This short bit takes place post ME3 ending. I don't particularly know where I'm going with this as of yet but there will most likely be a second part. Just something I had to get out of my mind for the time being.
As a side-note, I've had "Her Alone" by Amorphis going through my head the whole time I wrote this.
He crawled through the rubble to reach her. Concrete and scaffolding lay in heaps, making it difficult to maneuver. Hauling his battered body over another large block of debris, he followed what little bit of her scent he could pick out of the overwhelming blood and smoke. It seemed like hours before he finally found her. Her armor was cracked and charred. Blood seeped from her wounds, covering her skin in a dark ominous sheen. When he finally managed to pull himself next to her, he scooped his beloved in his arms. The acrid odor of death nearly overpowered him; however, it wasn't from her. Her chest heaved. She still lived. His own voice sounded choked and foreign as he used his communicator to call for help. There was no response.
Garrus had never cried. Not even when he found out about her death during the destruction of the original Normandy. Nor when his team was annihilated on Omega, leaving him to fight on alone, beside their squalid bodies. He'd felt anguish, sure. But he never cried. Now foreign tears streamed down his face as he held his broken and bloodied lover tightly in his arms. Her breath was worryingly shallow and she was unresponsive to his please or touches. It hurt… Oh Spirits did it hurt. Never had he felt so helpless. She was dying in his arms and he could do nothing but wait for help to arrive.
Corpses and debris were strewn around them, a result of Harbinger's fatal beam. The shooting and explosions around them had long-since stopped. He couldn't be certain where the battle had gone… but it didn't matter. He peered down at her bruised and tattered face. His own tears streamed down her cheek, clearing away the blood and dirt in streaks. As her breath grew increasingly shallow all seemed hopeless and the shuttle was nowhere in sight.
His hand stroked against the pistol that lay at his side, taking comfort in its presence. If she were to die in his arms tonight, he'd be ready to follow her. They would meet at that bar just like he had promised. "You said I'd never be alone, Shepard… Well neither will you," he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. "Never." The chill of her skin tore him apart inside. He knew their time grew near.
He remained that way for a time, his surroundings fading into nothingness, waiting for the moment her heart failed to pump the next mililiter of life through her veins. He didn't hear the shuttle arrive. Didn't hear the roar of voices that broke the silence of the night. All he was able to comprehend was that only thing he truly loved was being ripped from his arms and carried off into the blinding lights. The only thing he could think to do was reach for her. But his grappling hands caught only dead night air.