Secret Yeti Shaq Attack

Garrus glanced up from the book he had been pouring over to check the clock. “Shepard,” he called, “You’ve been in there for almost 45 minutes. Something wrong?”

Shepard’s voice resonated through the bathroom door. “In a manner of speaking.”

He blinked and stood up from the couch, casting aside the book. “Well, what are you doing in there?”

“Here’s the thing,” she said. “I’ve been pretty down lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He had, and he said so. “Well,” she continued, “I did some thinking, and I think I’ve decided why that is. See, I haven’t really been in much control over anything lately, despite doing my damndest.”

“The Bahak incident?” he guessed as he walked past the aquarium and leaned against the desk, careful to avoid Shepard’s scattered model ship collection.

“That,” and within the bathroom Shepard sighed, “and really most of the rest of what’s happened since the SR-1 blew up.” Garrus was about to question a two-year loss of control, but he stopped himself. For her it was still just a matter of months, and she had temporal slip-ups on occasion.

“The Bahak system, Horzion’s colonists, Ashley…Hell, even Cerberus bringing me back in the first place.” Shepard eyed herself in the mirror. “And then there’s the inevitability of going back to Earth. At the very least they’re going to ground me and strip down Normandy. And I can’t begin to guess how the Illusive Man is going to get back at me for giving him the galaxy’s biggest flip-off. There’s a lot of big things I haven’t been able to control lately. And it’s been driving me up the wall. I figured what I needed was to make a decision about something I, and only I, have complete control over.”

The bathroom door slid back, and Shepard stepped out. “So I made a choice.” Garrus balked. The long brown hair she usually kept secured in a braid had been cut off. Her face was now framed by short, wispy hair that left the nape of her neck free and exposed.

“Shepard, I…” Garrus struggled for a calm reaction. He felt ill. “I don’t think self-mutilation is really the answer.”

“Self-mutilation…” murmured Shepard, her brow furrowed. “What do…oh. Oh, jeeze, Garrus.” She laughed. “Hair is dead. I didn’t feel anything. Anyway, it grows back.”

“It does?” he said with obvious relief.

“Yes, you ass,” she said, and she embraced him and kissed his nose. “Now, come on. I feel like a drink.”

((I decided to change my Shepard’s hair for ME3 to something short. So I figured she would need a good reason for a dramatic change, and it made as good a ficlet as anything.))