He(re:) to Her
The day before he's to put Shepard's name on the memorial wall, Garrus wipes down the name slates with the same care he shows his rifles. If there's a greater reverence he can show something inanimate, he doesn't yet know.
There are more names than Garrus likes to see and wiping down each is a memory, however brief. He's surprised how much he remembers, how much the fondness of some memories still hurt. He gives each of the dead the wake they deserve, knowing he will not unbury them again. Just as he knows after he places Shepard's name onto the wall and the Normandy is operational, he will leave the crew. So he pays his respects silently because he owes the memories, and the ones in them, that much.
Garrus dips the washcloth into water, wrings it out, and hears the contents patter into the basin. It smells like soap but sounds like rain, like the rare wet winters on Palaven when he and Solana would take Mom out to the tide pools and watch the sea. Mom hadn't been so bad back then. Those times felt more distant than they were.
Shepard would have liked to hear the memory, he thought. She probably would have liked the view there, too. Palaven wasn't quite so hot during the rainy season and the solar radiation was mild. The grey surf would have called for them at some point, and sooner or later they would have waded in, enjoying the stillness of the sea rising around them. Away from duties, freed from the fight. Her and him.
His mind drifts. He cleans another name.
The elevator opens behind him. He hasn't seen her since the Normandy crashed, but he easily recognizes the sound of Tali's steps without turning.
"You don't have to do that, Garrus." He can hear her exhaustion. With the drive core still in disrepair, the engineers were practically living in the engine room. "Ventilation systems are running fine."
"I do." Garrus wipes another name. Wrings out the cloth. "She deserves that much."
He expects Tali to say something in comfort; everyone else already had. That she had not been surprised to see him cleaning the wall meant someone had told her about the event tomorrow. Instead she says nothing at all. She steps up next to the wall and studies the names in silence. He stoops into a squat and continues cleaning.
"Shouldn't you be getting some rest?" Garrus asks after a few moments, when Tali's presence becomes distracting. The quiet ritual of cleaning the memorial wall was not the same with someone else there. He could only blame his training, his inability to turn off his mind. Introspection belonged with solitude.
"Don't mind me. I'm just thinking," Tali says. Garrus glances at her, senses she's being genuine, and turns back to the memorial wall. It doesn't matter either way, whether or not Tali is there. Garrus likes her well enough. But it's like the days at C-Sec when superiors crowded his space and invisible rules bound his actions: it's not freedom when something occupies his mind. Not really. Thoughts of Shepard on Palaven's beaches evaporated.
"How's the ship?" Garrus asks, not especially interested.
"It'll be fine. Joker managed to pull off another miracle landing. There's less damage than there could have been." Tali pauses, unsure. Then cautiously: "And how are you doing, Garrus?"
"I'll manage."
"Of course you will. But we're here, you know. If you ever need someone, I mean."
"That's a comfort," Garrus says irritably, and he doesn't need to turn to know that Tali is staring at him with hurt. He stops scrubbing and sighs. "I'm sorry, Tali. That wasn't fair."
"It's all right." The way she says it, Garrus knows it's not.
"No. I'm just... I'm coping the only way I know how." Garrus rinses the washcloth. "You know me, Tali. I'm not known for chit-chat. Or rousing speeches."
"I do know that. But you're someone we can always count on. And you can count on us too. If you wanted to."
Garrus doesn't reply. Without the familiar drone of Normandy's engine, the silence is a vast emptiness.
Tali noticeably slumps. "It's late. Or I think it is, if we're the only ones still up," Tali sighs. "I'm going to get back to the core in a bit. But I think you're the one that should get some rest."
Garrus scrubs the edges of the last nameplate holder. "It's not rest when I try to sleep these days."
"Oh Garrus..."
He tosses the washcloth into the basin and stands to full height. He still isn't sure which side of the wall Shepard's name belongs on. He would just place it wherever they decided to place Anderson.
Tali turns to face him. "You're sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"No. Yes." Garrus shakes his head. "Some other time. Not tonight."
"I see." Garrus waits for her to leave, but instead Tali tilts her head towards the observation deck. "Then can you join me while I take a break? You said Dr. Michel got you turian chocolate and I could use a pick-me-up."
Her intentions might as well have been delivered in a mako, unsubtle as they were. Garrus glares at her. Her eyes smile innocently behind her helmet.
"I kept them behind the bar," Garrus finally offers. Tali doesn't budge.
Garrus breaks eye contact. "Most quarians aren't this grating."
"Most quarians don't carry a shotgun, either."
The basin sloshes when Garrus picks it up. He brushes past Tali and walks towards the observation deck. Tali follows. He knows she's smiling.
The box of turian chocolates is unopened, and when Garrus slides them to Tali across the bar counter he decides it's not a bad idea to share them. When he leaves the Normandy he would have forgotten to pack the chocolates, and none of the other crew members would have been able to enjoy the candy unless they also enjoyed a torturous hours in the restroom.
Tali collapses onto a stool, not bothering to hide her exhaustion. Garrus busies himself combing the bar's stock. He doesn't have to talk to her directly this way.
"I don't know how you resisted digging into these. The dextro-amino sweets on the ship... well, I don't know if 'sweets' is the right word to use." He hears her fiddling with the box's wrapping.
"I've never had much of a sweet tooth. Plus it's wasteful if I opened the whole box and just took one." Garrus navigates through the alcohol selection, skipping over the turian brandy. There's less in there than he remembers, which means the woman across the counter had indulged in some of the stash. "Help yourself to as many as you'd like."
"There's a traditional quarian dessert I'll have you try, as repayment for these. You might like it. It's basically a cake, but with a burnt cream topping. Mostly because we match the baking times to the sterilization cycles on our home vessel heaters. It tastes better than it sounds."
"I trust you. But like I said, I don't have much of a sweet tooth." Garrus places two tumblers and a bottle of turian whiskey atop the counter before straightening. Tali stares at the bottle.
"Does Gardner know we have this?"
"Us dextros should have some secrets too." Garrus pours generously. "Never know who might be taking what doesn't belong to them."
Tali stares impassively at Garrus. Not difficult, given the lighting against her helmet. "It was a hard day."
"It's fine. We all have them." Garrus caps the bottle and lifts up his glass.
Tali does the same. "To Shepard?"
There's a lengthy pause.
"To my girl," he finally agrees. The two clink their glasses. Tali places a straw in hers; Garrus downs his in a single gulp. The alcohol rushes pleasant hot down his throat, into his belly. He reaches for the bottle again but stops short; he needs to be lucid for tomorrow. Instead he watches Tali nurse her drink, careful sips that let him know she shares his sentiments.
"How much longer until the ship is back up?"
"Could be later tonight. Could be in a few days. Power's up, as you can tell, and the repairs are enough for the ship to fly again but the core hasn't been responsive. Gabby is still down there trying to figure it out." Tali glances towards the observation deck window, shuttered closed. "It's a good distraction. If I keep my head down and work on the core, I don't have to remember that Shepard's gone."
Tali sips her drink. The glass sways a bit in her hands and the alcohol washes to and fro, like waves. Garrus seizes the bottle and pours another drink, drinking it in a rush. His talons are shaking when he wipes his mouth.
"What do you say we try some of those chocolates?" Garrus reaches for the box. They're good chocolates, fancy ones, ones his dad would sometimes be gifted by C-Sec and bring home to share. Mom would have a few and leave the rest to Solana and Garrus, which meant the chocolates were really left for Solana. One time Garrus had asked his dad why he never took any for himself, and his dad had laughed a creaky, tired laugh and said that the chocolates would never be as sweet as the smiles his family gave him when he brought the box home.
What he wouldn't give for Shepard's smile now.
Garrus tugs the box between him and Tali. He stares at the selections, disinterested. None are appetizing at the moment. He glances up.
"You first."
"Later. I still have to deal with this." Tali places her drink on the counter. She gives him a pointed look. "And you do too."
"I don't think I should pour myself any more."
"You know what I mean." Tali leans forward. "All these years we've known each other, and you can't give me any credit? I'm your friend, Garrus. I'm worried."
Garrus takes a breath. "Worried? About what?"
"About how you're handling a galaxy without Shepard in it."
His heartbeat quickens. "What do you want from me?"
"To be truthful. To stop... stop pretending like we aren't friends." Tali scoots off her stool. "Knowing you, as soon as the core's fixed you're probably going to get off on the first stop and just disappear because it's easier than talking to us."
Garrus stiffens. "I wouldn't do that."
"I want to believe you," Tali says quietly, "but I have my doubts. When my... when my father died, Shepard was there for me. And we're here for you, whether you believe it or not." Tali reaches for Garrus, to offer a comforting touch. He takes a step back from the counter.
"I really didn't want to talk about this tonight, Tali."
"On Earth I promised Shepard I would back her no matter what, and if she saw you being this way she'd want to step in. You don't have to talk about her specifically. But just... stop closing yourself off. Keelah, it's not healthy. You can't just bury something this big."
In the silence, Garrus stares at Tali. There's nothing but distance in his shooter eyes. When he finally speaks, his words are exhausted, heavy.
"Bury her. Funny you should say something like that. I'm supposed to do that tomorrow." He forms fists without being aware he's done so. "That's how we're burying the Commander, Tali. She died saving this galaxy and our crew can't even wait for us to search through the rubble of the Crucible before they want to slap her name on a memorial wall. She deserves more than this. She deserves better."
"That's not what they're thinking, Garrus. It's just to bring closure."
"For them. Closure for them. It doesn't bring closure for me. I just get to sit with these... these thoughts. You were talking about working on the drive core keeps you busy. Well when the gunnery chief doesn't have a target to shoot, he doesn't have much use." Garrus chuckles. "I just sat in the main battery, cleaning my guns. Over and over. This is all I'm good for, Tali. Point me at a fight and I can find something to believe in. Now there's no fight left. So I just kept cleaning my guns, preparing for the next thing that will try and kill me. But there's nothing left out there that can do that because... because I just don't feel alive anymore. I could have lived on if she was still here, but there's no Shepard without Vakarian, and there's no Vakarian without Shepard. I can't stand being here anymore. Everything reminds me of her. I was just going to leave all of this behind-"
"Garrus..."
"-and take my rifles with me. Make sure the family is all right, settled in. Then wander somewhere and find the fight that will end this, end me. Whatever's left. And I know it's pointless, for me to go out that way. All that we fought for, all those memories- just gone-"
"Garrus-"
"-and that's what scares me. The things you guys didn't know about her would leave with me. It didn't hurt like this when I heard she died the first time. But I didn't know her then. I didn't love her like I do, like I will, like I... like I always will. I'll always... I'll always... I'll always-"
There's a hiss when Tali takes off her face plate and there's all surprise from Garrus when she reaches across the bar and yanks him towards her. He doesn't even see her face, not really, before she's kissing him like she hates him, like she loves him, and it's chaste but it's not and it's fierce but it's not. He places a talon at her neck and draws her closer, his body responding to familiar motions. It's a moment longer than the mind comprehends, and it's an instant shorter than what the universe can assign. When that time passes they separate, panting for breath. His talon slides down her neck, rubs her shoulder, grips her hand. When he's intelligible he mumbles worriedly about her suit and her immune system, and she tells him it'll be fine.
Their eyes meet. He doesn't remember who laughs first, but once it sputters out it doesn't stop. Soon they're roaring laughing, and it's embarrassed and joyful and sad, the sound. Unable to comprehend the emotions, the absurdity, children laughing at a funeral. He's laughing too hard to notice when her face plate is back on and registers it only when her laugh becomes muddied and synthesized again.
"Keelah, was there supposed to be that much mandible?" Tali asks, and they laugh even harder. He wants to say something about kissing a turian means you take those chances, and he just knows Shepard would have enjoyed that line so the unsaid retort undoes any semblance of integrity and he places his head on the bar's counter, he's laughing so hard. He laughs until he cries, and the tears are not the tears he wants to give Shepard, but it's what he has.
When the laughter finally calms to irregular chuckles and pained gasps, Tali collapses back onto the stool. She squeezes his talons.
"You think she would have punched me for that?"
"Considering the circumstances? She'd give you a pass." Garrus wipes tears from his eyes. They lock gazes and Garrus can't decipher Tali's expression anymore, but he remembers the look she had given him after the kiss had ended and he knows the look he's giving her now so it's enough.
"I miss her, Tali. I can't accept that she's gone."
"I can't, either. But I think... I think that's normal." Tali pats his talon. "Those memories you have about her, that no one else knows? I have those too. I'd love to tell you some of them."
Garrus stares at the bar counter. He tries to piece his emotions together. "Before we reached Earth, I did a lot of thinking. I was trying to make peace, probably. I would remember all the things I've done, and how my life has been since I joined the crew. I kept getting fixated on the spirit of this group."
"You mean the crew?"
"Right. What we embody as a whole. You know those old turian ideals. Can't shake them." Garrus smiles, just a bit. "When I was on Menae, I thought about all that I've done and where it would belong if I died there. Where would my spirit belong? Palaven? C-Sec? Hell, Omega?" Garrus laughs tonelessly. "But in the end, I wanted to believe it'd be right here." Garrus taps the counter.
The setup is too easy for Tali. "Right here? You mean the bar?"
"Heh. Wouldn't my father be disappointed." Garrus chuckles. Then quiets. And in a voice barely above a whisper: "I actually told her I'd meet her at the bar, Tali. When it was over. Her spirit... and mine..."
"Don't think that far, Garrus. Think of what you have now. You have me." Tali leans close. "You have us."
When Garrus doesn't respond, burrowed into thought, Tali loosens her hand from his and rises from her seat.
"I'm going back to the core." Tali grabs a piece of the turian chocolate and pushes the rest towards him. "Share these with me again and we'll chat. After the Normandy is up and running."
Garrus looks up. "I'll do that," he promises.
Tali taps the counter. "Believe that your spirit will find hers. When it's meant to be."
"I'll try."
"That'll be your fight now. It doesn't have to be a lonely one," Tali adds, and Garrus takes the words and turns them in his head, end-to-end, and knows she's right, knows it down to his bones.
When it is time for the memorial service, Garrus stands among his crewmates, his friends, and bears the collective grief until it almost matches what he feels for her before he steps forward, her nameplate in hand.
The memorial wall is clean. The names are indistinct blurs today. He's buried them all. He lifts Shepard's.
And stares at it.
Her name. Her memory.
Their memories.
He touches the etching. Images pass in a rush, pictures without frames or context or meaning to anyone but him. Underneath is grief still, a dark bleeding thing that haunts the mirth, stains it irrevocably. But it is just a color, a shade, unable to envelop the memory's entirety.
Her spirit lives on. If he allows it.
Garrus looks up. His voice is steady.
"I'm not going to put it up." he announces.
Garrus walks from the memorial, pretending he doesn't see the crew's expressions: the shock, the pity, the approval. It doesn't mean anything to him.
He heads back towards the main battery. Tali is quick to follow him. He stops a few paces into the dining area, turning to face her. Tali sniffles loudly. She had dismissed the symptoms as exhaustion to the others, but he knows better.
"Garrus, I-"
The bubbling hum of the engine finding power cuts off her words. There's a communal gasp from the elevators, followed by loud whoops of celebration, Joker and the engineers the loudest of all.
Garrus looks towards the ceiling. Then back to Tali.
"She's still kicking," Garrus observes.
"She won't go down that easily," Tali agrees with a cough. Garrus looks down at Shepard's nameplate again.
Tali sidles up next to him, running one hand on the nameplate's etching. With her other hand, she takes his talons. Squeezes them.
After a long while, he squeezes back.
-End-