[A/N: No, this doesn't exactly follow the canon storyline. I thought to myself, "What would it be like, if the Reapers had been destroyed, but the Relays still left unharmed?" Which is how I came up with the idea for this brief one-shot. Let me know your thoughts (deviation from canon aside) and write a review. All feedback is greatly appreciated!]
Four years seemed to pass in the blinking of an eye for Garrus Vakarian. When compared to the short few weeks between Shepard's arrival on Menae and the firing of the Crucible (which had felt like a life time to the battle-weary Turian), it seemed even less than that.
After the fall of the Reapers and the death of the Galactic Hero, Commander John Shepard, Garrus had slipped away from the thronging crowds of rejoicing races and tapped into the case of Turian Ale he'd been saving for when Shepard had finally gotten the job done. The exquisite drink tasted like bitter ash in his mouth without his comrade there to share with him. He'd lost a fellow soldier, a friend, a leader, a brother... But he couldn't dwell on it forever. Shepard would have told him to get a grip on himself, if he'd still been around.
Then, there was the clean up duties. Primarch Victus had died in the battle, and with no one willing to step forward and take charge, Garrus had orchestrated the repair work, the burying of the honorable dead, the evacuation of survivors. It had taken a full week, but Garrus pulled the Turian Military from the ashes of the battle, dusted them off, and carried them home.
Palaven, was a wreck. The brief joy of defeating the Reapers vanished almost in an instant when the reptilian humanoids laid eyes on their homeworld. Once again, Vakarian was at the forefront of the rebuilding process, and with help from the Volus clans (who had more or less survived the war wholly unscathed), the planet was made livable within 2 short years. It didn't take long for the Turian race to notice Vakarian's efforts, and he was offered the position of Primarch; A job he took grudgingly.
Now, Vakarian found himself standing at the window of his office, looking down over Palaven's capital. In truth, his duties weren't overly taxing; Seeking out any surviving Reapers and destroying them, defending trade routes from an upsurge of piracy and raids which had reached record highs since the Reaper threat had been extinguished... But the job just wasn't for him. He was a soldier through and through, not a politician. He preferred heavy armor over formal attire, would rather camp out in the jungle with enemy fire whizzing over head than staying in 5-Star hotels and dining on fine food. He pressed his forehead to the window and let out a sigh. "I need a holiday..." he muttered into the silence.
His mind was made up. He'd take a few weeks leave (surely the military could survive without him for a few weeks), go somewhere far away and relax on the beach. First things first, though. He had something he needed to do.
Memories of that fateful day washed over him as he sat in the shuttle, zooming up and out of Palaven's atmosphere and the waiting Cruiser-class ship "The Claymore". Pacing around on his gangly legs, the Turian gripped his chin in thought, drifting back to the day Shepard had saved them all.
Crawling out of the wreckage of their downed transport, Vakarian was sure he'd broken at least one rib. Hammer Team were being decimated, as were the air support squadrons. The Turian clambered to his feet, scooping up a discarded rifle, and staring at the Beam. His eyes naturally followed the course of the blue teleportation device, and an immediate feeling of horror slipped like a block of ice into his stomach. Descending from the blackened sky was a Reaper. Harbinger, no less.
"We have to get to the beam!" That had been Anderson. His voice panicked yet determined. Vakarian glanced to his right, watching as Shepard rose from the rubble, covered in soot and dust, the typical gleam in his eye. Beside him stood Vega and Williams, the former looking like a crazed madman, the latter grim and focused.
"We're with you, Shepard." Ashely said quietly, a blazing look on her face as she stood behind her lover and leader.
Vega grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Damn straight, Loco."
Finally, Shepard's eyes flickered in Vakarian's direction. The Turian returned the glance with a smile. This was the end. But he wasn't afraid. None of them were. They'd said their goodbyes back in the temporary Alliance HQ, and had departed for the beam knowing that there was every likelihood that they wouldn't be coming back.
The years Vakarian and Shepard had known each other seemed like a lifetime. Taking down Saren and Sovereign with their legions of Geth, wiping out the Collectors, and now this. There really wasn't anything else to say to each other; It had all been said over the years. "There's no Shepard without Vakarian…" That peaceful afternoon on the Presidium rooftop seemed like an age ago now.
Vakarian's smile turned into a grin, and he popped the heat-sink on his rifle. "Race ya?"
Shepard's reply had been a silent chuckle and a smirking nod. "Alright then, let's take it to these bastards one last time!" The Commander had led the charge himself, tearing off down the hill towards the beam as Harbinger touched down beside the monolithic structure. Garrus had taken off a split second later, whilst Vega sprinted away with a loud roar of "Hoo-rah!"
"… Primarch Vakarian, sir?"
"Hn?"
Garrus snapped out of his reverie, blinking slowly. A uniformed Turian officer stood before him, clutching a datapad in one hand. "We've docked with the Claymore, sir. Are you coming aboard?"
"Huh? Oh… Right." Indeed, the thrumming of the shuttle engines had been silenced, and he could hear the sound of whirring machinery in the hangar outside. How long had he been pacing around the empty shuttle? "Yeah, I'm coming."
The CIC of the Claymore was abuzz. Officers darted between terminals, voices boomed over the loudspeaker with periodic updates on the ship's functioning. Garrus, however, stood before the Galaxy map, gazing blankly at the scaled model of the Milky Way. Their destination, The Sol System, was highlighted, and once more, the Primarch slipped into his memories once more.
Pain. Sheer, unrelenting pain. It tore at every fiber of Vakarian's being, rendering him immobile.
Moments before, a Reaper beam had exploded a few feet away from him, ripping through the troops charging towards the beam and sending any within range flying. Garrus himself had been tossed 20 feet through the air, crashing into the ruins of a small guard outpost, and a Mako had been thrown into the rubble seconds later.
The recognition of pain, however, made Garrus realize he was still alive. A small voice could be heard weakly through his combat visor. "No… They're all dead… All of them…" The voice sounded close to tears.
His diamond blue eyes snapped open, taking in a deep shuddering breath through clenched teeth. Every breath was agony, every moment felt as though a fire had been lit in his bones. But he slowly began to crawl, shifting the rubble as best he could, fighting to get out into the open.
What he saw when he emerged was a slaughter house. Corpses and wrecked vehicles littered the plain, the giant Reaper Harbinger retreating into the skies, it's mission successful. They'd failed. The Reapers had won. Except… Was that a survivor?
Vakarian crawled to the edge of a small drop off, his eyes training onto a tiny figure down near the beam. Blackened and burned to a crisp, covered in blood from head to toe, was Commander Shepard, trudging wearily towards the Beam. And the crazy bastard was still gunning them down. A pair of husks, then a sly Marauder who had leaped out in the hopes of an easy kill. All three fell before the battered Commander, and he stumbled into the piercingly bright light.
"Give 'em hell, Shepard." Vakarian mumbled weakly, before slipping into unconsciousness.
In what seemed no time at all, the Turian Cruiser hovered just outside of Planet Earth's atmosphere, and the hangar doors opened, a small Kodiak class shuttle zipping down towards the surface. Garrus glanced out the window, his eyes falling on a healed world, though still bearing the scars of that fateful day. Down below, Big Ben loomed into view. London, UK, Earth.
Vakarian's destination was the massive War Memorial, erected in the memory of those who made the ultimate sacrifice for the Galaxy at large. No less than 5 billion names were recorded at the John Shepard Memorial, from all the races at of the united Galaxy, and it was here that Garrus was headed to pay his final respects to his brother in arms.
"Shall I arrange a transport, Primarch Vakarian?" The shuttle pilot asked as they docked with the spaceport.
"No, no." Vakarian rose from his seat, straightening his coat. "I think I'll take a walk." Time to go. Time to say a final farewell.
A statue of the Commander himself stood at the Memorial's entrance, and before long, Garrus stood before it, gazing up at the soldier. The Turian cracked two bottles of Turian Ale and sat one of them on the marble structure. "Shepard..." he began, glancing down at the bottle in his hands. "I know we should have had these 4 years ago, but..." he glanced up, shrugging slightly in apology. "I wish you were here right now, to see how we've all banded together after the war ended. You'd be amazed. Salarian Embassies on Tuchanka, Batarian Diplomats on the Citadel... And your old friend Garrus Vakarian? He's the new Primarch, believe it or not." Vakarian let out a low chuckle and shook his head. "Crazy, huh? I'm amazed the Turan Military hasn't fallen into shambles yet."
It was strange; He didn't at all feel foolish for talking to a statue. It felt good, really. As though he was getting some long overdue closure. "I ah… I'm not very good at goodbyes. I feel I should tell you that you're the best friend I've ever known. And that as a leader, you were inspirational, fearless, scarily skilled… Actually, forget that. Chances are you're listening right now, and I'm not going to be held responsible for inflating your already inflated ego.
The Turian smirked his cocky, trademark smirk, glancing up again at his former leader.
"I won't go on. I'm sure you're itching to get back to that Bar in the clouds. I hope you've got me a stool by the bar saved up there. If I get up there and you haven't, I'm going to kick your ass. Count on it." Lowering his gaze, he shook his head, uttering a small, almost unnoticeable laugh.
"Give 'em hell, and drink 'em dry, Commander."" He smiled, glancing up at Shepard, a single tear rolling down his scaly cheek as he sprung to a salute. "Here's to you, Shepard."
Vakarian raised the bottle to his lips, draining the bottle in one. The ale was hot and bitter, but it tasted far better than the icy equivalent he had drunk by himself on this exact same spot four years previously. Feeling satisfied with his farewell, and more than a little embarrassed at the tears now rolling freely down his face, Vakarian turned on his heel, and began walking away through London's crowded streets.