-Garrus-
It's another few days before Doctor Shri'ari returns to their tent when they are alone - the babies being taken out for the first sun in weeks - with news, both good and irritating.
"What do you mean we can't have the limbs yet," Jane snarls with a scowl. "You said-"
"Actually, I confirmed that they were on their way, but I never said that the integration process was complete." Before they can get past a scowl from her and low growl of frustration from him, she continues. "We have one more step before we can begin the physical therapy portion of your healing. As I'm sure you're aware, this is a long process."
"Just tell us what's next," Jane says with a sigh, finding his hand on her lap and squeezing. "What do we have to do before we can finally start trying to use them?"
"You have one more surgery we need to perform in order to install and connect the outlet port for your prosthetics." At his confused rumble and Jane's frown in both question and misunderstanding, the doctor hands over a datapad with a blueprint of a human leg that separates from a sort of base, flat on one side with a concave cavity on the other.
"The design is quite ingenious," Doctor Shri'ari says. "We will perform a surgery to secure it in place. For you, sir, it will also as as the socket for the ball and socket joint of your missing shoulder. And for you, ma'am, it will provide a separate cushioning and stress relieving system aside from your actual prosthetic, aiding in returning you to a state of functionality close to what you were used to."
"And that's permanent?" Garrus asks and she nods.
"Until you decide to replace it with a cloned limb, yes."
"I don't think we ever will," his wife chuckles as she looks to him. "We have a bad track record with clones."
He chuckles, imagining his own arm trying to strangle him or something of the like. Fantastical, perhaps, but a thought he will share with her later for a good laugh, something they haven't managed to get enough as quickly as they'd like.
"I see," the doctor smiles, one more person that enjoys seeing that small spark of happiness from her patients and galaxy's saviors. "Well, then I guess you'll really enjoy some of the other features of these prosthetics." She moves closer and taps a few commands on the datapad. "The port allows for removal and reattachment of the limb for easy maintenance. It also connects to the neural weave, creating the link between flesh and bionics. It will act as a buffer to limit over sensitivity and phantom pain as well as ensure that you don't feel pain each and every time you take off and put on your new limbs from the nerves and circuitry connecting."
Nodding in understanding, he looks to Jane to see in her eyes if she has any further concerns or questions. It sounds pretty straight forward, even if he doesn't completely understand the how of the connection. He just wants his functionality back and his wife to have her mobility, for both hers and his own sanity - he'll admit he's getting his workout trying to keep her from just crawling her way out of bed.
"I guess the big question is how long will it be between the surgery and finally being able to start physical therapy?"
Jane nods in agreement to his inquiry as the doctor chuckles at their impatience. "Well, we'd like to give your bodies at least six weeks to heal from the surgery before finally connecting the limbs. Once that's done, however, we can start immediately."
His mate exhales a soft gasp of excitement as he squeezes her hand in agreeing.
Six weeks. Only six weeks until they can begin the, knowingly, long journey of rehabilitation and accumulation to their bodies. It won't be easy to push their bodies, and it'll be a battle very different from what they're used to, but they can do this. If they've faced down Reapers and come out on top, then they can force their own bodies into submission.
"Holy shit… I want this surgery yesterday."
Shri'ari nods and opens her Tool, typing. "I can get Garrus in first, perhaps later this afternoon, and Jane in either the morning or late tonight."
She looks up to them and Garrus looks to his wife, a silent question and conversation running between them of excitement and decisions. Finally, she nods with a smile and he turns back to answer. "We want it all done as soon and efficiently as possible. If you can do both tonight, we want it done tonight."
"I'll alert the other surgeons in the camp," the woman says with a curt nod and quirk of her lips in amusement. "If you have no further questions?" They each shake their heads, perhaps a bit impatiently. "Very well. I'll see to getting everything prepped."
She leaves them as his father and sister return, children in their arms. Damocles has his varren in his mouth, head currently falling victim to the infant's teething as Cassia's grips and examines her grandfather's tunic with curiosity.
At the sight of them, Jane grins and holds her hands out. "There are my adorable little shits!" Her fingers grip at the air in a 'grabbing hands' gesture that is almost uncannily similar to their own children's.
As Sol hands over their son, Garrus' father looks to him man offers their now trilling and chirping daughter, her feet kicking happily at being given to her father. "I thought that was a derogatory term?"
"It is, dad. Jane means well."
"Because only these little tiny ones could be as cute as their dad, the big shit," Jane says in that high, babbling tone she takes when playing with their children without looking up from their son as she tickles his waist.
Damocles giggles and kicks at the tickling, making the room laugh before Solana turns to her brother. "We met your doctor on the way out. News on your limbs?"
Jane nods as she kisses their son on the head and helps him up onto his feet, holding him up to get used to the feeling. "Yeah, but we need another surgery before we can actually use them." She sighs and scowls. "I swear, getting back on my feet is taking too fucking long."
Garrus chuckles and goes to the bed to sit beside her, letting Cassia sit up and chew on her book with a purring rumble. "We'll get there. Just one surgery and six weeks before we're there."
She snorts and shakes her head. "Give me four weeks and I'll be on those damn legs."
"It'll be good to see you back on your feet, Jane," Sol agrees with a rumbling smile. "Say, we were thinking of heading to the Mess tent to grab some rations. Would you like us to get you some?"
"Actually," Jane looks to him with a smile. "I think Garrus should go."
"Me?" His head jerks in surprise and he rumbles in confusion, asking, "Why me?"
"Garrus. Just because I can't get some sun doesn't mean I want you to stay cooped up in here with me-" She gasps, interrupting herself, and motions Sol near. "Watch the babies for us?"
"Uh… okay. Where are you going?" Ignoring his sister's confusion, Garrus goes to the bed with the knowledge of what his mate wants. "Anybody mind telling me what's happening?"
"I'm taking Jane with me," Garrus says as he and Jane lift the blankets off what remains of her legs.
He ignores the concerned rumble from his father and drawn out sigh of understanding from his sister, instead focusing on helping his mate wrap her arms around his neck. When he stands up, he cradles her rear with his arm and bounces her a bit to shift and balance out her weight.
The fit is definitely different from what they're used too, both of them limited in what they can do, but it still feels so right, so at home. Sure, he would have chosen the old way, but he can at least say that it won't be very long before they return to what they're used to.
Still, this close way of caring her, pressed together without the prospect of a sex they are still too self-conscious and weak for, has it's own special sensation. It's so close, so intimate, that he may just find new ways to get her to let him carry her now without the need to do it to get out of enemy fire. And even then, I was too preoccupied to actually enjoy the comfort of the proximity.
"This feels weird," he hears her say with a hint of amusement in her voice. "I mean, your hips are a perfect little shelf for me now, but if you start carrying me like the kids, I'm going to hurt you."
He laughs and nuzzles her cheek. "You kind of already look like one being held like this." He gets a glare at that one. "What? Want to switch with you on my back? Think your arms can do it?"
"I'll have you know I beat Vega in a pull-up competition."
"Now we know why you couldn't lift your arms above your head," he deadpans as they enter the tent being used as a Mess and stops at an empty bench nearest the door. "Alright, let's try this the other way." With a kneel onto one knee, he sets her down on the bench and turns, offering his back.
"Damn… Your back is really rounded," she sighs trying to wrap her arms around his cowl and pulls herself closer. "I don't… Fuck."
"Easy, it's okay," he soothes with a rumbling purr, reaching back to push her rear closer. That gives her the chance to lay her thighs in the concave curve of his hips and her grip grows strong as she gets herself comfortable.
Chuckling at her wiggling, he stands and carries her with a light hand under her to make sure that, if she begins to slip, he won't have to rely on her pride letting her ask for help. This way, he can subtly help her with staying up without making her acknowledge that she can't do it alone.
They need to be able to help the other without needing to ask for it, even if that means reading the other when they don't think they're being observed. He's caught her doing it for him when trying to tend to the children and he will do it for her now.
Looks of surprise and disbelief follow them as they walk through the crowd of the Mess towards the armored Mess Sergeant, an angry looking batarian with a jagged scar from ear to chin along the curve of his jaw. Seeing them approach, his four eyes widen in shock as he stops handing out rations to the mercs before and goes straight for them in the line.
"Praetor Garrus Vakarian and Commander Jane Shepard, right?" he asks with a, surprisingly, voice much softer than his appearance would have one believe.
Still too long fighting these very people to feel entirely comfortable around mercs, Garrus bites his tongue to hide his growl, but doesn't lighten his words as he says, "Yeah? What of it?"
"Whoa," he throws up his hands in placating manner. "I don't mean anything by it. Just wanted to thank you."
"Thank us?" Jane peeks out around his shoulder. "For what?"
"Without you guys, we'd all be dead. Even if we're supposed to keep the news secret about you both, that hasn't stopped everyone around the galaxy saying of how you saved the galaxy. You and the whole Normandy." Others nod in agreement and a slight mumble goes through the crowd. "We know you just want to be left alone, but know that there are people who respect the shit you did." The man motions to one of the men helping to hand out food before looking back. "How many rations you need?"
"Enough to feed four."
They still have enough food for the children, so they don't yet have to resort to chewing up rations and mouth feeding. Better to save the 'bird' jokes that'll come from Jane until the last possible moment.
The man nods and looks to one of the mercs handing out food, holding up four fingers. Not a moment later, four boxed rations are tossed over a crowd that doesn't even try to grab for it. Perhaps, Garrus thinks as the man tries to find a way to hand them over and decides to just stuff them into the too tight and torn civvies Garrus is wearing, even, at least, this group of mercs can put aside their greed and self-centered mentality when face-to-face with those who suffered being the symbols of the war effort.
We certainly gave enough to win this damn war, he adds to himself as he nods in thanks and turns to leave. Every face is above that glaring blue armor or BDUs and it's a struggle with his inner self to combat the want to finally rest and the memories of all the battles and anger he had for this very merc company. How many of them are from Omega? How many are people who had wanted Archangel's head on a spike?
"Hey," his mate's soft, soothing voice pulls him out of his thoughts as she nuzzles against his back. "It's okay."
Her words, as if she knew when to speak to pull him out of his own head - and she may very well know the likes of what he was thinking - help to move him through the crowd and soothe the rage built up from the years on Omega that returned at the sight of so much blue and white. He might never get rid of Archangel and his hate, but he can learn to not search out a fight.
He has, after all, promised himself, his mate, and unknowing children that they will finally be able to live the lives they deserves and it all starts with the two of them not actively looking for a fight.
"You're thinking about Omega, aren't you?" she asks from behind him and he nods. "Archangel showing through? Figured he didn't make it out of the war."
"He did," he says, knowing that there's no real division between himself and who he was on Omega for they are both him, both what he made of himself. "And yes, I was thinking about Omega and how I still can't believe that, after everything, we've found our peace in a Blue Suns' camp."
"Well, I'm sure we never thought we'd work with an assassin, a bounty hunter, a Justicar, an AI, the Shadow Broker, a Geth-"
"I get it." He chuckles and looks back to her, craning his neck to press his forehead to hers. "And I won't start anything, don't worry." Hearing her mock gasp in shock, he flicks his mandible in expectation for what will come out of her mouth.
"You mean Archangel is going to rein it in?" she whispers over his shoulder. "Blasphemy."
His snort is heard by the occupants of their tent as he walks them in, stopping to see who the new shape belongs to. "Doctor," he says with a nod in greeting, hand gripping his wife - yes, her rear, but he can't really grip anything else right now - and feeling her hands tighten on him in shared anticipation. "It is time?"
Doctor Shri'ari nods and smiles. "Are you ready, sir?"
"Yeah. Let me just put Jane-"
"I also must insist neither of you eat." She offer a sympathetic frown. "It's for your own safety, I assure you."
Jane groans, but his response is much more controlled as a simple nod and sigh. The food did sound appealing since getting meals was so scarce around this camp, but the prospect of getting closer to his arm is even more appealing and he can always eat afterwards with Jane as celebration.
Prepping for surgery is not an experience he's used to, or very comfortable with. Not only does he have to convince himself it's okay to fall into a drug-induced unconsciousness, but he struggles to stay completely still as doctors and masked medics surround and block out the lights of the sterile medical tent. His only view is of them walking around and the ceiling, his orders to be still while completely still while they prepare him for his surgery.
Out of the side of his eye, he catches a glimpse of the, from his place, massive piece of equipment that they will attach to his body. Although, now that he takes a moment to consider his condition, he supposes it would take quite a bit of machinery to replace an arm missing all the way past his shoulder and flush to his side.
"Praetor Vakarian?" One of the doctors leans over him, a breathing mask in his hand. "We're about to begin. Are you ready?"
"It's Garrus," he answers, figuring that, if they're going to be cutting him open and seeing the inside of him, they might as well know him on a first name basis.
The doctor chuckles behind his mask and nods. "Very well. Garrus, are you ready?"
"The sooner the better." He grows with a joyous grin as the man nods and places the mask over his mouth and nose.
"Breathe deep and count for me from ten to one."
Garrus takes a lungful of the air that smells of the clean plastic of the mask, starting to count. "Ten. Nine. Eight…" He doesn't get far before everything just seems to drop out around him, consciousness fading along with the bright light of the surgical tent.
He immediately knows something is wrong before he opens his eyes.
The smell of this place is wrong, antiseptic and clean, recycled air. None of that dust, ashen air constantly heavy with the threat of rain wraps around him, but what really tells him something is wrong is the complete lack of the scent of him and Jane on the bed - the mercs in the camp knowing since the day he woke that they wouldn't sleep anywhere but with each other.
"Jane?" he says with a groggily trill as he opens his eyes.
They widen in shock at what lies around him. He doesn't see the dark tent with its patched together canvas and medical equipment that had managed to barely make it through the war, but the clean, sterile walls of an actual hospital room.
Trying to get up, he stumbles from the anesthesia, falling to his knees and, then, chest. The tumble ends in a roar in rage and panic echoed by the glaring alarms of the monitoring machines he's dragged down with him and rushing in of booted feet.
"Praetor Vakarian." "Sir!" "You need to calm down!"
All voices surround him as technicians and nurses rush in, trying to help him to his unsteady feet. They only get a rough shove away from him in thanks as he growls threatening and snarls, "Where is she?!"
It's at his demand that the doors open to admit a very familiar face, one that Garrus has, over the years, come to despise for not the man personally, but for what he represents. At the sight of this man, Garrus has even more questions, but one solid, horrible truth that cuts through them all.
"Praetor Vakarian," Admiral Hackett addresses with a lift of his chin. "You and Commander Shepard are both aboard the Alliance's SSV Berlin."