Spectres of a Shepherd and an Archangel One-shot 1

PLUGGING IN THE OVERLORD

Spectres of a Shepherd and an Archangel is a Mass Effect Fanfiction by Stephan "Eisen" Wortmann. Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.

AN:I was thinking through the possible endings of Mass Effect 3 and how they could potentially be worked into a 'happy' one, maybe even be the launching pad for a new series (seriously, how are you gonna trump killing Reapers? But then again you don't need to be up against galaxy-threatening opposition to make a good story/game, but that's off-point). This is my take on the Control ending since the go-to seems destroy, I already have something in the works using synthesis, and just martyring the whole galaxy and praying Liara's box makes it through seems stupid (very un-pragmatic, it's like purposefully running into a pit filled with spikes, snakes, poison gas and surprisingly snake-tolerant lava) – seriously I can't see any Shepard doing that. It would negate everything s/he's ever done, but thanks for giving us the option Bioware.

Obviously, ME3 spoilers. You have been warned, also – this is an entirely separate thing from my 'Valkyrie's Song' fic, so there are no spoilers for that here.

~o~

Breathe in, aim.

Crosshairs hovered over the temple of one of his soon-to-be victims, the highly-customised visor covering his left eye automatically adjusting its zoom to compensate as it tracked the unfortunate man's vitals and hardsuit status.

Exhale, compress.

The routine was second nature to him after all these years, first ingrained by the barks of the drill instructor and then slowly becoming part of his very being after years of fighting, from the scum of the galaxy to its proclaimed destroyers. Batarian, Salarian, Asari, Human, Turian, Krogan, Drell, Hanar, Quarian, Volus, Elcor, Vorcha, Geth, Yhag, Collectors, Rachni, Thresher Maws and even that Thorian thing. Not to mention Reaper troops; lots and lots of Reaper troops. The list of sentient life that had experienced the wrong end of his art was extensive. So here he was, after all that the universe had thrown at him – Garrus Vakarian still drew breath.

Another thug leaned out of cover. Even this simple, cautious move proved to be fatal. The kick of the rifle as it recoiled from the shot was comfortingly familiar – a friendly reminder that his trusted weapon danced for him still.

And yet, despite being in his element, the turian sniper was not a happy man. The instinctive actions performed in combat were a comfort, little more, a distraction allowing him to empty his mind of all thoughts. Three years it had been since the Great War had ended, three years since the Reapers had been defeated… three years since she had been taken away from him, nay, left him. Going off to sacrifice herself for a galaxy undeserving of her – much like a figure in that foolish religion she chose to follow.

He had been on the Normandy when it took place, dragged onto the ship battered and bleeding after barely escaping getting crushed by a Mako that Harbinger had torn apart as a child would a toy. He was forced to watch as she ran back out of the cargo bay, running towards death, her promise still ringing in his ears. No matter what, I will always love you. She'd accepted death as an inevitability by then, he could hear it in the hollow, hitched tone of her voice. Thus he was forced to watch the place where she stood get obliterated.

There had been hope at first – she had survived Harbinger – if barely, but as the Citadel opened like a blooming flower, glittering amidst the debris of the battle consuming the vacuum around Earth and firing, a sense of finality wrapped itself around Garrus.

A blinding white light had formed where the Crucible and Reaper-construct met and after what a short eternity pulsed outward. The wave had expanded rapidly, passing through everything it touched, seemingly benign. Everything stood still for a moment, as if the galaxy was taking a breath and then without warning the reapers simply departed. Turning away from whatever engagements they were in, turned around as a single organism and left.

Garrus' incorrigible sense of humour whispered that it was all a bit anti-climactic. After all that work, sacrifice and death, the life-harvesting god-machines simply left. As if what they had been doing was some menial task and another one with higher priority took its place.

She had spoken to them, challenged them. Hell, she'd done the same to their creators and gotten the Leviathans to fight alongside the rest of her impossible alliance. He on the other hand could not begin to fathom how the Reapers worked and could not help but feel a bit slighted - if relieved - at the manner of their departure.

Now here he was again, just like six years prior. She was gone – dead – with the odds of her coming back a second time being less than impossible. The last time Cerberus had done the impossible and brought a corpse back to life, this time there would be no such opportunity. The pro-human group teetered on the brink of extinction and was now an avowed enemy of their former project. The galaxy was mostly in shambles, infrastructure having been ravaged by the Reapers and most importantly: no corpse.

The Citadel had been scoured for any signs of the woman that everyone owed their lives to, but they only found the body of Admiral Anderson, a contented smile making his face look as if he were merely taking a rest from all the work it had taken to lead Earth's resistance. Lying next to the Admiral was the Illusive Man with all indicators pointing to him having taken his own life, evidence that she had passed this way.

Breathe in, hold, aim, exhale, compress.

Garrus' mandibles flexed into a distinctive grim smile as his target erupted, the armour-piercing round smashing the helmet to pieces and pulverizing its contents.

Now he was Archangel again – protector of the innocent, vanquisher of mercs and all-round badass. The boast would have tumbled forth without hesitation, a cocky grin plastered on his face as he teased. But now it meant nothing to him, his entire existence ringing hollow.

Before, he had been seeking his death on Omega - picking a fight against the three most feared mercenary companies. She had come then, when all seemed lost. Weariness of having held out for three days with no rest had taken its toll and his shots became sloppy; the wave of freelancers had actually made it to his door before she stepped out and revealed herself. Freelancers – not even half-trained mercs, oh the mortifying embarrassment. But he'd been too tired to care, too tired to be surprised when she took off her helmet. It took a fucking rocket to his face to make him realise that she was really there, that the Spectre he was barking directives to was not some result of exhaust-induced hallucinations.

She'd returned and thrown his plans to die upside-down, swept him up like the human shaped-hurricane she was and suddenly they were back together, facing down the worst the galaxy could throw at them with a questionable sense of humour and smirk. He'd found that there had been a reason for his spiral into despair other than the death of his team on Omega, a reason that as the fight against the Collectors carried on finally made itself known: that he, gung-ho C-Sec Officer and Vigilante, had fallen for his Commanding Officer. A sentiment she had, in the most awkward-yet cocky manner admitted to reciprocating.

That most chaotic and traumatic period the galaxy went through, had also been the best in his life. As much as death knocked on the door with every breath they took, they had both found a reason to live, a reason to fight, a reason to win. Now it was gone.

The gravity-well that had re-forged the galaxy was gone and just as before the crew of the Normandy – now the most famous ship and crew in known space for having saved the galaxy, were pulled apart. Liara had returned to Thessia to assist in the rebuilding of her childhood home, as Tali had returned to Rannoch. Wrex was still stirring up a great deal of noise among the Council, but he kept the newly-cured Krogan in line. Javik had disappeared, something to do with honouring his former team. Vega got swallowed up by the N7 training program and Kaidan had taken up formally training military biotics alongside his Spectre duties.

Only Joker and EDI remained. Garrus would not even try asking what was going on between those two. But he appreciated them still having his back and that his new Spectre status allowed him to snatch the vessel away from the System's Alliance.

Breathe in, hold, aim, compress.

He was fighting scavenger gangs that had taken up residence in the more ravaged Wards of the Citadel. He knew the cityscape like the back of his hand from his time as a cop, but the devastation wreaked by the Reapers had changed so much – still, he was sure that that apartment she had once been gifted by Anderson was nearby. Something in him felt as if he were drawn there, but another part wanted to stay away – hide away from whatever may re-open old wounds.

Breathe in, hold, aim- Before the turian sharpshooter could release another deadly round, the wall next to him erupted. The metal plating warping outwards as the pressure of an explosion on the other side tore through.

Flames scorched his armour as shrapnel bounced off, but the force of it still picked him up like a ragdoll and flung him against the opposite wall. His weapon clattered to the ground as his vision exploded into white and he collapsed in a heap.

A voice in his mind was urging him to get up again, but his limbs did not want to respond. He winced and gritted his teeth as pain flared through his body. He tasted something bitter on his tongue, I wonder if non-dextro blood also tastes bad the blissfully distracted thought shot through his mind. Then his vision darkened and he realised someone was standing over him. They were pointing something at him – probably a weapon to finish him off.

A bitter voice in the back of his mind laughed – so this was it? It all felt so familiar, but this time there would be no heart-wrenching cry, no panicky flutter of human hands as they fumbled to apply medi-gel to his ruined face.

This time it would all come to a final end and maybe, just maybe, she would be waiting for him at the bar as she had promised.

The wounded turian was so absorbed by his acceptance of death that he did not notice how the figure standing over him had started shouting and retreating from his body. How the rapport of weapons began with a new fervour just before the void-sucking noise and whoosh of biotics silenced them.

He only started wondering why he was not dead yet when the figure standing over him screamed, tell-tale traces of a warp suffusing him as microscopic dark energy fields shredded its body's cells. There was an air-splitting crack as something impacted with the figure and the resulting explosion of two biotic auras connecting forcefully sent it flying out of Garrus' vision. He heard a sickening thud and clatter as his aggressor hit a wall.

A spark of anger ignited in the core of his being. Who was this that would deny him a swift death? The last time he had held out it had been because of his ignorance of how he felt. This time he was not afforded such a luxury. A suicide mission against an impossible foe had changed all that, had taught him that he had purpose and now he no longer did.

Another figure appeared in his vision, wreathed in a biotic corona such a brilliant blue that it mocked the term 'dark-energy' merely by existing as it licked the wielder's body with phantom flames. This new figure walked up to him with a purposeful stride and slowly knelt down next to him. It reached out to him, placing an armoured –but gentle, hand on the unscarred side of his face.

"Keep this up and you'll really be needing that face paint." He could hear the smirk permeating the words.

No… it couldn't be… the voice had woken something inside him that he had thought long dead – hope.

"Please… don't leave me…" again he managed between gasps of air, the words gargling through the blood threatening to drown him as he coughed. Then darkness claimed him.

Shepard.

~o~

He opened his eyes, vision swimming as it slowly tried to re-assert itself after whatever his most recent ordeal had been.

He was lying on a surprisingly comfortable bed – far more comfortable than he was used to from his stay aboard the Normandy and the pitiful apartment he'd lived in while working for C-Sec. The room was darkened and with him hearing every heartbeat as it thudded through his head was making it difficult for his senses to re-adjust, no matter how sharp they normally were. He tried to sit up, to get a better view of his surroundings, but fell back groaning as every part of his body protested at the action - loudly.

He heard a soft stifled laugh from the direction of the foot of the bed, and recollection flooded him: the fight, the explosion, the wait for death to claim him and then the figure… and finally the voice. He rubbed his eyes, but no, it couldn't have been. He'd dreamt waking up next to her on an almost daily basis for the past three years and every time it had been a heart-wrenching reminder that he was alone.

The sharp clip of a military walk came from the direction he thought he'd heard the laugh from. Clearly military, there was a character to walking that could only be picked up only after years on the parade ground. No doubt some former war vet now working for C-Sec coming to take his statement or something or some more red-tape crap. If he was lucky it would only be the Major coming in to check up on him.

He was contemplating on how to reveal his consciousness toe the visitor as the steps drew closer. Clearly it was not Alenko; the footfalls were too light. The back of his eyelids darkened as the person leaned over him, blocking out what little light did enter the room.

What happened next took him completely by surprise. Two fingers, clearly human jabbed playfully into his ribs, between two of the overlapping plates that covered his torso.

"Uhh!" he groaned, flinching, "What the hell?!"

Then it hit him. Her scent. The rich, earthy tang accompanied by the constant smell of ozone – a side effect of her biotics. His eyes shot open. She was standing next to the bed, leaning over him. The darkness made it hard to distinguish her features, but his eyes had adjusted enough to allow him to see the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips and the set of her eyebrows. Just one thing stood out in stark contrast to what he'd known as the woman he loved more than life. Cybernetic eyes glowed a soft cyan in the darkness, just as the same light seemed to escape from cracks between her skin, criss-crossing her cheek and running down her neck and disappearing into the collar of the N7 hoodie she always wore when off-duty.

Thoughts nagged at him as he saw the obvious artificial components. Is this really her? Is it another clone? Is she indoctrinated? Another Cerberus project? But all he managed was a broken cough that caused him to wince. "Nice… upgrades."

The woman leaning over him grinned. "Fuck you man. It's been three years and that's how you greet me?"

Garrus laughed, wincing again. He'd sure gone through the meatgrinder… again. "Had to make sure, it's you… wouldn't want to lose another sushi place that way."

"Oh come on. You people still going on about that?" There was a hint of amused annoyance in her voice.

"I suppose that explains the rumours about a husk spectre keeping the Keeper ducts clean." Garrus managed, watching her for a reaction.

"Oh har har, besides, I don't look that bad… I hope."

"Mmm, from here it looks like we still have five point five foot of sexy, with neon lights."

"Charmer."

"I try not to estrange my dead-but-maybe-not girlfriend."

"Smartass."

There was a short silence as neither knew what more to say. Garrus took the opportunity to try and stand up again, only to find a hand firmly pushing him back.

"Oh no you don't - I'm not about to come back from computing pi only to have you die on me from getting up too soon after nearly dying… again."

He sighed in resignation, lying back into the covers so he could look up at her. She had sat down on the bedside after pushing him down, hand still resting on his chest. He looked into the eyes that bore an unsettling similarity to the implants the Illusive Man had had. He reached out with a three-fingered hand to try and cup her cheek, to make sure that it, she, was real and not another waking dream.

She took his hand and pressed it against her face, smiling softly, different from her normally cocky grin. Instead, she looked sad.

"Shepard, I…"

"It's good to see you too, Garrus," a single tear ran down her cheek. He caught it with the thumb of the hand she was still pressing to herself.

With strength he did not know he possessed, he reached out with his other arm and pulled her down into a tight embrace, hiding the pain the gesture cause as he pressed her against his wounded torso.

"I suppose you want to know what happened… where I've been," her voice sounded muffled from where she was pressed against him.

"No, I don't. I don't care how, or why. All that matters is that you're back," Where you belong.

"And here I was getting this whole cool explanation together," he could picture her pouting face perfectly, "Suppose I'll save it for everyone else, especially maybe that bitch from Westerlund News. I might actually give in to the impulse to punch her at some point. Do you think saving the galaxy has earned me that right at least?"

"Especially maybe?"

"Bite me birdman and would you let go? Us humans are squishy remember?"

"Nope, not letting go."

"Ah, the great Commander Shepard goes the way of the Soap Opera – death by lover's embrace."

Garrus chuckled, letting her extract herself from his embrace. She sat back on the bedside, analysing him.

"Might take a while to get used to that," he said gesturing at her eyes.

"Tell me about it. Every time I look into the mirror I see the fucking Man."

"Interesting choice of words."

"I know, right? They should go back to normal like my old ones after a while, I hope."

"Well if he looked anything like what you seem to see in the mirror, I might have objected to his death, seeing that psycho clone let go was bad enough."

"Well never fear, no more dying here. Scouts honour," she placed a hand solemnly over her heart as she said this. Garrus couldn't tell if she was being serious or joking, either way, it was good to hear her say the words. "I suppose I should give it a break - you'd think once was enough."

"You say this as if you actually did die, again." Garrus stated slowly.

"Yup, I'm still trying to decide whether spacing or disintegration is the more painful way to go."

"Disintegration? But you're here."

"Turns out the Illusive Man was right, you can control the Reapers with the Crucible, just well… so long as you're not indoctrinated. My other options were to fuck with every living thing's DNA or destroying the fuckers at the cost of all tech… like the Geth and EDI would all die. I totally did not go through all that shit on Rannoch for nothing and well… EDI is EDI, I could kill her about as much as I could have shot Wrex back on Virmire, or Kaidan during the coup."

When Garrus didn't say anything, she laughed nervously, "I'll totally understand if you decide to run away screaming."

He grunted, "I'll get to that as soon as you let me stand." But he placed a hand on her leg and looked into her glowing eyes, "Shepard. I don't care, I'm still processing that you're here and so far each process has been telling me that's damn fine. The stupid little reasons can go figure themselves out." His face contorted into the turian equivalent of a smirk, "Besides, can you think of anything better than telling people that your girlfriend is that Vanguard of our Destruction?"

Shepard pushed at him playfully, but her heart was not behind the gesture. "Well that's probably the main reason I went and got myself a new body built. I need something to keep me grounded, so that the fracking ruthless calculus doesn't take over. Considering how long the first Intelligence was around… I might be around a while." A damn long 'while'. "So," she sighed, "this is my keep-Shepard-human-and-prove-the-Catalyst-wrong-again plan."

"You might want to abbreviate that."

"Work-in-progress, but hear me out…" she hesitated again; clearly she was struggling with something.

"I don't want to – I can't do this alone. Liara might be around for a while, but at some point I'll be alone… Shit, like that will distort my views. I need something – someone to keep me grounded." She took a breath, again. "Garrus, will you upload and rule the galaxy with me?"

Neither spoke, they just looked at each other, Shepard's eyes, despite their nature, betraying her need for an answer. It came, starting as a rumble deep in the turian's chest, growing until it burst forth and he laughed, winced and laugh louder, winced again, only causing him to laugh again. "Shit Shepard, I've told you not to make me laugh."

"I'm serious!"

Garrus wiped his eyes, both pain and laughter having brought forth tears. "Shepard," he caught his breath, "are you proposing to me?"

~o~

AN2: This is a one-shot for now, but I have had thoughts about a possible AU series after this. Maybe I'll expand this into a series of one-shots. Depends where the [Writer's Buff] takes me. Anyone like happy endings? I like happy endings - I hang up anti-angst wards around my room every night before going to sleep. Spellcheck save me from the Archangle's wrath.