Mass Effect Unexpected Conclusions

I am not sure if I can describe how strange it is to see Shepard completely without influence on another living being. I have seen him intimidate angry krogan into backing down and have watched him rally the forces of an entire galaxy into a single united force. EDI even informed me once that the Illusive Man, always so calm and collected, had thrown his whiskey tumbler across his office in a rage when Shepard announced with a smirk on his lips that he had uploaded the Normandy's Cerberus database to the Alliance and that the crew passed on the message of 'Go to hell!'. So when I tell you that a simple furry quadruped a third his height often reduced him to sighing and muttering in frustration, you should understand the sheer stubbornness of the creature in question.

When I first met the mutt of mixed parentage that he found half-starved deep in the Rocky Mountains of Earth's North American continent, the teeth and ornery nature made me teasingly inquire if the animal's name was 'Grunt'. He laughed softly and gave me a weak smile, approving my suggestion, but he quietly informed me that the 'irritating furbag' had already been given the name of 'Bosh'tet'.

Watching the animal clamp its jaws on the refrigerator door handle and pull it open to extricate a platter of Shepard's leftover venison steak to stuff its own belly told me just how fitting the name was. Ornery, stubborn, annoying, and deviously clever, the dog fit the quarian epithet perfectly, as far as I could tell. I still do not know its true meaning. But I had wondered if it was too painful a reminder, to name his only constant companion in such a way. Shepard was so isolated, hidden away beside a small, distant lake deep in the mountain range where he had built his home nestled into the foothills of a rising peak. It seemed as if it was his refuge from the galaxy that had repaid him with nothing but blood and pain after the sacrifices he made to save it.

He had convinced me that he needed some time and space when he was released from the hospital a month after the destruction of the Reapers, and I reluctantly agreed. He had given me medical power of attorney before he returned to Earth following the Alpha Relay incident, though I was not quite sure why, but I dutifully served his interests months later while the remnants of Alliance brass tried to poke their noses into his many surgeries and recovery. I continued to do so after he was discharged from the hospital and resigned his commission in the Alliance, serving as his only contact with the outside world when he named me executor of his will and estate, such as it was. I had my own life and my own goals, but I knew he needed someone who could understand and be a friend without prying or pushing him. And to be honest, I needed the only person who really understood me.

Still, I never really understood why he chose me for that duty. True, we had some curious quiet bond, and I had been instrumental in bringing him back from the dead, but Joker had known him longer and Admiral Hackett would have moved mountains for the man. None of us would have been his first choice, but by then, there were few of us left to choose from.

Hannah, his mother, was lost when a Reaper capital ship fired one final shot before the Crucible's energy caught it, the red beam eviscerating the cruiser she commanded. Anderson was buried in London, borne to his final resting place by the man the admiral had considered a son. Garrus, who had been as a brother, had fallen to a banshee's vicious claws while protecting the Thanix missiles that brought down the destroyer guarding the beam to the Citadel. I do not know why Ashley was passed over for the duty. Perhaps because Shepard did not want to burden her, as she took the many losses nearly as hard as he and still mourned the loss of one of her sisters. And I think he did not want the sympathy that Liara would no doubt try to shower upon him, despite her kind heart and best intentions.

I had been there on Mindoir, in London, and on Palaven when Shepard bore the bodies of his last remaining family to their final resting places. Hannah Shepard, the woman who had passed on her determination and irreverent humor to her son, was laid to rest in the quiet glade beside the graves of her husband and daughter lost sixteen years before. The fallen Admiral Anderson, Earth's greatest defender and a second father to Shepard, was entombed beneath a fitting monument beside Nelson's battered statue in Trafalgar Square. To this day, even turians visit the site to honor the man whose tireless efforts provided the only hope anyone had to get aboard the Citadel. Unfortunately, Cipitrine was nothing but blackened rubble and ash, a haunted wasteland that had once been the capital of the Turian Hierarchy, but Garrus was given a hero's funeral beneath the cornerstone of Palaven's most honored ruins, the oldest fortress on the planet that still stood. It was fitting, and if any turians disapproved of a human being the one to seal up the burial vault and replace the sacred cornerstone, none so much as bristled.

I do not know for certain how many friends he has buried. But I do know that while he was blessed to have family that shared no blood relation to him, he was also cursed, forced to bury them all while he lived on, alone with his grief and the memories of what he had lost. Sometimes, though, I think I harbored more anger over that injustice than he did. While he had lost that spark, that unstoppable drive that made him smash every obstacle in his way aside, he never seemed defeated, even when he gazed over the quiet valley of his home from atop a snowy peak that surely chilled him to the bone, azure eyes seeming to stare through time back into the memories of a tumultuous life. If I did not find him at home when I visited, I always knew where to find him, and he always had a drink waiting for me in his pack.

Some of our friends suspected that my frequent visits involved some secret, torrid love affair we wanted to keep quiet. Zaeed had once drunkenly voiced his suspicions that it had been going on since our first tour together pursuing the Collectors, which earned him a broken nose. He got off easy. If Shepard had heard that, he would have pulled an arm out of its socket and shattered his teeth. No, my visits were quite the opposite. Shepard spoke rarely about matters of the heart, and then only with a bottle of wine in him while we stared into a fire. We spent much of our time hiking, cooking, doing chores, and playing chess while engaged in quiet conversation or companionable silence. It was a quiet refuge from the chaos of the galaxy, one he needed and that I appreciated. We also spent a great deal of time listening to or playing music on that old, battered violin of his. I was quite surprised when he volunteered to teach me on it, knowing how much he treasured that worn instrument, but quite touched as well. He made a surprisingly patient and encouraging teacher, the results of which delighted Oriana when I first picked up her own and surprised her with my newfound talent.

It was on one of those visits that I met Bosh'tet for the first time. While I climbed my way up the slope toward his personal retreat, a sudden growling stopped me dead in my tracks. I had my pistol out in a flash and biotic energy waiting in a clenched fist, wondering if I was about to have my first encounter with a wolf when a mangy-looking dog stepped out from the trees and bared its teeth at me. I imagine it would have been quite the amusing sight to a bystander, watching one of the galaxy's most noted women and respected combatants held at bay by a forty kilogram domesticated animal. But in my defense, there was something cunning in its eyes that I had never seen in a varren, those teeth looked rather sharp, and I was wearing nothing but lightweight pants and a sleeveless top.

Imagine my embarrassment at the relief I felt when I saw Shepard walking down the path toward me. I assumed he would charge the animal and send it flying if it so much as twitched, nobly protecting the woman who brought him his correspondence and the occasional crate of supplies. Imagine my surprise when the normally subdued man cracked an amused smirk and folded his arms in that cocky manner he once displayed so readily. He even _teased_ me, asking if he should call in air support to help me with my animal problem. Bastard. Still, I am certain the formidable glare I shot him convinced him to walk up to the dog and give it a nudge in the ribs with a boot. To my shock, the animal caught his pant leg with his teeth and gave a mighty tug, sending Shepard sprawling and tumbling down the hill to crash into me, bowling us both over. I swear that dog was smirking when I found myself pinned to the ground by a hundred kilos of the galaxy's most eligible bachelor. It was not exactly the ideal way to have an old fantasy fulfilled, especially when Shepard immediately jumped up and glared at the animal instead of checking me for injuries or chivalrously helping me to my feet.

That dog quickly became the bane of my existence. What had been tranquil visits filled with home-cooked food, quiet conversation, music, and beautiful vistas became an exercise in plucking shed fur off my clothes and avoiding life-threatening trips over an irritating furbag that was constantly underfoot. But it was a strange blessing as well. For the first time in two years, Shepard was occasionally animated instead of his usual subdued self. Granted, it was typically in the form of sarcastic one-sided conversations with the mutt and growled epithets when one of his delicious cuts of venison were stolen, but he never succeeded in fully hiding the amused grins that would faintly curl his lips, to my delight.

Even Jack was encouraged to hear that something had finally coaxed some life back into the man, though I endured my share of teasing. A beautiful, accomplished woman, outdone by a mangy animal of dubious lineage and possessing a temperament reminiscent of a krogan? Not my finest hour, I will admit. Still, I can hardly complain. Glimpses of the old Shepard began to return. No doubt it took that kind of willpower to deal with such a vexing companion. And though it would have once pained me to admit it, I grew to like the little bosh'tet as well over the first few months. Just a little.

My fondness for the mutt grew substantially, however, and I miss him dearly. True, the little bastard once sent me tumbling down a slope, leaving me with ripped pants, a sprained ankle, and a nasty little gash between my shoulder blades, but having Shepard tend to my bare back left the poor man adorably flustered. The galaxy's greatest hero, left speechless by a bit of skin? In retrospect, it was cruel, but at the time it was the perfect opportunity to get some revenge on him for keeping that four-legged disaster around and I teased him mercilessly while he gingerly tended to my wound. Of course, most plans do not survive contact with the enemy, and this one was no exception. Plans often took unexpected turns around Shepard, but his improvisation almost always led to satisfying results. This one was particularly satisfying. I wonder if that damn dog was taking a cue from his master's playbook on that day when he put his mangy self in the way of my feet.

When I returned the next month with butterflies in my stomach, winter had firmly set in and the valley was the very picture of serenity, beautiful and quiet, its few imperfections hidden by a lush blanket of snow. After our last meeting I was apprehensive, but the sight of my breath rising in puffs made me smile while I walked to the house. I found it empty, but the fire in the hearth was burning warmly. I almost decided to fix a mug of tea and wait under a blanket, but instead I wrapped my scarf a little tighter and began the climb, both eager and a bit anxious. I remember chuckling to myself when I came to the spot where I had first encountered Bosh'tet, half-expecting him to growl at me again. He did made an appearance, but instead of a deep growl I heard a heartbreaking whimper before he limped out from behind the trees, dusted with snow and bleeding from an ugly gash along his side. For some reason I could not place, dread took a cold grip on my stomach and fear sped my breathing.

I ran to him, biotics ready to help me lift his bulk into my arms, but he whined again and backed away, to my shock. I took another step toward him but again he retreated, turning and barking, taking off in a limping gait to follow the tracks he'd made toward me, apparently heedless to the blood that continued to drip from his fur. I followed, my anxiety steadily deepening to fear when I caught sight of uprooted saplings and thick piles of snow against the backs of the larger trees. The thick, disturbed snow made progress slow enough for me to utter a litany of curses, and I do not know how long I followed him, but I do know that my heart stopped when I caught sight of the wide blotch of red blood that stained the field of white.

Memory is an unpredictable thing when it comes to traumatic moments in a life. Often people cannot recall them. Sometimes they remember them in perfect clarity. I am still undecided if the latter is a curse, because while I can vividly remember the last smile he ever gave me, I also recall the sight of the tree branch impaled through his side and the blood that trickled from his lips while he forced that expression. Oh, how the bastard could smile at a time like that, when my heart was breaking... I will never understand it. He was lying there bleeding to death, but still he tried to cheer _me_ up.

_"Hey... did you bring anything to drink?"_ he asked weakly before coughing, a pink froth on his lips. _"I seem to have lost my pack."_

I could only shake my head helplessly, cursing myself for leaving my own, with its medical kit, behind at the shuttle. I tried to rise, promising to find his and be back, but his hand caught mine and he gently pulled me down beside him, that smile still on his stained lips.

_"Nevermind. I'm sure Garrus..."_ he was interrupted by a violent cough but he forced air back into his lungs and forced another smile. _"...is still waiting for me at the bar."_

I remember choking out a bitter sob at those slurred words. I remember wanting to plead with him not to give up, to hold on, but finally, after years of conflict and pain, he looked so serene. So at peace. I did not have had the heart to beg him to stay with us. And so I leaned down and kissed him one last time.

And then I let him go.

I cradled his head in my lap and wept until my tears began to freeze on his skin. Only Bosh'tet's mournful whine broke me from my grief and I blinked my wet eyes clear to see him gazing up at me from where his head lay on Shepard's still stomach. He closed his eyes when I reached down to rub his ears, but he never opened them again.

I still do not know why Shepard named me his executor and chose me to be his only real contact with the outside world. Perhaps it was that curious, undefinable bond we shared, one that persisted even after I complicated matters by developing feelings for him while he was in love with another. He would do anything for me, I knew, and the reverse was true as well. I gave him back his life, but he taught me what it truly meant to live, and what it felt like to have a family.

To this day I have no idea why Shepard was out on that slope or why he fell victim to an avalanche after three winters spent avoiding them. Perhaps Bosh'tet tripped him up again, with tragic consequences. Given that possibility, it may be strange that I miss the dog that may have led to the death of the man I loved. Perhaps I should blame him instead. But I cannot, for even though he is gone, the bond I shared with his master grew into something powerful and timeless due in no small part to that exasperating mutt.

I buried Bosh'tet on the peak where he spent so many hours sitting beside and irritating his master. The multitude of stolen deer rib bones I found in the soil while digging the grave made me laugh, and I fondly recalled the dog's penchant for kleptomania that drove Shepard to cursing, despite my falling tears and aching back.

I kept the funeral quiet and limited to friends and former teammates while we laid Shepard to rest beside his wife in a small fenced-in patch of grass shaded by growing trees he had planted three years before. He had buried Tali on the cliff overlooking the sea, behind the house he had built for her on the spot where they had been married after the liberation of Rannoch. It was a promise kept, he had said, but I never knew if it was made to her or to himself. I did know that he never spent a night there. When it was finished, and he had relocated the coffin of his fallen love to its new resting place, he watched the sun set and climbed aboard the shuttle to build another home thousands of light years away. The geth set a guard for her grave in an eternal vigil. As far as I know, he never returned until I brought him home.

I admit, I was angry for a time at Shepard for wanting to be with the dead more than he wanted me. I know one night of passion does not heal a lifetime's worth of scars and three years' worth of heartache. Though there was no awkward escape the next morning, neither were there declarations of love worthy of a cheap novel. Only soft, warm smiles, hesitant but hopeful. And that was all I could ask for. But yes, I was angry. Why was I not good enough? Why, when it felt as if some good would result from the tragedy, was it ripped away? Still, I take some small solace in the knowledge that he was not forced to bury every member of his family. He had once told us that family doesn't end with blood, and I found that to be true in more ways than one. Even after he had let fall the last red drop into the snow, his family did not come to an end.

It feels strange to be writing this tale, and not simply because I am doing it beside the graves of my lover and his wife. Writing while lying on my aching back with a datapad propped up against my swollen stomach is one of the more unusual experiences in my life, but like I said: plans always seem to end up with unexpected but satisfying results around Shepard.

Next week I will bring my daughter here to show her to her father and the amazing woman who would have been her mother in a just galaxy but who will instead be her namesake. And after that?

Perhaps I will find the most ornery little puppy I can find.

* * *

**Author's note:**

_ This one just... came out, written nonstop over about five hours. It's gone through some editing and had a few additions, but mostly for clarity. In its original form it was perfect to me, just not terribly clear to others. I took it down, edited it a little, and finally decided to repost it. Not sure if the category labels really suit it, but I don't really care. I'm not posting this for reviews or writing tips. If you don't like it, just move on. It's not my usual thing, and there's no real 'point'. I'm not a baby person. It was more just a possible ending to Shepard's odd, unpredictable life, one where the hand of fate's kindness to one doesn't extend to another._

_ Miranda's relationship with Shepard always intrigued me; personally, it felt as if there was some bond there that wasn't about romance. She saved his life and through him the galaxy, brought him back to his family, and he opened her eyes to the truth of Cerberus and helped her find out what family really was. Just something I thought I'd explore a bit._

_ If you intend to comment on discrepancies between the canon and this story, please don't bother. I'm quite familiar with canon. This is a few years after the destruction of the Reapers. A lot can happen in that span of time, including reactivation of the geth and medical advances._


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