-Garrus-
His days are filled with the monotony of trying to get someone, anyone, within the Hierarchy's Senate or military's Legion to even agree to meet with him, let alone hear him out. No matter who he tried, he was victim to being shuffled around between representatives of officials without ever really getting anywhere.
All of it leads to him returning to an empty bed with nothing to show for the task laid out before him and failing to sleep. When he does manage to find himself coming to out of whatever unconscious state to a rising sun, there is nothing but cold sheets and loss to greet him when he reaches over to her side of the bed. That hurts the most, the knowing she is out there, but far from him by their own disillusioned hopes to make a difference.
Occasionally he found himself able to spend time with his mother, but, as he soon found out, the day he had brought Jane to meet Valeria Vakarian was one of the 'good days' which were few and far between. He was lucky on the few days when he visited and she simply assumed he was a fellow patient - his half ruined face lending to the mistaken identity - or simply his father when shrouded in shadow, but then there are the bad days.
The bad days, nightmarish things that they are, paints him as a monster to his mother, a twisted thing of a man come to hurt her, rob her, or – most devastating - violate her. Every day is a change in his supposed 'motives' and the latter always hurts the most, but he knows she only sees the scars along his face. What, exactly, she sees in him, what that twisted side of his face makes him, he doesn't know, but it's enough to make her scream and howl in agony and terror.
He's ashamed to admit that, many days, he is afraid to go to walk into the Institute and up to her room to see her, too afraid to find out that she isn't in a more lucid state.
By whatever Spirits he doesn't exist in, he is able to receive messages from his wife, his love, and they have become the only thing that helps to pull him out of the dejection of his continued failures. He neither cares who is allowing them to speak or how they are keeping the correspondence secret, nor does he care because all that matters is her, her words, and any news of the precious children they created together.
Children that, according to her frustrations that never cease to amuse him, are growing fast and strong. He supposes he has the Salarian doctor Mordin introduced them to to thank for that. The two of them have never met, but Jane speaks highly of her and, knowing his mate, he knows the woman must be special to have earned her trust so quickly and so completely. For that and the fact that both she and their babies are well cared for, he is happy and, if just for the few moments it takes him to read and reread her messages, can forget the worries on his side of the galaxy.
When Jane asks of his own state – 'and, no, I don't mean the political shit you're going through' – he can seem to keep the words at bay, filling the small allowance they're given with everything. He tells of his perceived failure to his own mother to protect her from a foe that can neither be fought or within his power to change. It tears him apart, leaving him keening and gasping hitching breaths of the closest thing to crying he's capable of, and he knows she tries her best to console him, but there is nothing to be done but accept and let the wound close with time, never completely healing, but numbing enough to function.
He also tells of the improvement in his own self, even if he isn't as proud as she seems to be, and wishes he could see her face the day he finally peeled away the bandage to reveal his mostly healed face. Cybernetics now buried within the hide, he merely looks scarred from the burns and shrapnel, ropey scars from cowl to eye that will never truly fade without intervention to give him new plates, instead of a clone of the once rogue Turian Spectre. Surprised to admit, he actually awaits the day that he sees her again to see if her claims of 'hey, scars are sexy' and 'I love a man with rugged scars' still ring true. If not for her, he'd probably be ashamed to carry them, duck his head in effort to hide them, instead of hold his head high, even walk straight up to his father – with who he has a strained relationship entailing of brisk conversations with complete neutrality and deafening silences – on a day-to-day basis.
His addiction, too, is an actual accomplishment he couldn't wait to admit to her, practically purring at her overjoyed words as he reads them. Had she been able to stay longer or not been expected to leave at all, he'd have admitted to wanting her by his side as she originally wanted, to shamelessly hold onto her as the dissipation of the drugs wracked his body. The entire process was more than brutal, consisting of day full of vomiting ever content of his body, headaches that left him writhing in the darkened hotel room, a racing heart, and rapid panting from the feeling of overheating in a well-ventilated room. Yet, he would do it all again for the clear headed feeling of not having to keep track of an injection's fading effects or rushing to find a vial in the middle of the nights so his hide didn't crawl and his hands would no longer tremble.
But the time he has to himself, the small oasis of joy in the words of his mate and his responding communication, always ends too soon and he must take back to the effort of trying to prepare his people, to ensure there is a galaxy left in which to raise his children. It is only for them and his wife that he is fighting the uphill battle to give the Turian people a fighting chance against an undefeated enemy. Failing that, at least he can think of it as giving everyone a chance to not 'get caught with their pants down' by the Reapers.
One day brings him to Helos for a visit to his mother, or a gauge of her condition to see whether he'd be more a hindrance than help, and he walks in to see her smiling as she looks out the window of her room. The position merely tells him that she is not suffering a fit of paranoia, so he takes it slow with a tap on her door.
Unfortunately, when she looks to him, there is little to no recognition in her eyes, and he at least takes relief that her smile does not falter. He should feel something besides the hollowing sadness at her greeting and offer to join her for friendly companionship, but he can't as he takes the seat beside her bed, can't stop envying his sister for the days she had had where Valeria Vakarian was more their mother than an ailing woman. He is long past that point where he blames himself for the missed opportunities because it doesn't nothing for him, doesn't change the unapologetic truth that he'd do it again if circumstances were the same, and only clouds his mind with self-hate when he should thriving to enjoy every chance he has with her now.
"Did I ever tell you about my son?" she asks him during the long time they spend talking as if two patients within the Institute. "He's such a wonderful man, so strong and honorable." Smiling, she looks to him with pride and happiness in her vocals and eyes, yet not seeing. "Garrus has come so far in such a short time, made a name for himself, a name away from his father."
He tries to hide any emotion at that and simply nods for her to continue, rumbling in thought. The last thing he wants to hear is what he's either done or not done, fearing the pain of hearing what his mother thinks of him, the words she would never tell him because she'd probably expect him not to listen. He never was good with praise, after all, and even less so when it feels like he's intruding on a conversation he shouldn't be guest to.
"My poor son," she continues, unaware of his inner turmoil. "He and his father can never manage to get along. 'Too alike', people would say, but I know the truth. He and Titus are alike, but my mate wishes they weren't." His mother frowns with a rumbling sigh. "Titus believed that Garrus could achieve everything he couldn't, reach heights he failed at, if he used his own mistakes and faults to raise him. Children don't grow with their parents mistakes, don't live their lives from the experiences of another. 'I never want Garrus to want for anything because he will always be able to achieve it,' he would always say… I just wish he had realized our son didn't need an instructor, but a father before it was too late and their already strained relationship became irreparable and that my son can find a way to understand"
Not sure what to tell her, how to help her after just hearing something not meant for his ears, but filled with confusion, he can't help the words that slip from his mouth. "Understanding doesn't mean forgetting and granting forgiveness."
Nodding with a rumble, she looks to him and he sees something within her eyes now that he doesn't want to hope could be some part his mother. "Maybe not forgive and forget, but perhaps come to understand he made a mistake."
His mouth opens with a choked off word, unable to speak at the near plea. Heart dropping from its place in his chest, he keens with a soft nod and moves into her arms, hugging her like the sad, broken child of his youth. He has no idea or care for how long he clings to the frail body that has become her cage, spending the entire time of her lucidity in her arms.
That is the last day he ever has with his mother and the last day of any sort of companionship from the woman, Valeria Vakarian. Every day after, he must remain outside her room to keep from stressing her with his presence, but it doesn't lessen the pain as the light fades more and more from her eyes, her condition plummeting. He even watches in agony and sorrow as she no longer recognizes even his own sister, confusing her for an overburdening aid, and soon loses his father's connection to the tightening vice around her mind.
That is until, one morning, she does not wake from her slumber, chest unmoving and plates cold. His father's keen could be heard through the Institute – but it could have been due to the echoing of his two children – when Garrus watched the older Vakarian burying his face in his mate's cowl and wail, body wracked with dry sobs, he dropped his head and clenched his eyes against the pain, feeling like an intruder in a bonded mate's grief.
It's hours before they manage to bring Titus to separate from the body, Garrus actually being the one to go to him, coax him away in a sort of sick, twisted irony. He is his sister and father's support that night, easing a pain he knows all too well and was left alone to drown under, as he shares a long, hard drink as all they tell stories of the woman they both loved, both knew in their own ways. There is pain, he has no doubt there will always be for them all, but it almost seems like sharing it helps to lessen the weight upon their shoulders – his father carrying the most with his second half now gone.
They bring his mother to Palaven with them and release her ashes into the winds, as a symbol of her soul taking to the Spirits. For that one moment, Garrus wishes to believe in them for the sole purpose of asking them to give her peace and a place among them. She had earned it with her unerring devotion to a family torn with strife even in her weakened and frightening state and he wants to believe she has found solace at last.
Despite his every desire to dwell in the dark waters of loss and despair, he knows he must pull himself out and continue his grueling efforts to make something of the world he has found himself brought back to, of his home. Driving himself with the fact that at least his mother is free from the shackles of her body and the nightmare soon to come and rip away the beauty of the home she made with her bondmate, he moves his attempts at an audience into the physical plane, demanding attendance. However, it doesn't get him anywhere but the inside of a cell for the night for causing a disturbance and refusing to leave under authority, but his efforts do have an unforeseen consequence in the form of Titus Vakarian sitting his son down and asking to hear what it is he wants heard.
So he lays out everything, talking away the night and into the early hours until everything is told, seen, and read from his entire service with Commander Jane Shepard and, surprising beyond his every expectation, his father accepts the truth. The first person to ever look at the facts and actually see what they all obviously point to is his father and, not only that, he actually moves to help Garrus be heard, using his higher tier to back their claims. He has to admit that his stubbornness apparently comes from both parents, instead of solely being from his mother as he believed, when Titus Vakarian calls upon every associate within the higher political tiers he has until he's practically demanding an audience with the Primarch himself.
He knows his 'Reaper Task Force' was merely an obligatory acquiescence to end the constant harassment he and his father laid upon their political leaders, he'd be ignorant not to, but he doesn't care. Not when he's using every resource to arm and fortify every ship and major military position the Hierarchy has as well as assign better training to any military official he comes across. Generals were actually listening when he spoke, taking his orders into their command and using it to train their forces, and it took a long time to come to terms with the fact that when everyone said 'Praetor Vakarian', they meant him.
He doesn't tell Jane of his designation, though, keeps it as an Advisor position only even though that in itself is only partially accurate. She's excited enough to hear that he's made a difference – 'I am still being fucked by these idiots more focused on my love life than the end of the fucking universe, Garrus!' – and he doesn't want to make the fact that he's one of the highest ranking position in the Hierarchical military, crossing the line into the political side of the Hierarchy, something that will make her shield him when they join again to lead this war. The last thing he needs is her taking him off the field, and risking her own safety, because she thinks the Hierarchy will need a Praetor more than the two who have been through it since the beginning at the front of their combined forces.
When he finally visits her, taking his Task Force's Corvette, Invictus, he completely surprises her, or he tries to. It is actually she who surprises him when he comes through the door of the secured 'apartment' they have her in and sees her for the first time in what seems like ages.
She's beautiful is the first thing he thinks as he runs to her, kissing her and getting as close as he can with her round belly – they weren't kidding when they warned us the babies would grow rapidly as they caught up to their development like Turians tend to do. He can't keep his hands off her, even as she's clawing at his clothes to get him undressed, can't stop touching the growing life within her and singing with his softest vocals of everything he will give these two children. She, too, is beautiful in the way she carries the softer curves and softest under his hands, the soldier gone in place of the mother of his children, a feminine form of his wife he wishes the war wouldn't wash away, drain into nothing but hard muscles and fiery biotics.
He has to leave her all too soon, their departure filled with promises to remember their deal – even if he can't come get her right when the babies are born and must wait at least four weeks for them to become strong enough for travel according to the Salarian woman – and desperate kisses that must last them for the next separation just as long as the last. Taking in her beauty once more and kneeling to nuzzle and purr to his children, he forces himself to swallow down his old ways that would have no trouble turning his back on his duty and turn to his ship, taking the doubly long ride home. He knows she'll be safe now that she has not only her doctor and the Admirals vouching for her to the Alliance Committee, but her newest friend, a Krogan of a human that seems a child at heart, yet loyal.
Everything is as it should be, his work progressing to the point that he's less worried that Palaven will be wiped out in one fell swoop of a Reaper's beam and more confident that they can at least survive a few devastating battles – cold, ruthless calculus at work – and his messages with his wife starting to hint at things on Earth beginning to calm down enough for her to get her voice heard – whether or not they are listening, she doesn't say. That is, until he gets a message that hits him harder than Tarak's rocket, sending him to his knees and trembling in mute terror.
'Jane has gone into labor expectantly after a situation. Condition acceptable for all three. Will keep ongoing updates as able.'
Each and every word hurts, like a knife in his chest, as he whines in distress, unable to do anything even if he managed to find the strength to rise and get on a ship right now destined for the fastest route to Earth. In fact, when he realizes that's the perfect idea, strong hands stop him, he father willing to take the brunt of his frightening anger when Garrus turns it on him.
He's sure he must have punched the man, but Titus Vakarian stays firm, his voice stern when he tells his son that there is no way he can be there in time to do what he's planning, that his desperate rush to her side will only bring up suspicion for a secret they are trying to keep from the public, that these children aren't the product of a mistake with a human stranger.
Like a time too long ago for Garrus to ever remember, his father wraps his arms around him and rumbles in every soothing tone he can conjure, the two of them waiting it out until he receives a message.
'Congratulations. You are the father of a boy and girl. All three are healthy… She claimed to owe you a 'kick in the ass for putting her through that shit' before falling back to sleep from the sedatives.'
Both men laugh in relief and Garrus trills and chirps in happiness, never feeling the joy he does now as the sounds of his father's congratulations echo somewhere off in the distance. He knows the only thing better would have been there right beside her, holding her hand and cradling his children for the first time, but he will cherish this moment for the rest of his life, cradling the datapad with its message into the night of perhaps the first real sleep in a long time.
He waits, impatiently, until time when Jane's doctor will allow him to finally come get her and his babies. When that time comes, he is preparing what he will need to most likely break her out of confinement when his sister comes to him, a worried flickering to her mandibles.
"Garr, there's something you need to see," she whispers and can't seem to make eye contact. That grabs his attention more than anything, his high strung sister never one to falter from telling you what she's thinking and doing it with little remorse. Much like his wife, he now realizes, though maybe a bit more remorseful that Jane. Following her into the seating area of the house, he looks up to the vidscreen just as his Omni-Tool begins to ring and flash violently on his arm. It goes unnoticed as his eyes widen, mouth falling open and heart dropping to the ground between his feet.
"We've just received news that the Sol System has gone dark," the reporter says, a look of worry on her plated face as her vocals crack in worry. "I repeat, the communications from Earth and the Alliance's Sol positions have gone silent."
"Sol," he snaps, pulling on his professional cloak so he can do one last thing before fulfilling a duty greater than any he owes his people. "I'm going to get Jane and my children. You and dad arm yourselves and get off Palaven immediately, do you understand?"
"But… what about your Task Force?"
"I've done all I can to help the Hierarchy, now I'm taking what I'm owed." He opens his tool and ignores incoming comms, they'll only tell him what he already knows. "I can't do anything here, not while they're out there and I'm not with them."
She doesn't question after that, doesn't get in his way as he suits up in his new armor, gives a final hug and demand that they follow his orders, just this once, and takes to his Corvette. On the way to the Docks, he realizes something he should have known from the moment Solana stepped into the room.
Jane wouldn't just stay on Earth, that's not who she is. She will be in the fight, on her way to him before they fight this together like every time before. So what would going to Earth do but waste his time and fuel? Where else would she go? Where could she go if the two of them are thinking the exact same thing?
She would take the steps to putting together an army instead of blindly searching in an entire system for me, he thinks as he sets course for the Capital, opening his communications. There is only one place to go where she will have the biggest chance of putting together armies to fight the Reapers, the one place in abundance of politicians from every species.
The Citadel.
His ticket to the Citadel? The Primarch.
Primarch Fedorian, he knows, is the next step when her attempts to convince the Council fail, which they all know will. Councilors are the voice of a people to the Galaxy, but, internally, they do not have the power beyond being an Ambassador and Galactic Lawmaker. When they fail to see logic and truth, there is always the fact that the actual world leaders can make alliances among themselves. That's just what he hopes for as he insists the Primarch get to safety from the system before the Reapers attack, suggesting a War Summit be called based on his suspicions.
His work as Praetor must have gained him enough praise because Fedorian agrees, taking to the Invictus with a select few of his guard. Just as Garrus lets himself have high hopes for getting out of the Apien Crest, he's reminded why he doesn't often allow himself to be optimist when communications go dead in the system.
The Reaper forces follow close behind and, he knows, that the small ship has no chance of outrunning one, let alone a small fleet, so he orders the pilot he obtained in the Capital to drop low, wait for the opportunity. He knows what he isn't saying, that they will take the chance when the Reapers are occupied wiping out their people, but they are Turian, they know that war always has a cost, even when they don't initiate it.
No such chance at a clear escape is possible when the Invictus is fired upon and forced into a crash landing on Menae. His one way to get to his family goes down around him in a blaring of alarms and burning hull and all he can think of is, once again, a hope that the word of the Summit got through, that she will come for him because he can no longer come to her.