It developed over the next few hours that Vakarian would survive.
He survived the initial surgery, at least. Dr. Chakwas's preliminary report described extensive and creative reconstruction of the right side of his face, though after the Lazarus Project, it took a great deal more than that for Miranda to be impressed. Dr. Chakwas also cautioned that there was still risk of infection and implant rejection, and she was keeping the turian largely sedated for perhaps a day while the grafts and cybernetics did their initial bonding. Miranda asked the doctor to send her updates as the patient progressed and regained consciousness. In the meantime, she reviewed all the information on Vakarian she could get her hands on. What she found gave her a sense of how the turian might best be utilized in the Normandy's crew, but also gave her concerns. He had a long record of being unpredictable and insubordinate—by turian standards, at least. Shepard, however, had had nothing but praise for him, and his conduct on the SR-1 had apparently been exemplary, including surprisingly good relations with the rest of the crew. He'd clearly fit in well with Shepard's modus operandi. Still, Miranda thought he might be a disruptive element in the delicate chemistry of this crew. Though nominally humanity's allies, turians typically had a rivalry with humans. Vakarian's military and police experience were potentially useful, and yet at odds with both Cerberus and Alliance protocols. Beyond that, Miranda couldn't be certain that he'd stay with the crew, especially taking into account his species and Cerberus's record... and what would that do to Shepard's mood? Her demeanor had changed so drastically on Omega once she recognized him, and again when he was injured. After delivering him to the medical team, Shepard had eventually emerged from her quarters cleaned up but still noticeably tense, and it didn't appear that she had slept at all well. She'd visited the medbay as soon as she and Miranda finished debriefing, and she emerged a short time later with her lips pressed together and her entire posture tight.
In the draft of her mission report to the Illusive Man, currently occupying her terminal screen, Miranda had cautiously outlined her concerns. Vakarian had the potential to be either a stabilizing force on Shepard, or a very destabilizing one. It remained to be seen, too, how well he would recover from his injuries. Miranda frowned at the screen. At one point, before Shepard was revived, she had hoped to locate the turian. His disappearance had been annoying. Now, though... as much as possible, she liked to control the variables surrounding her, and the turian was a significant one. She needed to speak to Vakarian herself, Miranda concluded. Preferably before Shepard did, so she could be the one to brief him on the mission, and so she could assess his reactions without Shepard's interference.
"Well, Dr. Chakwas, how's our patient?"
It was an unfamiliar voice, female, presumably human. No, wait—slightly familiar. A woman had been with Shepard on Omega. Long dark hair, wearing the Cerberus emblem. From his bed in medbay, Garrus kept his eyes shut and listened.
"Garrus is recovering well," said Dr. Chakwas. "The cybernetics are integrating beautifully."
The right side of his head throbbed as she spoke. Pain was still a great improvement on the hollow numbness he'd felt the first time he woke up—he wasn't sure how long before.
He'd come awake and opened his eyes blearily, taking in that he was somewhere clean and white—so probably not Omega—and that his head had a floaty not-quite-there quality.
"There you are," a familiar voice had said. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
Garrus had blinked, befuddled, at the gray-haired human in front of him. He recognized her at once, but it seemed dream-like, not real. For one thing, the sound felt... wrong. Much louder on his left than on his right. Maybe he was hallucinating the Normandy. Or maybe he'd never left the Normandy, which meant that everything since then hadn't... that thought gave him an odd combination of relief and panic. "Doc—" he started to say, but pain slashed through the right side of his jaw and head as he spoke.
Well, crap. That was definitely real. And now that he thought about it, he became aware of a number of dull aches elsewhere in his body. Which probably meant that some of the less pleasant portions of his memories were also real.
"Don't try to talk," Dr. Chakwas was saying, in her familiar calm, firm tone. "You've been very seriously injured. You were struck with a missile."
Damn. Now he remembered. The gunship. Again. Coming around for a second try. Dr. Chakwas was still talking, describing the extent of his injuries—something about synthetic aural implant and cybernetic augmentation to damaged nerve and muscle fibers—but Garrus was only half listening. Ha, half listening. Memory came back to him in a rush: the roar of the gunship's engines and that ass Tarak's taunting, the artificial alertness brought about by stim use, on top of the deep fatigue from fighting alone for days—
—except he hadn't been alone when the gunship came back, he'd been with—
"Shep-" he got out, pressing past the lancing pain.
"Shepard's fine," said Dr. Chakwas with authority.
"Nuh," he said. "Deh." He swallowed, steeling himself for what he knew was going to hurt, and enunciated carefully: "Dead."
Dr. Chakwas drew closer, shaking her head. She checked the monitors beside his bed and then settled herself in the chair, meeting his eyes calmly. "She's not. She's here." She allowed herself a small smile. "She'd be right here, in fact, but she was fidgeting so much I wouldn't let her stay. She's quite worried about you."
Shepard. Worried. About him. He could remember, just, the sound of her voice shouting his name. He could remember, a little more vividly, the look on her face when she recognized him. All the wrong scars on her face, but the smile was hers, her lips spreading wide, arms flung open, eyes shining. She'd looked so happy to see him, and he...
... he'd fucked up. Badly, this time, badly enough to lose the entire team. The sense of failure, the memory of the stench of blood and death, rose up and seemed to lodge in his throat and gut. The room tilted, and he closed his eyes against the vertigo. Shepard had bailed him out again. Lucky him. At least that meant he had the chance to put things right, to find Sidonis and make him pay.
Garrus realized he was making a harsh, discordant sound in his throat, while Dr. Chakwas was still watching him steadily. He shook his head. That hurt, too. Everything was starting to feel blurred around the edges, but he knew Shepard wasn't supposed to be alive. He started to ask How? and winced.
"I told you not to talk," Dr. Chakwas said. "You need to let your jaw heal and allow the cybernetics to integrate with your nervous system. Once that happens, you should be able to speak normally. You should have normal motor function in your right arm and shoulder, too, although we'll need to monitor that for a while."
Garrus nodded, even though the motion made his neck ache. Dr. Chakwas frowned at him. "Stop moving around," she said, and then sighed. "I suppose you'd like an explanation. It appears that Shepard's body was recovered and... revived... by Cerberus."
Damn it. He knew he'd recognized that emblem, he'd just been too tired to place it. He hissed and tried to sit up, only to find the doctor pushing him firmly back down into the bed. "None of that," she said. "She's not in immediate danger, and neither are you. They've asked her to take on a mission; there are colonies going missing."
He knew Shepard well enough to know that would be a call she couldn't resist, regardless of Cerberus's history. Everything seemed more fuzzy now, and Dr. Chakwas's voice sounded hollow as she kept talking, the words indistinct, and he closed his eyes.
He had woken up another time or two since then, let the doctor do her tests and continue explaining to him, in a low voice, what the situation was. It was a lot to take in. He had yet to see Shepard. Dr. Chakwas said she'd stopped by, but only when he was asleep. As if she were a dream, or a mirage.
And now this stranger was here, asking Dr. Chakwas questions.
"Can I speak to him?"
The doctor took a moment to respond. "Briefly," she said. "If he's awake."
Footsteps approached, clicking against the deck. Garrus considered feigning sleep, but reasoned that he might learn more by talking with the woman. He opened his eyes when the footsteps stopped.
She was tall and composed, long dark hair falling over her shoulders in smooth waves. Shepard always wore hers up, he found himself thinking, irrelevantly. He couldn't read much from this woman's expression, though her eyes were sharp.
"Garrus Vakarian," she said. "We'd been looking for you."
"You mean Cerberus," he replied, pleased that the words came out clearly, with only a little pain at the hinge of his jaw and mandible. Whatever Chakwas was giving him was good.
She nodded once. "You're a hard man to locate. We didn't realize you were Archangel."
Garrus wondered why this was the first thing she thought he should know. "That was the idea," he said.
The corners of her mouth turned up, just a little. "I'm sorry. I should introduce myself. I'm Miranda Lawson. I'm the Executive Officer here on the Normandy."
He looked up at the white ceiling, remembering Pressly. The veteran officer hadn't given his respect lightly to the non-human crew, but he'd given it, in the end. An honorable man. "The Normandy."
"Shepard's choice of a name. Cerberus built the ship, making some improvements on the SR-1's design."
Garrus's estimation of Cerberus's resources went up a few notches. Top-of-the-line warships, even frigates, were not cheap, and the Normandy's specialized stealth features sent the cost higher. He noted Lawson's words, too. How many choices had Shepard been given? Little things, maybe, like naming ships, and not anything that mattered. Anger coiled inside him, but he kept it leashed. Controlled. He might not be in enemy hands, but he wasn't entirely in friendly hands, either. Best to keep control, watch and listen, and learn something. Humans often complained that they had trouble reading turians; he could use that to his advantage. He gave Lawson his blandest expression. "Cerberus must have invested a lot in this mission."
"Indeed." She regarded him coolly. "I'd like to give you a briefing on the mission, if you have time."
A dry laugh escaped him. What else, exactly, did he have to do with his time at the moment? "Fire away," he said.
Unlike Dr. Chakwas, Lawson remained standing, forcing him to look up. He recognized the ploy: she was establishing herself as an authority. Garrus was certain that, if he were on his feet, he'd be the taller, reversing their positions. "Human colonies have been disappearing," she said. "Buildings and objects remain, but the populations vanish. The Council won't respond because the settlements are in the Terminus Systems."
Garrus nodded. He might have spent most of the last two years on Omega, but the colony disappearances had been news, and he hadn't forgotten galactic politics. It wasn't as if the Council had changed much, in spite of all the councilors being new. "And the Alliance?"
Her brows drew together, and her shoulders rose and fell. "If they are taking any measures, they've been ineffective. We believe the disappearances are connected to the Reapers."
"We meaning Cerberus."
"That's correct."
"What does Shepard think?" he asked, idly flexing his right hand. Chakwas had warned him that manual dexterity might be compromised for a time, but it felt all right.
"You'd have to ask her that," Lawson replied.
"I intend to."
He watched her closely, wishing he had the additional data from his visor. Lawson smiled slightly. "We do have evidence, from the most recent colony disappearance, that Collectors are involved."
Garrus had to fight to control his expression at that one. "Collectors," he said, knowing his voice resonated with disbelief and wondering if Lawson could tell.
She gave him a sharp nod. "That's correct. They appeared to be disabling and abducting the colonists."
"What would Collectors want with so many humans?"
"That's what we mean to find out," Lawson returned coolly. She appeared completely serious. "I can make the video footage available to you, if you wish to review it. I assure you, you'll find no signs of tampering on our part."
Garrus nodded slowly. "I see." He did. Unwillingly, he could see how this was going to go. Missing human colonists; the Council refusing to see beyond the confines of the Citadel, as usual; Cerberus, a self-proclaimed mouthpiece for humanity, investigating. Shepard in the middle, and, if he knew her at all... if it really and truly was her... she wouldn't turn her back on this.
Lawson continued, "We'd like to hire you for the duration of the mission. Details of the contract will be sent to your omni-tool."
He wanted to laugh. A contract, as if this were a regular sort of transaction. As if chasing down the Collectors wasn't likely to be a one-way trip. He said, "Didn't know Cerberus was in the habit of hiring turians."
"We're not," Lawson said, "but Shepard is certainly in the habit of working with turians. Specifically, of working with you. You would, of course, report directly to Shepard as your commanding officer."
"Of course," he said, matching her matter-of-fact tone. "And what would be my duties?"
"That would be at the Commander's discretion," she said. "She selects her own ground team. As far as shipboard duties go, the ship is in need of a gunnery officer, and your service record appears to fit the bill, so that would be my recommendation as Executive Officer. Any combat duties would have to be medically cleared, of course."
They both looked at Dr. Chakwas, who was ostensibly working at her desk, her back to them, but who could hardly avoid hearing the conversation. Garrus turned his attention back to Lawson and said, "I'd like to discuss that with Shepard."
She nodded. "Of course. And I'll leave you to your recovery now."
Garrus stared at the ceiling again as the sharp sound of her heels on the floor retreated, and the door whooshed open and shut. In the quiet left by Lawson's absence, he considered.
He still hadn't ruled out the possibility that it wasn't really Shepard. He remembered the sense of conviction he'd had back on Omega, but... he knew he'd been too exhausted then for his judgment to be entirely trustworthy. As if his judgment was ever one to rely on, said a little voice in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away. If it wasn't really Shepard, he needed to do something about it. And if it was...
It took an effort, but Garrus levered himself up and set his feet on the floor. He waited while his head swam. No worse than any other occasion when he'd been prone for a while, really. It cleared after a moment, and he pushed himself upright.
"And what do you think you're doing?" Dr. Chakwas asked.
Garrus stretched, cautiously, taking a few steps to test out his limbs. Everything worked, more or less, though there was a dull ache on his right side that was probably going to blossom into something much worse when the painkillers wore off. "I need to talk to Shepard."
"I can ask her to come here."
Looking around, he located his gear, stacked in the corner of the room. Cleaned, even, although still pitted and scorched, and that was a hell of a hole in the cowl armor, wasn't it? "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather report to my commanding officer on my feet and ready for action." He slipped the visor into place as he spoke and keyed it on, relieved as the familiar interface sprang to life. It seemed undamaged; good.
He heard a rustle as the doctor moved behind him. "I have to recommend against your leaving this sickbay. I would rather keep you here for at least another 24 hours of observation. And then you'll be released to light duty only. No combat."
Garrus donned his armor anyway, piece by piece. The routine was so well-known that his hands did it automatically, and the familiar actions soothed the knot of tension in his gut. "Come on, doc. Do you really want to send her out there with nothing but Cerberus back-up?" Lawson, he was certain, was trying to figure out how to make use of him, but would be much happier if he were stuck shipside. There was no way he was going to let that happen.
He settled the last piece of armor into place and turned. Dr. Chakwas regarded him with her lips tight and her brow creased. He looked at her, searching for the right words that would make her see what was so clear to him: that he needed to be free to move, to act, to help Shepard however she needed it.
He didn't know what she saw on his face, but her expression shifted, and she held out a vial. "Fine. Take these as needed for the pain. Not more than every two hours. And you will check in with me every six hours, or this agreement of ours is canceled."
It was a small price to pay. He took the bottle from her and slid it into a compartment, managing a painful, uneven smile. "Thanks, doc."
"You owe me," she said as he headed toward the door.
"I do," he agreed, and hesitated as the door opened. "Ah... where am I going?"
A small blue sphere sprang into existence near the door, and a synthesized voice said, "Commander Shepard is in the briefing room—"
"Thank you, EDI," said Dr. Chakwas. "That will be all."
"Ship's VI?"
"AI. I already told you that, Garrus."
"Right. I forgot." He remembered now; he just hadn't been entirely with it then. "And the briefing room is where?"
Dr. Chakwas gave him directions with a close look. He was fine, though. He was sure of it. He was fine and he needed to see Shepard for himself and hear from her mouth what she thought was going on.
He passed through the ship, feigning confidence. The place was too bright and full of an AI, and crewed by humans in black and white who eyed him as he went by, some of them surreptitiously, some of them gawking openly. He noted everything he could, scanned and recorded the walk with his visor for further assessment later, the kind of habit he'd developed on Omega.
He didn't relax, not really, until he'd reached the briefing room and saw Shepard, saw her face light up—again—with that brilliant smile. For him. He shouldn't relax, not on a Cerberus ship with a crew of unknowns. But face to face with Shepard, her smile wide and her eyes shining, he couldn't help but feel calmer. Lighter. Something in his chest that had been tight and knotted for a long time—maybe years—seemed to loosen. He ought to be more suspicious of her, probably, but her presence disarmed him. The look of her, the way her stance relaxed when she saw him, the biometric data his visor supplied, the sound and scent and presence of her, the indefinable and indomitable aura she carried with her, in combat or out of it—it added up too well, and he couldn't believe her to be anything but genuine. And if she was genuine, if she was here, she had to have reasons, and the least he could do was to hear her out.
They traded jokes. He listened to her laugh and watched her face grow serious as she spoke about the mission. She wasn't discounting the Cerberus risk, at least, and that, too, eased him. He was in, he knew it, and he told her so, passing it off as another joke, the words coming out almost before he'd made the conscious decision.
The AI popped up again as Garrus departed, directing him to the forward battery with no further comment. He took a deep breath as the doors shut behind him, confronting familiar machinery, and called up the schematics on the console. Better than the first Normandy's armaments, but maybe not good enough. He frowned, ignoring the dull twinge on his right side, and made some notes. He knew that he was distracting himself. If he sunk himself into this project, he didn't have to think about the mess he'd left behind on Omega. The one he'd made. Damn, had he really called his father from his holdout? He should call him back, say he was all right. And Solana, too. And he should call some contacts, try to track down Lantar Sidonis. And then...
His hand shook as he made the note. Not now; he wasn't ready to think about any of it yet. He returned his attention to the cannon: a clean, mechanical problem, one that had an optimum solution. He only had to find it.
Miranda reflected on her conversation with the turian as she returned to her office. The rocket blast didn't seem to have damaged his mental faculties, at least. He asked sensible questions, and he was clearly listening and taking in information carefully. He wasn't stupid; his record spoke clearly of intelligence and good tactical sense, and her observation of him on Omega confirmed that. Foolishly idealistic, possibly a touch naive, but not stupid.
He'd let himself get boxed in, though. Miranda would have expected a turian to attempt to escape, perhaps planting explosives in the base and luring his enemies in while he made his getaway. The fact that he'd allowed himself to be cornered, as he had, was disquieting, speaking of some degree of emotional dysfunction. Perhaps he had not been thinking clearly after losing his team, but she did not view that as an entirely adequate excuse. She'd have to advise Chambers to keep an eye on him. She had little doubt that Dr. Chakwas and Shepard would both be doing the same.
It was more difficult to read his reactions. Turians' rigid, mask-like faces didn't easily betray emotions as human faces might, and Miranda was sure Vakarian had deliberately kept himself under tight control. She couldn't be sure what he was thinking. Nonetheless, he was appearing to be a good deal more cooperative than she'd expected. He'd hardly balked at the mention of Cerberus, and appeared inclined to join the mission. That was a positive development, on the whole; Miranda thought Shepard would function better with him available, even if only as a confidant. He was still something of an unpredictable element, however. His actions on Omega certainly gave evidence of recklessness, but perhaps his loyalty to Shepard would keep him in line. It would presumably be some time before he'd be cleared for active duty, in any case.
Dr. Chakwas's recommendation came to Miranda's terminal less than half an hour later, though, much to her surprise. Her own observation had suggested that the turian, while lucid, was not nearly in combat-ready condition. She called the doctor to her office.
"You cleared Vakarian for field duty starting tomorrow?"
Dr. Chakwas looked back at her calmly, unblinking. "I did."
"Are you sure that's wise? By your own report, he was in major surgery less than a day ago."
The doctor raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. "Are you questioning my medical judgment, Miranda?"
Her tone was forbidding, but Miranda had no intention of allowing the older woman to intimidate her. "An impaired operative is a risk to the entire team, as you well know, doctor."
"Turians are made of tougher stuff than humans." Dr. Chakwas crossed her arms. "I will be continuing to monitor Garrus's condition, of course, to make sure no complications from the surgery or the augmentation process arise, but he should be fully fit for combat within twenty-four hours. I've released him to shipboard duty until that time. In fact, I believe he's already working at the gunnery emplacement, as you suggested."
Miranda narrowed her eyes. Dr. Chakwas's return gaze was perfectly placid. Her face gave nothing away.
Miranda wondered briefly if she could get Mordin to render a second opinion. She dismissed the notion almost immediately, however. There was little point in sowing dissension between the chief medical officer and the chief scientist, and she didn't want to distract the salarian from his research into Collector tech. "Very well. Thank you for your time, doctor."
She could only hope whatever game they were playing, likely out of loyalty or misplaced paranoia, wouldn't put Shepard, or the mission, at risk.
Author's Note: Updates probably won't appear for at least two weeks, possibly a bit longer, as I'll be out of town for a while. Also, if much of this text looks vaguely familiar, Garrus' portion of the chapter was previously posted on my tumblr as a short story with the "Rude Awakening."