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This is Commander Shepard of the SSV Normandy SR-2, Systems Alliance.

I know by now that that won't mean a lot to most of you; this world, this planet at least, is a bit farther down the tech curve than my normal. I'm given to understand that for a certain portioned of my fellow summoned, this is not the case. So I'll ask:

How many spacers are here, aside from myself?

Sound off. I'm willing to bet we have a hell of a lot more in common than anything else, no matter who says we ought to be at whoever's throats, or why.

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[It feels wrong to stray too far from your crewmates. From your commander. There's already too big a distance between them and Thane - like hell is he going to stray too far. In an unknown situation, you stick with the people you trust the most.]

[... even if you have the urge to parrot your old lines when she shows up.]

They won't give me anything to calibrate, not even a really little gun. I've got more than a minute.

[Okay, that'll have to do.]

What part of 'before'? Just - so I know where to start.

"Six months, Garrus," she says, and then stops, "Look... We talked about it, laid it out; it was about blowing off steam and mission-critical stress relief and— and I respect that."

Which was all true. They had laid it out. Even at the end there, when emotions ran high, and Garrus was clearly dealing with his own nerves, and issues, and they were just figuring it out— you could pass it off as the heat of the moment. They were more than just friends, they were... partners. In more than some insipid, romantic way.

"But if I'm reading you right, I'm not the only one who wants to keep this going. As more than just flirting, or blowing off steam. So... what do you say?"

"Six - "

What?

That can't be right. He knows he needs to listen to what she's saying. That what Shepard is telling him is very, very important. He agrees with it, he had agreed to it. Down in the main battery, after seeing her again on Manae. Why was she bringing it up again? Why -

"Shepard... We - we talked about this before..." But he sounds uncertain, suddenly. He feels uncertain, suddenly. There's a flare and flutter along his jawline he can't control, doesn't bother trying to control around her. "Protocol on reunions...? I - I said yes..."

"...We did? When?"

Shepard is no less confused, looking up at him in rising alarm; he looked nothing less than unsettled. She watches him flail for a minute longer and quietly upgrades that to a panic response. What the hell?

"What do you mean, what is this?" It's not a joke, that's not Garrus' style. There's a tense, sharpened shaft of ice in her gut that won't thaw. Something is very wrong, here, "I don't remember anything like that."

She remembers that last moment, at the airlock, not even on the docks itself. That last long look, affirming... something. That he'd be okay, somehow. That they would see each other again, someday. And then the back of his head, and the crowd closing around him, and then...

...and then six months had come and gone, and she'd woken up here spitting wellwater and being told some bullshit about arcana that she hadn't half listened to.

"The last time I saw you before we came here, we were saying goodbye on the Citadel. I turned myself over to the Alliance, at Arcturus."

We were saying goodbye on the Citadel

He looks like he's just been slapped. His jaw has fallen open, mandibles flared wide off it. Or like the ground has been yanked out from under him. That can't be right. She'd been there. On Manae, on Tuchanka. When Udina -

Oh hell does she not know about Udina? Or... Thane and Mordin? Suddenly, that's all so much more important than the conversation in the main battery. Everything else takes priority. He isn't sure how long he stood there, staring at her, before he picks his jaw up off the floor and forges on.

"And... the you turned up at a military outpost on Palaven's moon. You, Liara, and a big guy, Vega. I - dumb luck, I ended up there too. You helped us bail out a brand new Primarch and then we - talked. Back on the Normandy..."

"...I have no memory of any of this," Shepard says, feeling her own cold panic. What did it mean? Was she indoctrinated somehow, concussed, had the transfer to this place damaged something? Or was the problem in Garrus, some kind of hallucination that went beyond mere nightmare.

But there was no denying; the Reapers were coming, and they'd certainly hit Palaven early. Any smart assault would have to.

"Vega was the guy guarding my door," She says numbly. She hadn't told him about that; but he still knew the guy. So that meant... the problem was most likely with Shepard herself, "Shit."

She looks up at him, at a loss. And to think, a moment ago her big problem had been about whether or not he wanted her, genuinely. Now... Well, she still wanted to know. But the answer was a bit more dire than whether or not she had any chance of a repeat of their little interspecies liason. A lover's spat could be bad, right now.

No. Find some confidence, fake it if you have to. You're Commander Shepard, dammit!

"...Well. That's a hell of a thing."

How could she not remember? How - no, why did he have these memories she didn't? It doesn't make any sense. They remember each other. They remember certain things up to a point. And then... everything diverges?

"Maybe something in this place did it," he says, finally. Parsing through the theory as he speaks. "It's already messed with my DNA. Memories might be changed the same way."

That doesn't give them a purpose - a motive, though. It probably shows all over his face, the way his eyes darken, expression clouding. Shit, she says. And she's right. This is one hell of a mess. He almost says so, until he catches her eye. He'd have to lack an entire heart not to react to the look on her face.

"Hey. We'll figure it out," he says, instead, putting a hand on her shoulder. He'd love to do more, to do nothing more than embrace her. If it weren't for this revelation... he probably would. "Do more digging and see if anyone else has this weird memory hiccup."

His hand on her shoulder is a weight that presses right through her spine and legs, anchoring her to the ground. Shepard puts up a hand to hold it there, fingers fitting naturally around his knuckles, and for good measure her other hand comes up and across, to grasp his wrist.

"Yeah," Garrus doesn't have any armor. He looks oddly smaller, and so much more vulnerable, than he ought to. But there's still strength in his hands. Shepard remembers to breathe, "Good thing I've got C-Sec's best detective on my side."

The alarum eases, somewhat. Good. Alright. You can handle this.

"You, uh... didn't really give me an answer," It's an out; an easy one, even, "I'd understand, if this changes things for you."

"Hm. Really? And where are they?"

Shepard, you met him basically being reamed out by his boss, and yanked off the most important case of his life. He wouldn't call himself the best by any stretch of the imagination. But he knows what she's doing here. And he's injecting a little humor into it.

He will look into this. Someone has to know. The people he's met already have to know something. Time to dig.

Oh - right. The original reason they were having this conversation. He goes quiet, thoughtfully so, the little flutter of his mandibles betraying his thought. "It doesn't change you," he says. Before his hand slides off her shoulder, only to lace their fingers together. "Just means I get a second chance at that... reunion protocol we talked about..."

Yes, scream the echoes in his voice. I'm here, I'm with you, I still care

"Reunion protocol," Shepard scoffs, forced to smile despite her misgivings. Only you, Vakarian, can come up with a phrase like that. Why does she keep you around, again? "Just exactly what protocol is that?"

It's the moment of consideration that does her in, really. That little flick and flutter in his expression, that shows that whatever jokes he's making, whatever else is going on... Garrus is deadly serious, where it matters. He's not making light of it, he's... making it easier. Because he understands, even if he can't know, how hard this is.

She pulls at their joined hands. One step closer. Alright, then, show her what you've got.

"Right here. The only detective I'm willing to trust is right here."

"It... uh..."

And right on cue, he feels like he's lost the plot. How does she get all suave like that, so quickly? It doesn't change anything. Doesn't make him feel any differently about her. Except maybe, maybe she'd prefer something closer to home... someone who could hit the right flirtatious buttons right back at her.

Except Shepard is stepping closer. Tugging him nearer. No - she's here for this. She means every single word with the same surety she meant everything else she said. Right here. And despite the uncertainty in his head, his free hand settles at her waist.

Okay - he can do this. He remembers.

Kissing doesn't come naturally to him, even now. But dammit, he's going to do his best to plant one on her, angling his head as he bends down. And remaining there when he says, echoing the words Shepard doesn't yet recall:

"That's the protocol on reunions."

If she'd been asked beforehand, Shepard would have laid good credits after bad that Garrus had never been kissed in his life. Not the human way of kissing, at least— surely not. But here he was, as practiced as anything, bending down as if he had had practice enough to be sure of what angle to tilt his head at. It was very different from kissing another human; turian lips were a lot less motile, their body temperature higher, but still... It's the voice, has to be, the way he sounds so damned smug, dropping half an octave and delivering the line like it's something he'd been waiting weeks to say.

Shepard blinks up at him, a little flummoxed despite herself. When did Garrus get so smooth? She was prepared for the fluster, the dissembling, the endearing lack of certainty— but this?

"Yeah, that uh..." Shepard clears her throat and looks away, face hot, not really able to stop the stupid look on her face from happening, "That'll do it. At least we got one thing figured out."

Holy shit, Vakarian. What the hell.

Don't worry, Shepard. The smooth criminal act does not last. It doesn't last long at all. It's clearly not the reaction he'd been expecting, even with the knowledge of the weird time discrepancy between them. He steps back a half step, his mandibles flicking in uncertainty.

"Was that... I thought that was how it worked, but - we hadn't exactly practiced. I was doing research and - "

Now he's digging himself a hole. A very big, turian-sized hole. This is fine, he's totally fine.

"At ease," Ah, there it is, Shepard laughs. Same old Garrus, "You're still worrying too much. But you really had me there, for a minute."

It does take her an embarrassing few seconds to stop just looking at him. Gooey. Soft. All those humiliating, thrilling little feelings. Shepard clears her throat, as much a reminder to herself as to Garrus; work to do.

"Alright, let's uh... Let's see what we can find out about this. I'll ask my contacts, you ask yours. Prioritize anybody with medical knowledge, I'll trust your discretion."

Oh, good. She's laughing. He really can relax. "Well, what can I say. I learned from the best."

Shepard, namely. Like he's learned so much before. It had been, almost word-for-word the same thing she'd done, back in the Main Battery that day. He had a good example, as far as he's concerned.

"Right, yeah." It is, frankly, embarrassing, how he has to clear his throat a bit, right there. At the reminder they are not, in fact, aboard the Normandy, in private. It's so easy to fall back into those habits around her. "Back to work. Nothing to calibrate, may as well go back to detective work."

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