The ships were sleek and deadly, a combination of turian and asari engineering. They hovered like birds of prey on the field before him. Perfect and new. He nodded in satisfaction and paid the asari watching him, more than was agreed upon. The extra was for forgetfulness, he didn't want word of these marvels getting out there. But considering his contact, he didn't really have to worry about intel leaks.

"The Shadow Broker sends his compliments, Mr. Vakarian." The asari tipped an imaginary hat to him and he nodded at her again.

His soldiers eyed the Raptors, named for the rifle, eagerly, and he felt a grin tug at his mandible at the sight. "Tullius, what is wrong with this picture?"

Garrus gestured out to the ships with their powerful dangerous silhouettes and the men at his back muttered in confusion. Tullius grinned, though more than half his face was a ruin of scars, he was even missing a mandible, "They're too pretty, boss."

"That's right. They're too pretty. Go out there and ugly them up a bit." He stared at the asari, who looked livid and offended at this blasphemy, "No one's going to believe that these belong to mercs. Each squad take a ship, I want to see some really creative upgrades and customization."

Garrus turned an amused eye to the Shadow Broker agent, who looked flustered under his regard, his browplate shot up archly in a question. She laughed lightly, nervously, "I just, I've never seen so many non-turians in the turian military."

"Times are changing, miss-?"

"Elana, Elana Angelus." The asari blushed, artfully. This was a dangerous one, thought he as he bent over her hand. The sort to sleep with a man and stab him in the next breath. But at least there was a sort of honesty about it, she wasn't pretending to be something she wasn't.

"Well... Angel, I'd like to stay and chat, but I have places to be, so if you'll excuse us." It was a firm dismissal with the tag of a compliment and she smiled up into his eyes, which were cold and distant. Odd how that seemed to attract a certain...type. Nevertheless, she left quickly, her aircar flying away at speed, eager to return to report success, he was sure. He hoped Liara knew what she was doing, employing vipers like that.

He turned to gaze at his men, thinking about what she'd said about the mix of soldiers he had working for him now. There wasn't a race out there that wasn't represented here, except maybe the elcor. He hadn't found one yet that could be covert, but he held out hope that one day he would. Every one of these men and women here were tried and true, volunteered by the separate militaries for this experiment in cooperation. So far, it had been a success, they trained well together, had grown used to the alien-ness of each other with gratifying speed.

He encouraged the comraderie, often doing his own covert ops to get them to unwind together, away from the watchful eye of their COs. It was important that it not be forced, that it happen naturally, the gestalt. It was a difficult balance of hands off and hands on and he relished the challenge in it.

He watched them ugly up their slick new rides with satisfaction, giving pointers on ugly when the occasion warranted, there was some real creativity going on out there, they were treating it like a competition. There were some truly gaudy messes by the time they'd finished, perfect for their purpose. Garrus did have to stop them from going over the top, there was a point where blending in with paint and artifice became standing out and they didn't want that. They were a scalpel in his hand, excising the rotten flesh in the galaxy with precision. Just a different sort of sniper rifle really.

It was a crude metaphor, because he loved them as he could love no rifle, no matter how badass. They were his boys...and girls. His alone. Never hers.

"We still have to follow the rules. Destroying a ship that might have mercs on it is against the rules. Only engage targets that have already engaged noncombat vessels or colonies." He poked an LT in the chest as the man stood before him in the private room he had set aside for pretty much this purpose alone. The bed in the corner was mostly unused. The turian looked back at him from his tense parade rest stance looked miserable to have disappointed him. Garrus didn't let up, this was something that, if left to chance and circumstance, could veer their purposes from true, "We are not pirates or mercs, no matter how many eyepatches we wear. We hunt pirates and mercs, and we do it inside the law. We might bend or even twist the law, but we can never break it. Got me?"

"Got you, sir!" The turian saluted, then opened his mouth and shut it again. Garrus nodded that he should speak his mind, and the man's voice came out hesitant, afraid of reprisal, "What if...a law is unjust?"

"Then we get our superiors to change the law. I'm not going to pretend that every law is good or right, there's some fairly terrible ones out there and don't get me started on red tape, but this is what we do. We help where we can, we take out as many of the stupid mother fuckers who dare to attack ships under our noses as we can. And believe me there are a lot of stupid mother fuckers out there just begging to be shot between the eyes." He watched the man fight a smile, and he relaxed his posture deliberately into a more casual slouch, "You and me, we're never going to be out of work. None of us are."

For a while after this little pep talk, he pondered how much of what he'd said and done was calculated manipulation. It seemed he wondered that more and more. He didn't want to become Saren, or that other person who shall not be named. He just had to trust his instincts, tested in the fire of combat.

Weeks past and he loved every minute he got to just be out here on the rim, running ops with his team, away from politics and bureaucracy. They'd just cleared out an old Cerberus base, when he found some thing in the back of the facility that had him gasping in surprise.

In a contained room, under lock and key, he found a husk, active, just milling about in there. As he approached, it did nothing but stare at him, he couldn't even hear it through the glass. Usually, they attacked by now, throwing themselves mindlessly at any non Reaper with no regard to personal injury.

Curious, he stepped closer and it stepped closer to him, its eyes green lights in its misshapen head. Its mouth moved like it was trying to talk. He looked for an intercom or something. One of his team members, Ambrosius snarled at the sight of the thing, "We should just kill it."

"There's something...odd about it. Help me find a terminal." They searched and found a small panel next to the window itself, it looked sort of like an omnitool interface and as he hit the button, orange screens popped up on the window. He read the symbols for a moment, realizing that the scientists they'd just killed had been just as eager to communicate with this thing as he was. With a healthy dose of torture, he saw, seeing symbols that indicated shock and heat hooked up to the electrodes that sprung from that thing's head.

"Why should we bother with that thing? It seems...harmless." His salarian engineer, Minur, said with a sniff of derision.

Garrus turned his gaze to his followers, chiding, "Because not knowing is unforgivable."

The words turned to ashes in his mouth, they were her words and he grimaced as he typed on the keyboard. 'What are you?'

The husk put a hand to its head and its mouth moved silently as it stared at the words floating before it. It reached out hesitantly, 'Sml. cld. afrid.'

"Holy shit." His team said in awe as they watched the husk type.

Garrus grimly replied, 'Afraid?'

's. it wntsss boy. wre boy?'

'Who is the boy?'

'mine. it wnts. wasntt taknnn?'

'I don't know. Where was the boy?'

'Hrzon.'

'I'm sorry. I don't remember a boy with the survivors.'

It slumped against the glass and he could almost hear moaning through the vibrations as it clenched its fists and pounded on the glass, not angrily, but tragically desperate.

Garrus caught its attention with one waving hand, 'Why are you here?'

'wwt fr boy. larg wn sy wt'

'large one?'

's' He was going to assume that meant yes. The thing with its burning green eyes watched him in abject misery. He really wanted to help it somehow, even if that meant killing it.

'The Reapers? Are they the large ones?'

'no. thy gn out. it go 2.' He watched its lights dim and panicked, he might not get a second chance to ask it questions.

'Wait, tell me where the Reapers went. Are they coming back? What did Shepard do?'

The word 'Shepard' seemed to reverberate around the room and he realized he'd spoken aloud. His squad lifted their weapons, trying to pinpoint a target they could actually shoot, but there were only shadows here. Inside that room, however, it was a decidedly different story. The husk was glowing with a green light, lifting up in the air, eerily reminiscent of when Harbinger took over a collector and when it drifted down, there was frightful intelligence in those eyes that glowed with such fire. It watched him closely, and typed with one hand, 'The Reapers are gone. They will not return.'

It placed one hand on the glass in front of him beseechingly and he watched in horror as it seemed to catch fire from within, the circuitry and wires melting into the desiccated flesh until all that was left was ash in the shape of a person, staring at him with an unreadable expression. He shuddered as a tingle of unease rolled up his spine. He slowly turned from the eerie sight and said in a voice that was perhaps not as steady as he'd like, "Let's get out of here."

They agreed wholeheartedly. After logging a report, he tried to put the incident behind him. But it nagged at him, 'large ones' what the hell were they? He needed answers, needed to think about it. He wondered if he'd been talking to a spirit in there, if that husk had actually remembered that it had been a person once. Painfully, he wondered if it was a man or woman, if the boy it was looking for had been a child, or a lover. So many tattered ends of lives still out there, it yanked at him. What horror if they were suddenly aware that they were husks now. It was a blessing that he'd only encountered one then. He didn't know what he'd do if there had been a whole base full of them, all milling about in the same directionless manner.

He lay back on his bunk as he thought, not realizing how heavy his eyelids had become. Sleep stole over him and he drifted away.

He was walking through a tattered tunnel of metal, his breath inside his helmet heavy with something approaching panic. He had to think, had to clear his mind and all he heard was that damned radio chatter and the voice of the person he knew loved him, though he'd balked at the moment of truth like a coward. If he looked back, he knew he'd see two faces, helmeted and hidden, peering through the porthole of the airlock. He flipped off his comms with a shudder and let out a scream, high pitched in the darkness of his mask. They couldn't be allowed to see him break, in this umbilicus that threatened to drive him mad. It was open to space in so many places and he froze at the thought of flying off into the abyss, like he'd done once before.

His feet didn't want to move, his shriek had died down into little screamy gasps as he fought the shudders that quaked through him. They can't see, they can't see, the mask hid his fear and pain from them. How did he forget how to hide it? He used to do it all the time, didn't he? Or was that even a true memory? Reason was abandoning him, his nerves were shattering.

Suddenly, a warm tendril of confidence caressed his brain, quelling the fever, and he knew it came from one of the ones behind. The taller one with the grey armor, the one he'd been too afraid to tell, the one who deserved better than him and his terrible purpose. Always giving him strength to do the impossible. And even now, as one foot fell in front of another, the impossible was achieved yet again.

It had been important, whatever he'd been dreaming about and he growled in frustration as the images defied his grasp. Garrus cradled his head in his hand and wished he'd thought to bring some alcohol out here with him. He swore as he got up and hit his head on a shelf above his bunk. He stumbled out into the common area of the ship, rooting around in the tiny galley for something, anything. Ambrosius snorted from his right and Garrus turned to see his whole crew watching him with amusement. He straightened, "Anyone got a beer?"

They laughed and he joined them at the table when Ambrosius held up a full bottle of ryncol, "This one's got your name all over it, boss."

He took a huge swig and gasped in relief as he felt the liquor burn in a fiery trail all the way down into his guts, "Spirits, I needed that."

They clapped him on the shoulder and the sounds of mirth rose around him as he took another drink, a warm lassitude settled over him and he almost remembered the dream then. It had something to do with her, no doubt. The anger was quiescent for now, so he could just think of her without the urge to kill something. Why had she lied? She could have just said she wanted him to live. Maybe she had an inkling that if he knew beforehand, he would still have found a way to join her. No, she lied, she broke her promise, that was all there was to it.

A few more drinks in and he was seriously thinking about maybe admitting to himself that he missed her...just a little. But his anger would have made it impossible to look at her if she were here. Not without violence erupting, he was sure. He stood abruptly, swaying a bit, "I'm gonna call it a night, fellas. We're headed back tomorrow into krogan territory, got a friend who needs me, good friend, he never let me down."

Aware he was rambling, he waved off their protests that he should stay and drink with them, insisting that he was taking the bottle with him, and because they loved him, they let him. He lay back on his bunk and drank alone, and forgot for a time that there was even a past or future. Just him and the drink, a partnership that ended as these things tended to do, him getting completely fucked up.

Mornings after strong drink were never fun. He opened his eyes in a slit, rolling them around to check for hostiles. He was in his bunk for once and had gotten pretty shitfaced if the throbbing in his head was any indication. He put the half empty bottle he'd been cradling carefully on the floor by his bed, in case it decided to explode or more likely, the sound of it touching the decking made his head split in two.

Drahm Korahn, his pilot, stuck his craggy face into his room, booming voice overloud in Garrus' ringing ears, "We're coming up on Tuchanka, boss."

"Shh, shh, quietly." He whispered, eyes scrunching shut, trying to stop his gorge from rising. He reached into a pocket and pulled out some meds, the headachey kind and used the ryncol to wash them down in a practiced motion all boozers learned. It all came back to him, the little rituals that got him through his days on Omega and he swore to drop the drink, once and for all. At least the heavy stuff. "Anyone in the head?"

"No. White might have used all the hot water though." A krogan trying to whisper is like an elcor trying to dance, he decided as he waved for silence.

A good vomit later and a couple more pills and he was starting to feel a bit more like himself, despite the cold shower he subjected himself to. White, the only human on his team and the only female, sat at the mess table with a datapad in her hand and a towel on her head. She was flipping a small knife in her hand, nimbly, "Boss."

"White. What are you reading there?" He sat at the table, pulling a pitcher of water to him and pouring himself a glass.

"The Art of War." She smiled a grim smile.

He returned it, "That's a good one."

"You've read it?" Genuine curiosity as her pale blue eyes darted to him from under her pale blonde bangs. She was petite with features that couldn't be called classically beautiful, but there was a certain depth to her that was refreshing. In addition to being one hell of a biotic. Garrus was sure she could give Kaidan a run for his money. And she understood, in that deep way that would make her a force to reckon with if she ever got to lead.

"There was a woman who served with me on the first Normandy who read a lot of books. She lent me a few." He steepled his hands in front of him as he thought, "With a title like that, how could I resist?"

A light grew in her eyes as she regarded him, "Shepard?"

He twitched in his seat at the mention of her name and had to take a moment to calm himself, he reminded the angry thing inside him that these people thought of her as a hero, they hadn't seen the truth, "No. Her name was Ashley Williams, she was the gunnery chief."

"The one who had a memorial on the Citadel? I'd walked by it, wondering who she was."

And thus were heroes forgotten, it was sad that in a handful of years, Ashley's sacrifice was eclipsed by the war, then Shepard's death, then the Restoration. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, "She was a hero, she fell on Virmire when we were chasing Saren."

White shook her head with a bark of laughter, "I can't believe how much stuff you've done, boss. Ever think of retiring?"

"As if they'd let me. I've lived my life for them, there will never be an end to it." Garrus watched her frown at him and chuffed, "No worries, White, it's a good life."

"Someday, I'd like to find a water world and live on a nice quiet beach. Modest house, maybe a pier to fish off of. No pirates or stupid mercs, just me and the ocean singing me to sleep at night." White's eyes grew unfocused as she thought about her dream. Then she seemed to realize he was watching her and grinned with embarrassment, "Silly, I know."

He put his hand over hers and said earnestly, "No, it's not. It's a good dream. I might steal it."

She laughed, "Plenty of water worlds out there. Anyway, I'm content to chase pirates and mercs for now, at least while it's fun."

"It can be fun." He said evenly, face inscrutable and she laughed again. "I'm...leaving the rim, White, I want you to take over this team for me."

"Sure, boss, but why? I thought you loved it out here." She eyed him critically.

"I love how uncomplicated it is." Garrus sat back, taking a drink of his water.

"Huh. Coordinating thirty strike teams is uncomplicated? I wonder what you'd consider complicated."

"You've no idea, but that's a story for another time. I'm going to divide the sectors up, so that they'll be easier to coordinate from here. I'll be out of touch sometimes and I know you guys know what to do. Just be safe, be cunning. Save lives, not ships or buildings." Garrus felt a pang in his heart for leaving, but there were so many other problems in his crosshairs. Problems that he could help with and he'd never been able to say no. Not even to save himself.

"You're word is as good as Shepard's, Garrus." Wrex slapped him on the back, not noticing the grimace that flitted over the turian's face. "Not that I ever doubted you. But look at this! Isn't it great!?"

He did look, saw the monumental statues of the past being unearthed reverently with new buildings springing up left and right. Tuchanka was fast losing its familiar piles of rubble and debris as the Restoration even found its way here. He saw workers of all races toiling away out there and wondered at it. The detachment of turian architects he'd sent were off to one side, heatedly discussing the plans for spaceports and tramways. He could imagine what they were yelling about, the turians would want function over frippery, while the krogan wanted big, overly embellished columns and arches and things. It would come together in the end, he knew.

He turned to his friend, "How's the family, Wrex?"

And like magic, he was suddenly surrounded by a swarm of small krogan bodies, all clinging to his arms and legs as he tried to extricate himself from them. He lifted one up and flung it into the air, catching it deftly as it screamed in glee. He straightened and rubbed the back of his neck at the sheer number of them, "All these are yours, Wrex?"

Wrex laughed uproariously, "No. Just my six. Kids, go away before the big, bad turian eats you."

Garrus made a show of baring his teeth and hissing, rolling his eyes comically, talons flexing as he took a threatening step forward. They screamed in delighted fear as they sped off and a smile tugged at his face as he watched them. Wrex pounded him on the back as he chortled, "You can have one if you want."

"Ha, very funny. Bring an infant to a firefight, stun the enemy with cuteness." Garrus turned back to the burgeoning cityscape before them, his imagination supplying him with visions of what it would look like complete. "It going to be great, Wrex. Tuchanka will rise."

"Yes it will. Now tell me about these colonies that your primarch wants." The krogan crossed his arms over his massive chest.

"A joint project, somewhere in turian space. Probably on a levo world, we'll have to fly in dextro supplies, but that's not a problem if we put it in a system with an established dextro colony." Garrus waved his hand, "A small step, maybe, to something grander."

"Or...it could set off a race war that will end in turians and krogan fighting again." Wrex grunted.

"That won't happen if we're careful. Pick the right people. It can happen, Wrex. It's so much harder to wage a war against someone whose face is as familiar as your own, whose kid goes to the same school as yours." Garrus put his hand on a nearby table as he thought, "The galaxy will only get smaller, we need to live with each other. And not just on some space station like the Citadel, we can't afford to stay isolated in our corners of the map."

"Alright alright, you've convinced me, who knew you were such a diplomat. A far cry from that boy who insulted me in an elevator once. You know how hard it was not to twist your head off? I showed great restraint."

"Don't I know it. I was such a naive idiot back then, still am sometimes." Garrus shook his head, "Where's Grunt in all this?"

"That kid,you know what he's doing? He's talking to the rachni." He returned Garrus' incredulous stare with a raised browplate, "Yeah, the fucking rachni. Apparently, they're pulling out of their few colonies and Grunt was curious. A curious krogan, what is the galaxy coming to."

"What do you mean, they're pulling out of their colonies?"

"They're just disappearing. Found whole burrows empty and no one seems to know where they're going. The only one that's still active is Ixtli, where the queen went after the Crucible was deployed. And that's where Grunt is right now." Wrex shook himself, "Fine by me if they all vanish. If I never have to see another rachni, it'll be too soon."

"Wrex, some turians say the same about krogan," he admonished quietly, "and humans. Don't be that narrowminded. The rachni helped, that's all that matters now."

The thought was disquieting. Disappearing colonies, it smacked of collector attacks, but all the collectors were dead. He looked up into the dusty sky, musing quietly, "I wonder..."

"Back to the point, Garrus, when are you going to train my guys? I been hearing about some of the stuff you're doing on the rim and I have to say, I'm impressed." Wrex barked a savage laugh, which caused many a head to turn to the two men.

"I impressed the great battlemaster Wrex? Hell must have frozen over." Garrus gestured for Wrex to follow him, "You have the personnel files I asked for?"

"Of course I do, though you know how hard it is to keep records here, on Tuchanka? They were just as likely to get shredded by friendly fire as they were to get blown up in one of our little interclan skirmishes."

"If you can vouch for them, that's good enough for me."

"Yeah, a sorrier group of miscreants and troublemakers I've never seen."

"Flexible minds, Wrex, flexible minds. And I prefer to think of the men I train as mischievous rascals."

Wrex laughed again, jowls shaking in his mirth, "You've learned how to do that alchemy well. Lead into gold. Shepard would be proud."

Garrus ignored the welling anger in him, it seemed to have died down somewhat in any case. Maybe someday it would disappear completely. He wasn't sure if he wanted that or not.