A/N: This story is written for my friend C.R.U.K and was inspired from "Drifting" by On An On. You should all go take a listen to it. Right now.
He woke all at once to the grey walls of his room, a cold sweat chilling him to the bone. The bright glare of the clock told him that he had only been sleeping for a few hours, and he covered his face with his hands, exhaustion weighing heavily on his mind.
It had felt so real. Shepard had been here, with him. Shepard… the human commander who had taken his nicely ordered life and turned it on its head. Before he knew it, he was running across the stars, hunting Saren and the geth, and something worse.
The Council hadn't believed her when she had spoken of the Reapers. Hell, he wouldn't have if he hadn't been there when she had met Harbringer. But he knew Shepard, and he knew she wouldn't give this up without a fight.
Well… he had known Shepard.
Her funeral had only been last week. The entire crew of the Normandy, non-humans and all, had been there. To say it had been hard wouldn't do it justice. It had been an empty coffin - they hadn't even managed to find the body. Said it had burned up in reentry after she had been spaced. He shuddered at the thought.
A number of people took turns speaking, most of them he didn't recognize. The Councilor, Anderson, looked like he was only barely keeping it together. Garrus wondered what the story was there, but knew it would be rude to pry.
And now he was back to the mind-numbing drudgery of CSec. Back to rules, and regulations, where criminals would just dance through miles of red tape and get away with murder. Something that was happening more and more often. He wanted to be able to do something, to make a difference… but it looked more and more like his hands were tied.
He had never hated his job before now, but ever since stepping aboard the Normandy, everything had changed. Shepard had done things her way, the first human Spectre… but beyond that, he saw her determination, a quiet confidence that she carried with her, even in the worst situations.
The only time he had seen her falter was after Virmire. There had been a short briefing, everyone looked worse for wear. Shepard's shoulders had visibly sagged when Joker mentioned talking to the Council, but it was gone in an instant, replaced with a grim resolve as the crew left the room.
He had been in the mess hall when she retreated to her quarters, and in the moment before she stepped through the door, he saw the defeat written clear across her face. Someone had died because of her, and he had no doubt she saw that as a personal failure.
Falling back into the bed, Garrus looked up at the ceiling, mind awash with memories. When he had asked to go with her to hunt down Saren, he had fully expected her to say no. And when she didn't, he realized he hadn't fully anticipated what he was getting into.
She had taken him with her on a mission, and he managed to save her from a cloaked geth. They had been going into a Prothean ruin to find Doctor Liara T'Soni, only to find the planet was swarming with the synthetics.
"Good eye Vakarian," she had said, out of breath. He hadn't replied, scanning the battlefield for more enemies. But since that moment, every time they went planetside, he was watching her back.
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, feeling the effects of how little sleep he had been getting. It hadn't taken long for news of the Normandy's attack and destruction to reach the Citadel. He had just gotten off shift and was debating heading to Chora's for a few drinks before calling it a night. The message had left him winded, unable to believe what he was hearing. There was no way she was gone. There was no way she was dead.
The news reports had started to cycle shortly after, Commander Shepard, the first human Spectre, confirmed killed in action…
How could it be they took down Saren and the geth, and she died alone on the fringes of space? Why had he decided to go back to the Citadel? Why hadn't he been with her?
"Don't worry Vakarian," she had said, standing in the docking bay outside of the Normandy. "I'll be back before you know it."
That was the last time he had seen her.
Garrus climbed to his feet, pacing the small room. He wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight. Not with her words echoing in his head. Not with memories of Therum, Feros, Noveria, Virmire, Illos all blending in his mind... The endless waves of geth, the Thorian thralls, and through it all she kept calm, even when they were racing up the side of the Citadel because the elevator had been disabled and they were the only hope the galaxy had to stop the Reapers.
No. He wasn't going to stay here any longer. He wasn't going to stand by and listen to the Council tarnish her memory because they didn't want to believe her warnings were possible. He had to do something, to take a stand, make a difference.
For her.