A/N: This has been on my computer for months, and when I stumbled across it, I figured I might as well clean it up and post it. This is a one-shot sequel of sorts to Traditions, so if you haven't read that one, some things might not make a lot of sense. I mostly wrote this for myself just to explore Garrus' mind a little after losing Shepard and what drove him to end up on Omega. And because writing Vakarian Jr./Vakarian Sr. bickering has been in my head for years. ^_^ Reviews are always welcome. My beta is on strike, so typos may abound.

Warning: Mild language and some very brief sensuality.

Disclaimer: I don't own a single thing. I just like to play with BioWare's toys.

Loyalty

Garrus rose from dreams slowly, lazily, his mind thick with a warm haze. It'd been years since he'd rested so deeply or woke so satisfied, and he enjoyed a sort of guilty pleasure lying there, refusing to open his eyes. The lull of rolling surf carried to him through the canvas on gentle breezes, scented with a humid saltiness that reminded him of the pleasant parts of his childhood. It was easy to forget everything here, light-years away from anything complicated and inches away from all that mattered.

Shifting, the turian reached out with his talons, fishing blindly for the soft body that should have been at his side, but his fingers found only tousled blankets. He complained with a low growl deep in his chest and was answered by a faint chuckle from somewhere outside the tent.

Sunlight suddenly invaded his sleepy world, and Garrus blinked against the intrusion, another growl forming. Any protest died in his throat at the sight of Shepard crouched in the entrance of the tent, her hair half-dry and hanging around her face with the sunlight filtering through it. He could do nothing more than stare at her soft, unguarded expression, the one he had never seen before finding her on Virmire, her eyes passionate and determined as always but edged with affection. The play of shadow and light across her features gave her an ethereal appearance, like a spirit, or…what was the human mythical creature? An angel.

His muddled musings were interrupted by a pillow smacking him soundly in the face. "Take a holo, Vakarian. It'll last longer," Shepard laughed, crawling inside to kneel by his hip. Her fingertips traced the markings on his cheek and mandible, a smile still lingering on her lips. "You've slept half the day away," she murmured. "We're never going to get back on schedule after this leave is over."

The turian mumbled something about not giving a damn and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling the commander down against his ridged chest. He was perversely grateful that she wasn't naked at the moment, her clothing forgiving his demanding embrace without him having to worry about marring her fragile skin. Her loose hair spilled around his face and neck, smelling of the ocean and human sweat and other things purely Shepard.

"I have to sleep when I can," he purred, nuzzling his face into her hair and down the edge of her cheek toward her neck. "You make it impossible for me to sleep most of the time. Insatiable human."

The woman scoffed in mock affront even as she tilted her head back to encourage his explorations. "Says the turian who can't keep his hands…claws…talons…whatever…to himself…"

She made a soft, breathy sound as Garrus rolled them over and pressed her back into the messy nest of blankets that had been their haven for several days. The turian hovered over her, trailing random touches across her hair, face, shoulders, stomach, reveling in the freedom to touch her and absorbing the foreign feeling of peace that pervaded him at that moment. There was a bittersweet irony in finding that feeling on Virmire, of all places.

A small, sad smile touched Shepard's face, and Garrus wondered if she was thinking something similar. "What is it?" he asked almost absently, twisting a stray strand of her silken hair between his fingertips.

The human shook her head, trying to will away whatever was bothering her but still the smile didn't reach her eyes. "I just…" she sighed and traced the solid plating of his chest with her short fingernails, "I wish this could last. This…feeling? This…it feels like a dream. Doesn't it? I just wish…"

A shrill ringing filled the small apartment, jolting Garrus upright, his head still swimming in fragments of dreams. The turian cursed colorfully as he slapped at his omni-tool, deactivating the alarm before glaring around the bland, nearly empty room at nothing in particular. Every part of him longed to flop back into the sheets and try to reclaim the fading dream-memory. And a tiny, dark, pitifully bitter part of him wished he could purge it from his mind altogether.

The turian sighed and let his chin sink down toward his chest. Wasn't time supposed to ease the pain of loss? Heal all wounds? That was the biggest lie Garrus had ever swallowed. And lately he'd come to realize he'd swallowed a lifetime full of them.

The computer across the room flashed to life, denying him the chance to wallow or crawl back into the embrace of sleep. Not that he was wallowing. He wasn't depressed, or despairing. It wasn't as though the galaxy was going to end soon, death sweeping in from the fringes of dark space at any moment. It certainly wasn't as though no one was doing a damned thing about it. It wasn't because the only person who knew, really truly knew how real the threat was had gotten spaced while chasing down some damned worthless Geth.

The turian swore again, then sighed, shoving away the sudden anger that flooded him. Nothing would bring her back, and she'd hate him for wasting time on these thoughts.

The computer flashed again, somehow managing to seem more insistent than the last time. Garrus trudged across the room and folded listlessly into the chair, watching as the monitor informed him of an incoming transmission. He groaned audibly and resisted the urge to plant his face into the desk as the sender information flickered across the screen.

Location: Palaven, Vakarian Residence

Wonderful. A lecture from his father. After waking up from dreams of Shepard. And the usual follow-up realization that Shepard had been dead for months. Now all I need is for the Reapers to show up right now and this will be the perfect start of a perfect day.

Garrus considered ignoring the call, finishing his packing early instead and sneaking off of the Citadel without so much as a good-bye. That's what he had planned to do from the start. But he knew his father well. If he didn't answer now, his father would call in a favor and there'd be a C-Sec officer at Garrus' door in twenty minutes tops, just to "check on" him. That was an awkward moment worth avoiding. If for no other reason than that, Garrus opened an audio-only link to Palaven.

"Garrus." If condescension could be packaged and sold, the senior Vakarian would be one wealthy turian. "About time. Took you sixteen minutes to answer. I was about to send an officer over."

"What, you're not counting the seconds anymore?" And if bitterness were an ocean, Garrus would have gleefully drowned in it right then. "Retirement's really loosening you up."

"Ah, sarcasm. That disgusting human trait. A pity you've picked up so many of those. Not that I'm surprised, considering your recent associations."

Garrus glowered pointlessly at the computer and bit back the urge to spout off the first thing that popped into his mind – some decidedly lewd lie about how many humans he'd "picked up" just to hear the old bastard choke. No matter how many years passed, Garrus always felt reduced to a rebellious child when speaking with his father.

"Is there a reason you're trying to reach me?" he managed after a short pause for composure. "Or is it time for us to go back to pretending the other doesn't exist yet?"

"Heard you were offered a position with the Spectres." A C-Sec man through and through, Garrus' father cut straight to the point as expected. What did surprise Garrus was how quickly that particular information had spread. He'd only received the offer two days earlier. "They're also saying you turned down the honor."

"Oh, so now it's an honor?" Garrus snorted, shaking his head despite knowing his father couldn't see him. "Funny. That's not what I recall you saying ten years ago."

"Don't avoid the question, Garrus."

"You didn't ask a question," the younger turian pointed out snidely. "Look, I have to catch a 'port out of here in a few hours. I'm sure whomever your informant is filled you in on all the important parts. I don't know why you bothered…"

"Spirits help me," the elder Vakarian growled in frustration. "You want questions? Here's a few: Why can't you just do your duty, Garrus? How can you jump from one thing to another, constantly dishonoring yourself and this family? First the military, then that foolish fascination with Spectres, and when you finally get smart and go to C-Sec, what do you do? You ruin your career chasing after some hotheaded human! And now you reject the only thing decent you have going? How can any son of mine have so little loyalty?"

"Loyalty?" Garrus snapped out the word, almost a snarl, hating it more every time it was thrown his direction. "Damn it, loyalty is exactly the problem!"

The asari Councilor smiled reassuringly at Garrus, the uncomfortable turian standing at rigid attention in the center of the Council Chambers. It was always hard to stand there without thinking about the day Shepard was raised up to become the first human Spectre. She had proudly professed her accomplishments and all but demanded that the Council give her what she justly deserved, undaunted in the face of the most politically powerful group in the galaxy. Garrus hadn't known the commander long at that point, but she earned some respect from him that day.

Over the months that followed, she proved herself time and again, and Garrus had never found it easier to devote himself to any leader as he had with her. In the end, she earned so much more than his respect…

The turian pushed that unhelpful thought aside and forced himself to focus.

"Garrus Vakarian," the asari was saying, "it is our honor today to extend an invitation for you to join the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch of the Citadel Council."

"However," the turian Councilor looked decidedly less pleased with the situation than the asari, "before we make our invitation official, we believe that an…understanding must be reached between us."

"An understanding of what exactly?" Garrus ventured after a moment of expectant silence.

"We believe," the salarian explained smoothly, "that in these particularly delicate times, you are uniquely suited to face some of the challenges that lie ahead for us all. The races of the galaxy are reeling from the recent attack. Reestablishing stability is our highest priority, one that your personal expertise could very well expedite."

"You served with the late Commander Shepard," the asari spoke again, gracefully ignoring the way Garrus' mandibles twitched and tightened against his face at the mention of the dead Spectre. "You faced the same challenges and fought at her side, even against Saren and his Geth army here at the Citadel. This grants you a perspective not found elsewhere, and though you may not realize it, this gives you a unique edge when it comes to dealing with the general public."

"However," the turian Councilor cut in, making Garrus wonder if that was his favorite word, "that is also why we feel the need to exercise caution when it comes to granting you Spectre status. We must make certain that our goals are in alignment or we may only succeed in exacerbating an already dangerous situation. We respect Shepard for her accomplishments," the turian did little to cover his distaste at such praise, "but we cannot have her replacement carrying on in her delusional footsteps."

"You owe Shepard more than respect." Garrus struggled to measure his words carefully and keep his emotions in check, but it was a battle he was hard pressed to win. "She saved your lives, in more ways than one."

"Due in no small part to your efforts," the salarian nodded. "We know that you urged her to protect the Destiny Ascension during the battle, and that fact has played a large role in our continued support for your rise within the Spectres."

Garrus wasn't entirely certain how he should feel about that. "Replacing Shepard was never my intention. That's not why I started this, and that's certainly not why I chose to follow through with it even after…" he faded off, deciding the last part of that thought didn't need to be said. "Maybe you should explain what it is exactly you want me to understand here."

The three Councilors shared the kind of look that made a cold dread settle in Garrus' chest. It was the asari who finally spoke. "Commander Shepard was the first human Spectre and a hero. She saved the Citadel from a Geth invasion led by a rogue agent, and secured the lives of this Council through tremendous human sacrifice. These are facts we will not forget." She paused significantly. "These are the only facts we will not forget."

Seconds after she finished speaking, Garrus understood. "What about Sovereign?" he demanded, taking an unintentional step forward. "What about the Reapers?"

"Bah, you see?" The turian Councilor waved a dismissive hand at the younger turian as he continued to address his compatriots. "He believes her delusions! It's just as I said months ago. We're wasting our time."

"Delusions?" Garrus barked, startling himself with his own heated reaction. "I was there when Shepard spoke to that damned synthetic monster! You all saw it when the attack hit!"

"The Geth have technological capabilities far beyond our own," the salarian interjected, seeming immune to Garrus' indignant display. "All we saw was one highly advanced ship and many, many Geth, all of which we already knew followed Saren. There is no proof of what Shepard claimed beyond that."

"Without proof," the asari continued before Garrus could speak, "we cannot take action."

"You mean you will not," Garrus snapped, fighting back the need to pace the breadth of the platform. "After everything that's happened, how can you be so blind?"

The asari seemed saddened. "We had hoped to make you see reason and gain your support. Making public declarations about Reapers and galactic extinctions in a time of such great turmoil will destroy any chance we have of regaining stability. Surely you understand this."

"The Council does not base its decisions on the fantastical ravings of one mentally scarred human woman, Garrus Vakarian," the turian Councilor felt obliged to add with obvious contempt.

Garrus stared at the three Councilors, his pale eyes going cold as his expression hardened. He wanted to be shocked, to pretend that he was fully stunned by the political machinations going on, the barefaced betrayal of everything Shepard had fought and died for staring him in the eyes, and the invitation for him to join in that betrayal. But Garrus had seen too much of Shepard's struggles against these same shortsighted fools to truly be surprised. The only emotion he suffered was regret – regret that he'd wasted so much time hoping they would be different this time around.

"It was the fantastical ravings of one mentally scarred human woman," Garrus growled with a quiet anger in his words, "that saved this Citadel. She put her life and her career at risk, sacrificed human lives to save you, and proved all of you wrong over and over again. How many times? How many more times would it have taken for you to believe her? A dozen? A hundred? And now you're asking me to spit on her memory, to pretend that I'm as blind as the rest of you, and to willfully deceive the public as well? Maybe you can live with that, but I know I can't. I won't."

"I'm loyal," Garrus murmured tiredly at his father. "Maybe too damned loyal. Just not loyal to what everyone else wants."

Without waiting for any kind of response, Garrus cut the line and stared at the empty screen. As if things weren't hard enough…the rumpled sheets across the room seemed to call to him, offering a dream-filled haven, temporary and eventually more painful though it would be.

Garrus shook himself, muttering, "Don't have time for this. Pull it together."

To distract himself from the doubts and weariness that continued to plague him, Garrus began flipping through old personal messages, cleaning the data from the computer before he abandoned it. He was fairly certain he would never see this apartment again…maybe never see the Citadel again. It didn't matter. He just couldn't stay here anymore.

The newest message had been received two nights before from Councilman Anderson. Garrus had noticed but not commented on the human representative's obvious absence from the hearing days earlier. He skimmed the apology, eyes resting on phrases like, "didn't know until the last minute," and "couldn't sit while they put you through that," and "both deserved better."

Truth told, Garrus didn't blame the man one bit for refusing to be a part of the meeting. If Garrus' biggest mistake had been urging Shepard to spare the Council at the cost of human lives, then Shepard's biggest mistake had been suggesting Anderson represent humanity instead of Udina. The former Ambassador was a scheming, backstabbing bastard, but Anderson's lack of political savvy left him all but ignored by the other Councilors. Garrus doubted Udina would let them get away with that if he were the human representative.

Garrus mentally filed those thoughts away as "just another thing that should have happened differently." The list was a long one and seemed to grow with each day.

The turian deleted the message and began a methodical purge of all private information. He paused a few times to read old messages, browsing a rambling letter from his sister, a cryptic note from Joker, a series of brief letters from Tali, and…

Encrypted message from: Lieutenant Commander Shepard, R., SSV Normandy

He stared at the last message, the oldest message, his mandibles flexing at the sudden flood of conflicting emotions. He hadn't even remembered saving it. She'd sent it two days before the Normandy was attacked, but the turian hadn't received it until he checked his messages the day after he was informed of her death. He could still remember the sickening sensation of disbelief and anger countered by a horrible twist of hope that she couldn't be dead if she was sending him a message…

Garrus hesitated, his talon hovering over the "delete" key for a long moment before he opened the short note and allowed himself to read the last communication he'd ever receive from Shepard.

Vakarian,

Enough stress here to crush a dreadnought flat. Council's stalling me with more bullshit. Claimed there's Geth out here, but we haven't found a damned thing. Tried to convince Moreau to maroon me on Virmire for a few years. Bribing him with porn didn't work. Need a new tactic.

Finish your training ASAP and come find me. Worst case, plan a leave for next year. Keep the tradition alive and all that. Good luck and stay safe. I believe in you. Kick the Council in the ass for me. Especially that turian bastard.

Shepard

Garrus' chest burned, his talons biting into the skin of his palm as he struggled to control the mess of emotions waging war inside him. He could hear her voice in his head as her read the words, easily recall the inflections and expressions she used when she ranted about the Council.

Sometimes I wonder if remembering you will make me lose my mind, Shepard. Why did you have to leave us all behind…

The sudden, depressed thought shot a jolt of anger through him – anger at himself. He straightened up in his chair and shook his head, a low growl forming in his throat. What was the matter with him, sitting on his ass, wallowing in pity like a weak, pathetic fool? Shepard would beat him senseless if she could see him. How dare he shout at his father about loyalty, then turn around and shame Shepard's memory by falling apart?

He took a moment to transfer Shepard's last message to his omni-tool before deleting the last of his personal data. Pushing aside all thoughts, all memories, all worries and doubts, the turian packed up the last of his meager belongings.

As he walked out the door, Garrus reminded himself to stop at one of the less-reputable human food stores to pick up a bottle of cheap whiskey before catching his transport. His first stop was Virmire, to carry on a tradition that he would not forsake so long as he drew breath. After that, he had no plans other than a determination to make a difference somehow. He couldn't stop the Reapers, but he'd be damned if he'd do nothing. Whatever it took, he would make his former commander proud.

Maybe he'd start at the worst place in the galaxy and work his way out from there. It sounded like the kind of plan Shepard would have approved of.