he immediately clocked what was going on or just decided that this was some product of the fancy little cocktails Rhonda had made and wasn’t worth it, but either way, he sort of straightened up and said, “You know what? Sure.”
Number Two, who had been taking a sip of her bright yellow martini, choked on it. Rhonda looked like she might burst.
Well. There was only one thing to it.
Milligan kissed him.
Really, it was a nice kiss. Very chaste, but gentle.
When he pulled away, Milligan looked very pleased with himself, Rhonda was flat on her back shaking with suppressed giggling, and Number Two was still coughing up her martini.
Milligan nodded, and returned to his seat.
Mr. Benedict stood there a moment, still holding the cookies.
“Well!” he said. “That happened. Anyway, where were we?”
Rhonda lost the battle and started full-on cackling, still flat on her back on the floor.
“Okay!” Number Two finally said, loudly, “TECHNICALLY!!!!! Technically that didn’t count. I said you had to get him to kiss you, not you had to kiss him.”
“Ah,” Mr. Benedict said. If he hadn’t realized it was a dare before, he certainly did now. He set the cookies down, walked to where Milligan sat, and kissed his cheek.
“Does that suffice?” he asked, turning to beam at her.
Number Two sputtered. “That wasn’t—”
“You didn’t say on the lips, Number Two!” Rhonda said, from the floor, still laughing.
“…Okay, that’s fair.”
“In fact, I think Milligan just wins this round!” Rhonda said. “That was great.”
“Technically, Nicholas did half the work,” Milligan said.
“I don’t mind,” Mr. Benedict said. “I’m happy with the lemon cookies and the wonderful company.”
“Oooh, Nicholas,” Rhonda said.
Milligan, who had, despite his outwardly calm demeanor actually had quite a few delicious margaritas, said, “Well, if I cannot call the man I’ve kissed three times by his first name, I don’t know who I can.”
Rhonda sat up. “Milligan,” she said, gravely. “This is very important.”
She paused, and then, deadly serious: “Are you so tipsy you can’t count, or did you just say three on purpose?”
Number Two made a wordless noise. Mr. Benedict was steadily turning pink.
Milligan paused, an altogether too long and pensive silence, staring calmly straight forward. “………I’m not sure it’s wise to answer that,” he said.
“OH MY GOD,” Rhonda said.
“Wait,” Number Two said. She downed the rest of her martini in one go, then slammed down the glass down. “Okay, are you counting the two today, or just one, since, as established, you only kissed him once?”
“…This is entrapment.”
“OH MY GOD,” Rhonda repeated.
“How did this even happen?” Number Two wailed.
“Sometimes when a man and a man love each other very m—”
“DID YOU JUST IMPLY THAT YOU HAVE HOOKED UP WITH MR. NICHOLAS BENEDICT,”
Number Two said, her volume three times as loud as usual.
Milligan and Mr. Benedict, in a moment of being perfectly in sync that only comes from years of friendship, exchanged looks as they decided, independently but in complete unison, to mess with her.
Number Two stared at them. They pointedly looked away. Milligan’s poker face was flawless, Mr. Benedict’s slightly less so.
“NO.”
she said.
Mr. Benedict broke first. He giggled, and then immediately crumpled onto the couch.
Milligan checked to make sure he wasn’t going to give himself any awkward cricks before looking back to Number Two, who looked like she wanted the sweet release of death.
“No,” Milligan agreed. “But the other thing happened.”
She took in a deep breath. “….How?”
“I mean. It’s kind of a long story,” Milligan said. “Or one of them is.”
“And the other isn’t?” Rhonda demanded.
Mr. Benedict sat up. “Hmng. I’m awake!”
No one looked at him.
“New Years’,” Milligan shrugged.
“New Years’?” Rhonda repeated.
Number Two began silently making another martini.
“You started this,” Rhonda said, pointing at her.
Number Two poured more alcohol into her martini.
Milligan glanced sheepishly over at Mr. Benedict, who, if one ignored the way he was blushing, would seem perfectly unaffected by this topic of conversation.
He was examining his lemon cookie as if it held the secrets to the universe. Mr. Benedict glanced up and caught Milligan’s gaze. He shrugged at him as if to say no big deal.
Rhonda leaned back for a moment. Then she said, “Okay, I’ve got to know. What about the other time?”
Milligan and Mr. Benedict exchanged a look.
Number Two noticed this.
“Hey, wait a second,” she said, turning to Mr. Benedict, who now looked like he might disappear into the couch.
“We’ve been interrogating Milligan,” she said, (Mr. Benedict took a small, nervous bite of his lemon cookie, and since it was far too small for this kind of nervous behavior, it crumbled awkwardly apart in his hands, much like his confidence in this situation) “But what do you have to say?”
He shrugged, wondering vaguely if he could think of a funny enough joke to knock himself out. “New Years’,” he repeated.
She raised her eyebrows. “That’s it?” she said. “New Years’?”
“Well…”
Rhonda hummed. “You know, as hilarious as this is, if you don’t want to talk about it—”
Mr. Benedict sighed, a little dramatically, and said, “No, no, it’s fine—I’m sure you’re all bound to find all my dark secrets eventually.”
“I’m touched, sir.”
“Don’t call me that right now.”
“That’s fair.”
(“I hate this,” Number Two announced, throwing back another gulp of her martini.)
Mr. Benedict awkwardly brushed the lemon cookie crumbs from his hands and said, “Alright. Milligan, do you want to or shall I?”
“You go ahead,” Milligan said. “I’ll explain the New Years’ thing.”
They looked at him expectantly.
“It was New Years’,” he said. “We were at some fancy gala that—” he gave them a look, “Nicholas was invited to. There was a countdown.”
(Mr. Benedict smiled at that.)
Rhonda and Number Two waited a beat. He did not continue.
“That’s it?” Number Two asked.
“That’s it.”
“The wine was terrible at that party,” Mr. Benedict said thoughtfully, swishing his drink in the glass. “You know, they didn’t invite me back the next year.”
“That might have been the dip. Sorry about that.”
“Yeah.”
“The what?” Rhonda asked.
“Please say you brought some poisoned chips and dip,” Number Two said. “I’m learning too many things today.”
“No,” Milligan said.
“You dipped him?!”
“You know, technically, he could have dipped me,” Milligan said.
“I’m very flattered at your overestimation of my strength,” Mr. Benedict said. “But I’m not sure I could dip Number Two.”
“I think you’re underestimating yourself,” Milligan said. “You could probably dip Number Two.”
“With my luck, I’d fall asleep again,” he said, a bit of a grumble in his voice.
“Since you were the one being dipped, it looked suitably dramatic,” Milligan said reassuringly. “Almost planned.”
“Almost,” Mr. Benedict said gloomily.
“I’m beginning to think New Years’ was not near enough of an explanation!” Rhonda said, throwing her arms up. “How is this the simple one?!”
“Only just beginning?” Number Two muttered.
Milligan blinked. “We were at a gala,” he said, slowly. “On New Years’ Eve. There was a countdown. The end.”
“Okay, but why, though,” Rhonda said. “Why the dip? Why the kiss at all? Just for the drama of it all?”
“I think Milligan is trying to spare my feelings,” Mr. Benedict said, carefully. “There were a few old colleagues of mine who were uh, a bit—spiteful, let’s say… and, well—”
“Oh my god, did Milligan kiss you in front of them to make them jealous? Or prove them wrong? Or impress them?” Rhonda asked.
Mr. Benedict blinked at her. “I—yes? Well—”
“Wow,” Rhonda said. “Milligan’s got game.”
“RHONDA,”
Number Two said.
“What?! That’s like, straight out of a movie. Good job.” She offered him a fist bump, which Milligan, bemused, returned.
“It was a worthy strategic tactic,” Milligan said. “Against dreadful enemies.”
“They were really just a bit rude,” Mr. Benedict said dismissively, “I’ve heard far worse—”
“They are lucky I did not decide to simply pick them up and place them in the river,” Milligan said darkly. He took a sip of his pink margarita.
Rhonda started laughing again.
“We can still locate them and place them in the river,” Number Two said helpfully. “Just say the word. Or words. Their names. Tell me their names.”
“Okay, but is he—” Rhonda pointed at both of them, crossing her arms in a way that was unnecessary if she’d simply used the hand closest to each of them to point at that person, “—a good kisser?”
Mr. Benedict and Milligan looked at each other for a moment.
“Yeah,” they both said, or something along those lines.
“Very gentle,” Mr. Benedict said.
“Soft,” Milligan agreed.
Number Two made a discontent noise. “I’m too gay for this,” she said into her hands. “I don’t need to know these things about my fa—riends. Boys. Boy friends.”
“Boyfriends.” Mr. Benedict echoed, amused.
“FRIENDS WHO ARE BOYS.”
“If you’re actually bothered,” he began, laughter fading from his face.
“She’s just being dramatic,” Rhonda said.
Number Two groaned but nodded, giving a thumbs up from where she was now faceplanted on the coffee table.
“…What did they even say?” Rhonda asked.
“Huh?”
“The people at the party.”
“ᴬⁿᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ?” Number Two asked, into the table.
“Mm,” Mr. Benedict said. “Nothing that bears repeating. It was all rather silly.”
“The river,” Milligan said again. “Or perhaps out of a window.”
“Really, I’ve heard wor—”
“That doesn’t make it better, you realize that, right?” Rhonda said.
“…I’m just saying—”
“They called you an ugly old fool,” Milligan said. “And some other very nasty choice words about your looks, intelligence, and relationships.”
Mr. Benedict waved a hand. “I don’t really care what people like that think of me,” he said, “Especially not about how I look, which seemed to be their main target.”
Milligan was silent for a moment, as if considering this. After a moment, he slammed his glass down.
“I’ve decided. We shall find them. Pick them up. And simply place them in the river.”
“It’s been over three years—”
“The river!”
“River! River! River!” Number Two chanted.
“River! River! River!” Rhonda enthusiastically joined in.
Milligan joined in too, waving one fist in time with the rhythm.
Mr. Benedict, who was surrounded by his three friends all chanting RIVER! RIVER! RIVER! at various volumes, was suddenly struck with the image of how this might look if someone were to walk in on them.
The whole situation was utterly ridiculous, and he loved his friends so much.
“Oh, sh—” he heard, right before he fell asleep.
He woke up on the couch again, with them all looking at him with varying degrees of sheepish concern and general fondness.
“So. river?” Rhonda asked.
Mr. Benedict laughed, and Number Two shoved a square of green plaid into his hands.
“Maybe not,” he said.
“Another time,” Number Two agreed solemnly. “So I can… prepare. I have many things to prepare.”
“Please don’t maim anyone on my behalf.”
“…I have some things to prepare.”
“Weren’t we playing Truth or Dare?” Mr. Benedict asked. “Whose turn is it?”
“Mine,” Rhonda said, who had been out when they had stopped playing. “Nicholas, truth or dare?”
“…I feel like I’ve just fallen into a trap.”
“Truth or dare?”
“……Truth.”
She grinned. “So. second kiss with Milligan?”
He blinked. “Technically, the New Years’—”
“Second kiss as in second of the two you were going to tell us about?”
“…okay, this one actually is a long story.”
----
It was a very long story, and in fact, it was well over an hour and three margaritas later (as well as a Sex on the Beach, unfortunately for the drinker, who got a lot of good-natured heckling) that they arrived at the end of the story.
“So we’re just—just standing there, fully clothed soaking wet from the pool, the cake is facedown on the floor, she’s looking at us like we’re fucking insane—”
Mr. Benedict did not often have enough to drink that he was so loose-lipped. It was always incredibly entertaining when he did.
“—which, to be fair, I suppose at the moment we absolutely were, after that spiked punch, I don’t even know what they put in there but it was borderline toxic—”
He gestured with his hand, forgetting he had one of Number Two’s bright yellow martinis in it (which he had accidentally picked up instead of his own drink, found he preferred it, and refused to give it back) and nearly spilling it everywhere.
“—so she just leaves, can’t say I blame her, and then like—and they’re about to come around the corner, right? They’re—”
He giggled a little, and then looked down at the little square of plaid laid out on his lap, swayed slightly, but steeled himself.
“—they’re right on us, and I was like, oh, fuck it!”
He gestured wildly with his hands, and Rhonda removed the drink. He didn’t seem to notice. She took a sip, humming in approval at the taste. Number Two nodded, pleased with her appreciation.
“He kissed me,” Milligan said, and his usual calm almost-monotone cracked a bit as bit back an amused smile.
Mr. Benedict nodded, pointing at him. “I kissed him,” he said.
“That quickly?” Number Two said. “Were you wearing heels? Milligan is fairly taller than you and if it wasn’t planned—”
“No, heels is an entirely different story,” Mr. Benedict said. “Actually, how did I—?”
“Running leap,” Milligan said, unable to hold back the low chuckle now as he started to laugh.
Surprisingly it was Number Two who began to laugh loudly rather than Rhonda, who had been giggling on and off all night. Rhonda cracked and joined in, too, and so did Mr. Benedict, laughing brightly until he swayed and fell onto the waiting pile of pillows on the couch they had built for him a while back.
“Running leap?” Number Two wheezed. “He just—ran at you?”
“Tackled,” Milligan agreed. “Very enthusiastic.”
“And you caught on to the plan immediately, of course.”
“Of course.”
“So was this like, a gentle kiss, or—?”
“Oh, full on making out.”
Number Two made another loud wheezing noise.
“Actually, he kind of pulled away first, I think to make sure I was okay with it, but I didn’t want to blow our cover so I kissed him again.”
“Okay,” Rhonda laughed.
“But it did work. They took one look—cake on the floor, lobster out of the tank, two random dripping wet guys making out against a wall—” “—against a wall?” “and the Mothman statue half out of the pool, and they just visibly decided they weren’t paid enough for this.”
“They just left? The fucking mob hitmen left?” Number Two demanded.
“I think after the warehouse they had just had enough. They didn’t know for sure it was us, as they hadn’t actually seen our faces up until that point—”
“—and even if they had they were occupied—” Rhonda muttered, smiling against the rim of her glass.
“—so they decided to check the next floor instead.”
Milligan, rightfully, sounded smug.
“I can’t believe that worked.”
“It was a last-ditch effort. And we got the information we needed. However, we have decided we will not be returning to Seattle.”
“Probably for the best.”
Mr. Benedict bolted upright. “Running leap?!”
“Running leap,” Milligan agreed, laughing. He didn’t laugh much. It was a nice laugh. Louder than you’d expect, now that they were all pretty much smashed. Oh, they needed to make him laugh more. He deserved all the laughter.
“Oh,” Mr. Benedict said, staring straight ahead at nothing as if remembering. “Oh, yeah.”
And then he frowned.
“Wait. Shit,” Mr. Benedict said. “It was four times.”
“What?!”
“Sorry, crap.”
“Not the point, Nicholas.”
Milligan frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Mm. Remember the—the uh. Oh, what was it? The time we had to go to that observatory, and—”
“Oh, you’re thinking of the thing with the astronomer. No, that time you kissed me, we’re talking about the times I kissed you.”
“THOSE ARE DIFFERENT THINGS?”
“How many times have you kissed?”
Milligan and Mr. Benedict exchanged a look and shrugged.
“It just happens sometimes,” Mr. Benedict said.
“Friendship and all,” Milligan said. “Sometimes you platonically kiss your friends.”
“I’ve never once done that,” Number Two said. “Ever.”
Rhonda made a face. “Well,” she said. “I’ve never kissed any of you. But I have kissed friends before.”
“You’re all weird,” Number Two said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But it’s weird.”
“We love you, too,” Mr. Benedict said, far too sincerely for the context.
“Just don’t kiss me,” she said, making a face. “Unless it’s on the cheek or something.”
“I swear I will never kiss you, unless it’s on the cheek or something,” Mr. Benedict said solemnly. “Even for a cover.”
“Ditto,” said Milligan.
“Not unless you ask,” Rhonda said cheerfully.
“Please, Rhonda,” Number Two said. “You’re very beautiful, but you’re a sister to me.”
“Thank you!” Rhonda said. “To both parts!”
She sipped her twice-stolen martini.
“Hey!” Mr. Benedict said. “My martini!”
Rhonda sipped her twice-stolen martini much faster.
----
The morning came to each of them with varying degrees of misery.
Number Two was unfairly cheerful, having somehow avoided a terrible headache.
Rhonda was standing stock still in the living room, only moving to take a sip of water, close her eyes exasperatedly as if tired of her water's antics, and then going back to staring at the same spot of the wall.
Milligan was simply a large lump in a dark room, facedown in bed, refusing to move.
Mr. Benedict, on the other hand, Number Two couldn't seem to find anywhere.
She had already brought Rhonda some toast and water in lieu of juice—the toast had rapidly disappeared, and she was now back to staring at the wall.
She left some at Milligan’s bedside, too—but Mr. Benedict wasn’t on the couch, in his study, or in his room.
“…Rhonda? Have you seen Mr. Benedict?”
“….mmm.”
“…Okay.”
She poked her head into Milligan’s room. “Milligan?”
A grunt.
“Do you know where Mr. Benedict is? I can’t seem to find him.”
…A pause.
“……Milligan?”
The lump on the bed shifted, lifting the blanket to reveal—Mr. Benedict, fast asleep, still dressed in his clothes from last night.
“Ah.”
Number Two did not want to deal with this right now.
“…For the record,” Milligan said, lowly, as if even speaking made his headache worse, “We were only sleeping.”
Number Two did not deign that with a response.
It was actually true—due to both his condition, and to the large amounts of trauma and stressful events in his past, Mr. Benedict was prone to nightmares.
Being intoxicated didn’t exactly help, but the presence of a friend certainly did. That had been all it was.
(Even if it now actually was four times. But that’s an entirely different matter.)
“…Does he want any toast?”
Although she couldn’t really see his face in the darkness, she got the sense he was giving her a deadpan stare.
“…He’s asleep.”
Another beat. He draped the blanket back over him.
“…Okay! Good luck with all that.”
She left the toast by Milligan’s anyway, along with another glass of juice and some medicine, and closed the door behind her.
In the darkness, Mr. Benedict stirred, blinking sleepily. “Is that toast?”
He sat up, or tried to, before realizing exactly where he was and what was going on.
“Ah,” he said.
Then the headache registered.
“Ah,” he said.
He curled back up under the blanket. A wise choice.
“I think I’m going to stay here a while,” he said.
She looked young. Curtain’s brother must have been desperate if he was willing to send in a child that young to face them. Or perhaps like Curtain himself, his brother had no qualms about using children to achieve his ends.
“You are a beautiful creature,” he began, slowly moving his hands through the air. “One designed to experience the bliss and peace that life has to offer. Yet even you are capable of feeling pain. Of feeling despair. But it need not be that way. You too can experience endless joy and be freed from all the burdens that bind you.”
