Author's Notes: This story was written for a prompt on the masseffectkink community on LJ. The prompt called for a world post-MassEffect3 where Shepard is alive and communication/space travel hasn't been destroyed, Garrus finds out his sister Solana is pregnant and he is to be an uncle, and as a result, it leads to talks between Garrus and Shepard regarding their own future and the possibility of children. I've written a sequel to this story, 'Dad,' that can be found in my list of other works.

The Normandy was a shadow of what she used to be. Outside, her paint was chipped and scarred, the ship's plating discolored where bits had been replaced with pieces that were never quite right. Inside, she was less than brimming with a small crew that nowhere near rivaled the number of crew that had once filled her rooms and passageways back when she'd been the SR-1 and even in the days before Shepard had taken the ship into the eye of the storm with her, determined to bring the Reapers to their end… or die trying. Still, though, as Shepard walked the old girl's halls every night, she knew the wear and tear and flat out damage the Normandy had endured would never make her less. Only more. Sometimes, she wasn't sure if she felt the same way about herself.

"We'll be a few days on Palaven, Joker," Shepard said as she leaned against the back of his seat, eyes scanning over the screens of data ahead of them. There'd been an overwhelming amount of chatter over the comms and data uplinks since Normandy had jumped through the nearest Relay and closed in on the planet. It was comforting, a stark contrast to what they'd heard on that mission to Menae with only the emergency signals activated, and even a sharp change since she had last been to the Turian homeworld a year and a half before. It was a phenomena she'd experienced all over the galaxy in the traveling they'd done as of late. Slowly but surely, the worlds were coming back to life, and the signals sent out were more than a clear sign of it.

"EDI, let the crew have a day or two shore leave while we're here, standard protocols. Remind them about the radiation, though, shouldn't be out there too long without an enviro-suit or getting anti-rad meds from Chakwas."

"Of course, Commander. And I'll have any urgent incoming messages patched through to you," the AI replied from the physical body she inhabited. "Are you sure you have everything?"

"Yeah, what exactly are you supposed to bring to a thing like this anyway, Shepard?" Joker said. "Bird seed? Some sticks for the nest?"

"We're not birds," Garrus grumbled from a few steps back, lingering in the corridor behind the cockpit. "And I definitely didn't hatch out of an egg."

Shepard did her best impression of shock as she turned on her heels to look back towards him. "You didn't?"

His mandibles spread wide and clicked in response.

"I'm just saying, man," the pilot continued, "have you even seen a cockatiel? Brothers! You could be brothers!"

Garrus' hand shifted for the pistol on his hip, talons resting on the grip but never actually moving to pull it from its holster. "We do have good pilots on Palaven, Shepard, wouldn't be too much trouble to pick up someone new."

"Boys," Shepard's voice warned in a rather motherly way, standing between the two as if she was ready to defuse a fight between two Krogan rather than a human and a Turian in the middle of just another day of constant teasing and bickering. "EDI will turn this ship around if you don't stop it."

"And miss out on all that dextro-food I was hoping on eating while I was here?" Joker whined with an exaggerated huff of air. "Get going already, you don't want to see what this place gets like when you're off ship."

EDI's head cocked in Shepard's direction."Yes, Commander. I believe you would never eat off the mess hall table again."

Shepard's brows pushed together while her lips fell apart, a grimace of disgust at the variety of thoughts occupying the space between her ears. There were some people on her ship she never wanted to imagine doing that, in a public space of all places. A health hazard at the very least, she'd wager. "That's very funny, EDI," she turned finally, heading back towards where Garrus waited, "your jokes are getting better."

Joker exchanged a look with the AI, shaking his head, eyes impossibly wide.

"Yes," EDI stuttered, or as close to it as a computer could, "a joke. There are certainly no video logs that would indicate it was anything but a joke."

Shepard stopped, linking her smaller arm through Garrus', as eyes squinted back in the direction of Joker and the very living embodiment of Normandy.

Jeff interrupted before she'd even gotten a word out, pitch of his voice escalated in desperation of redirecting where the Commander's attention lay. "That kid's going to be a teenager by time you finally see him if you don't get going! And then not even your stories about being the first human Spectre—or singlehandedly ending the Reaper threat—or that one time you drank a bottle of Ryncol and lived to tell about it—will interest him."

"Come on," Garrus nearly purred, tugging at her from where their arms linked. "Transport's been waiting for half an hour."

Joker waited for the sound of Normandy's inner and outer airlock doors sealing, the indicators on one of the aforementioned panels reading of the Commander's departure. Swiveling his pilots' seat towards EDI, he raised his brows. "Way to go."

"Shepard is not in a place to talk, Jeff," she said and sat back down at the seat beside his own. "You haven't seen the logs I have of her and Officer Vakarian."

"Well I doubt they've gone at it on the table in the mess—"

She punctuated her point with a deliberate glance to the very chair he sat in.

Joker couldn't stand up fast enough.

"Did you miss it?" Shepard asked from the passengers' side in the spacecar that had been waiting for them at the dock. It reminded her of a time long ago, nearly three years ago by Earth's standards, when he'd stood on the Citadel with the afternoon planned. It had been one of the only true respites she'd had during those weeks, and as unclear as some of her memories were surrounding that whole time due to the trauma she'd endured bringing the Reapers to their end, that day she would always remember clearly. "Palaven?"

"I always miss it."

"We could make a point to be here more often if you want," she started, eyes looking forward again out the windshield.

"I didn't say I wasn't happy with you on the Normandy, Shepard," Garrus corrected, and let the three-fingered hand nearest her slip towards her own hand where it was settled on her thigh. He gave it a gentle squeeze, relieved when he felt her fingers turn over in his grasp and return the sentiment.

"I can't believe it's already been a year and a half since we were last here." Around them, destruction still reigned king, the Turian people fighting every day to pick up the pieces of their planet. It was the same story everywhere, save for maybe the lesser populated planets that had been spared from the Reapers' initial attacks. They'd been deemed smaller and less of a threat, easy pickings for the end, or so Shepard assumed. The further the vehicle got from the heart of the city center, though, the less the damage overwhelmed them. In large part, it was due to the lack of whole skyscrapers and buildings that would have been demolished in the attacks, but like those not-so-densely populated planets, the lack of easy living targets had also factored in. It was where, now, many of the Turians began to make their homes—whether temporary or in the longterm—as they tried to create some semblance of ordinary life once again.

"You should've seen this place before the war," he said, his voice far off like he was remembering distant memories he couldn't place as well anymore. "We had some of the most beautiful waterfront."

"It's still there, I imagine," she said as the transport slowed. "I don't think obliterating rock and sand was that high on the list of things to bring destruction to."

He considered her words as the vehicle came to a stop and powered down. "You're right. We should go while we're here. If there's time."

Shepard released his hand finally, instead letting her warm palm come up to smooth over the rough and never quite returned to normal mandible. "I'd like that," she leaned in and kissed the scar on his face that still showed through, "but you've got a nephew to meet first."

As best as any Turian could, he smiled. "Yeah, I do."

Just inside the entranceway of the home, Shepard watched the interaction between brother and sister. Garrus, without the kind of gentleness he reserved for his embraces with Shepard's softer flesh, wrapped his arms around the sister he was lucky to still have after everything. In that regard, he'd been one of the blessed ones, coming out the other side with his father and sister still breathing.

Shepard had only ever met Solana once before, the previous year when she and Garrus had finally been able to make time for the trip to Palaven. There'd been a marriage then—not one in any way celebrated like humans tended to when it came to the general fiasco that were their nuptials—but rather a gathering of living family members and friends alike, celebrating, in their own way, the new link of one clan to another. Still, Shepard could recall the genuine nervousness she'd felt back then, for once in her life desperate for acceptance, at least when it came to Garrus' family.

The Turian in question released his sister, and after some brief exchange, opened his arm to Shepard, an intentional act of drawing her into the fold. Solana, for all that could be said at times about how cold Turians could be, leaned in to hug Shepard, catching the Commander off guard.

"I never thought you'd be here so soon," she said upon letting go of the human, leading them through the open doorway into what looked most like living quarters. Shepard had spent so much of her time on ships or in Alliance barracks, she'd nearly forgotten what a regular home looked like, or how much clutter people could actually accumulate when they had the space for it. For too long she'd been living life with less personal objects than would fit into even half a knapsack. Long ago, she would have prided herself on that fact. In some ways, it made her a true soldier. Lately, though, after being pushed so very close to death for a second time, Shepard had felt that little itch under her skin that perhaps it was finally time for a change. Some of Anderson's final words up in the heart of the Citadel rang in her ears every day: maybe it was finally time for her to settle down while she still had the chance.

There was the distinct sound of someone humming, low and deep, and inside the room the owner of the voice was identified. Krinn, Solana's bondmate, stood at one of the windows, weight shifting between his feet as he rocked the tiny, bundled body in his hold. He was tall, perhaps slightly more so than Garrus, his skin and plates a hue darker as well, with those familiar blue markings painted across his face. A Vakarian now, he'd chosen to join her family's clan. He turned to regard them, the plates of his face flexing in a warmth of recognition. "He just woke up."

There was pride on his features that Shepard recognized, a testament to how much time she'd spent with Garrus, learning the ins and outs and quirks that his race exhibited. Her once dead, cold heart swelled at the sight.

"Well give him here," Garrus said without a second thought, the excitement he'd expressed over the last few months since he'd heard the news of Solana's impending arrival now suddenly pouring out of him given the chance. The exchange was awkward, and although neither male fumbled, Solana hovered nervously, anxiously, as if prepared to step in and prevent any harm befalling her offspring.

"Look at you," Garrus spoke with something akin to amazement, the child cradled in one of his arms. He stroked a grey cheek with the fingers from his other hand, careful and mindful of the sharp deadly talon each wielded. His eyes lifted from the child to his sister standing close beside him. "You did good, Sol."

She nodded, a thanks for the kind words that her brother shared. Her mandibles, only somewhat smaller than those belongings to the males of her species, flexed and relaxed, and in what Shepard now knew substituted as their general sign of affection, Solana dipped her head down, brushed her forehead against her child's.

"Come hold him," Krinn said, waving Shepard nearer from the few steps off she stood from them. "Garrus'll have plenty of time to practice being an uncle."

Shepard's skin flushed at the very idea of what she was practically being ordered to do. This had been the plan for months now, to return to Palaven when the child was born, and yet somehow Shepard had failed to consider what would happen after they arrived. "I'm not sure kids like me much," she said with a stunted laugh, but took the few steps closer anyway, finally getting a real glimpse of the newborn.

"Commander Shepard," Solana said with an amused look, "protects the galaxy, can't figure out how to hold a baby. I can see the headlines now."

Shepard smiled in response despite herself, and with a glance from Garrus, she nodded in submission. Exhibiting even more care than he'd shown when taking the boy from the new father, Garrus transferred the infant into Shepard's awaiting arms.

"He's so light," she said to Solana with her brows raised in alarm, the first thought to come to her mind. "Small. Was he born early?" Not that she'd ever done much babysitting in her life, but the tiny little Turian wasn't what she'd been expecting. "I've never seen one so little before."

Solana carefully adjusted the blankets her boy was held in within Shepard's arms, speaking as she worked. "Turians aren't as large as human babies when they're born. Parents tend not to take them out of the home for a few months, sometimes almost a year, because of how fragile they are without their plates."

Pulling at one end of the blanket, Solana slowly unwrapped the newborn, giving Shepard full view of just how tiny he actually was. Four pounds, she would say, at most. Shepard was sure she had pistols that weighed far more than this child, even without modifications.

"Turians, we're not, ah, as… flexible?" Her brow plates shifted, looking to Garrus as if seeking his help in searching the right word for what she was trying to explain. "I've seen a few pregnant humans, and I have to say, I don't envy what you go through for your children. Our carapaces and plates would never allow for even half of the size humans can typically reach, so our young are much smaller."

Shepard nodded along, fixed on the infant, his eyes—a startlingly similar blue to Garrus'—opening while his mouth let out his own expression of a Turian yawn, his miniature and dull edged mandibles flexing instinctively. An impossibly tiny arm, with an even smaller three-fingered hand, though without the sharp claws as of yet, waved without real control, while his legs kicked against the tangle of blankets by his feet. Shepard's cheeks ached with a smile she didn't even know she was wearing.

"His fringe will grow out as he gets older," Garrus said as he stepped in a little closer, tracing his fingers over the boy's scalp where what little fringe there was was short and tight against his skull. "Right now it's mostly cartilage, but it'll harden as he grows."

For a moment in time she had considered herself something of an expert on Turians, mostly because she was bedding one, but watching the tiny figure that each and every strong, hard, and stalwart Turian started out as, Shepard realized she actually knew next to nothing at all. Experimentally, she ran a bare finger against the child's cheek, feeling the way he turned into the touch. "He's so soft."

"Mmhmm," Garrus let out from the back of his throat. "What did you end up naming him?"

Shepard lifted her head long enough to see Solana smile.

"Necalli."

The response seemed to ruffle Garrus for an instant, but just as quickly, he pushed it aside. She'd have to remember to ask him about it.

"Necalli Vakarian," Shepard said, almost as though there were real introductions to be had between them. "Welcome to the galaxy." And that, Shepard knew, was why she had fought so hard at all.

Later that night, after dextro-levo dinners and talking near whispers so the baby comfortably snoozing in someone's arms didn't wake, Shepard retired to the spare bedroom. If it had been anyone else and for any other reason, she would have made a return trip to the Normandy to sleep in her familiar quarters, but there'd be no tearing away her Turian from his family, both old and new, now. Not tonight. After giving so much and nearly losing it all (more than a few times), it was a break Garrus deserveed, and maybe, she thought, that she deserved too. A vacation, that one they'd never actually been able to take after everything had ended.

She was mostly undressed by time he joined her, and though the look on his face was what Shepard had already affectionately deemed his baby fever face, his mandibles clicked in the familiar beat and pattern she knew to be an appreciative, lustful sound. He'd made it that first night before the Omega Relay, when she'd taken her shirt off and then her bra, exposing herself to him in a way few had ever before gotten to see. It was safe to say, as well, that nearly every encounter that followed since then had also earned her that pleased sound effect. It was something like Pavlov's dog for her now, except instead of drooling at a dinner bell, Garrus could flex his mandibles and make that sound in an innocent moment, and immediately she'd be counting the minutes until they could find a space secluded enough to feel him inside of her.

Still, though, it made her smile as she stood straight after stepping out of her pants, sloppily folding them up in her hands. "Don't think your sister would appreciate us christening the spare room for her," she said in a low tone, smiling all the while.

"What Solana doesn't know…"

Though there was that familiar, subtle throb beginning between her thighs, Shepard sat down at the edge of the bed, instead rubbing warm palms into the bare flesh of her left leg and knee. That ache was more important, for the time being at least.

He didn't miss the way she moved, the way it had been for some time now, and in seconds Garrus was kneeling on the floor in front of her, applying light pressure against the tired muscle and bone where it joined to the less organic pieces from the knee down beneath her skin. "We should really get it looked at," his usual plea went, and like always, he knew her response before she even said it. This was their one moment of allowed disagreement.

Shepard just shook her head, letting her hands relinquish control to his. He was better at soothing the ache than she was anyway. "It's fine. The radiation or something's probably just making it worse." Excuse three hundred and twenty one.

He continued on rubbing, letting her have her excuse. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Is there something I should know about the name Necalli?" Shepard questioned out of the blue, watching his face for that reaction once again.

Garrus gave a sigh, soft and weary, fingers moving down to the back of her thigh where he knew the muscle to be especially tight and overworked. "It's old Turian, very old, and it means 'battle.'"

"That sounds like a good name for a Turian." The only other race that it would perhaps be more fitting for would be the Krogan, she thought.

"It is," he acquiesced, nodding as he kneaded. "Just isn't what I would choose. I know it's ingrained in to us from the day we're born… how strong we are. Strict. Determined. A sense of duty. It's how I was raised." He quieted for a moment, but there was more stirring underneath. It would only take time to come out. "But now I know there's more to everything than that. I wouldn't go naming my kid with anything that had that kind of weight. Makes me think of Victus' son back on Tuchanka and how I hope to the Spirits that Necalli never gets put in a position like that." His hands stopped, manually helping her bend the leg at the knee, testing it out. "That better?"

It wasn't much, but every little bit helped. More than anything, it was cathartic. She nodded in thanks. "So I guess 'Carnage Black-Widow Shepard-Vakarian' is out as far as baby names go."

He seemed to consider it, and with a single brow plate raised, he spoke with a teasing fondness. "I could be persuaded for Mantis."

Shepard leaned forward, draped her arms around his thick cowl and buried her face away into the curve of his neck. The whole planet smelled like him in some vague way: a soft metallic undercurrent, the scent of soil after rain, an aroma of a raging fire made of burning wood. "If you want to stay here for awhile on your own," she whispered, and her fingers dug into the fabric of his clothes as well as his thick hide beneath it, "you can, you know. The Alliance has me running around visiting colonies, not you. I can be okay on my own." She always had been, at least. Now, though, Shepard doubted the veracity of what she was saying. She'd survive it, of course, a few weeks or months without him wouldn't be her end. But maybe life would be a little harder.

"You've been trying awfully hard to get rid of me today, Shepard," he said against her neck just as she did to his. Like the planet smelled of him, she wore the scent of the Normandy: soap and sweat and medi-gel, even that stuff he saw her put in her hair when she showered. Shampoo, she called it, and it was oddly one of the most human items he could think of. A product made that only one race—aside from maybe the Quarians, he still didn't know exactly what they looked like under their suits—seemed to need. He loved that smell.

"Yeah, well," she gave a huff, gathering herself together and pulling back, leaving her hands lingering on his collar. "You take up too much space in my quarters, Vakarian. I gave you two drawers and now you've taken a third. Where am I supposed to put all my—"

"Your what? Your hamster food? Spirits know that's about the only thing you own. And if I wasn't there, he'd never even get fed."

"It only seems like I've got nothing compared to you. I swear you travel with more crap than Miranda and that's saying something—and I would feed him if you didn't always do it before I got a chance to."

He cupped her cheek and spoke with the corners of his mouth raised just a hair, mandibles flared. "Well I'll be sure to tell that to his corpse after you end up starving him. He'll understand."

Shepard shook her head and sat up a little straighter, as if physically steeling herself. In an instant, she wasn't just the woman he'd grown to know over the last few years, but the Commander. "I don't want you to decide now, but you should think about staying. I've seen the way you look at that kid, like there's nothing else in the world you want."

"No," he denied, and breathed in deep for the words he was gathering the courage to speak next, "that's the way I look when I watch you with him."

Her fingers gripped him a little tighter at the confession, finding her mouth and throat a little too dry to reply at all. Despite all his sharp angles, the hard and rough surface his body had all over save for a few vulnerable spots, the fierce strength he had in the middle of a dogfight… there was softness there, too. She'd seen it time and time again, from their first night together to the months he'd spent beside her in the hospital—or hospitals, plural, since she'd been to a number of them seeking out treatment—after the war with the Reapers had ended.

How she was supposed to respond to that, she didn't know. Should she have told him how her heart felt physically clenched tight at hearing him voice some of her deeper, buried desires? Or should she do what she always did, rebuff and change the subject, move on? It wasn't a conversation she was ever really sure she'd be ready to have, the one about more than just their future. Come to think of it, it wasn't a conversation she'd ever had before. With anyone. And that thought alone left her running.

"You'd make a good father," was all she said, her eyes worn and weary, giving away more than she ever intended.

"Shepard—"

"We should go to bed," she cut him off strategically, "I want to know what eight hours of sleep feels like while I get the chance."

When it was time to let things go with her, Garrus knew. So for the moment, he let it go.