Death
She thrashes in her sleep, mumbling incoherently. He watches her knowing if he wakes her form the nightmare things will be worse. If he wakes her now her now she'll panic and look around the room with wide unseeing eyes. She'll still be halfway in her dream and won't know where she is.
Dr. Chakwas said it's a mild form of PTSD. When he asked about it she told him people who have experienced trauma sometimes develop it. It's common among soldiers. They leave it unspoken between them that Shepard has suffered enough trauma for multiple people. Chakwas will never say it, but it's really nothing short of a miracle that Shepard functions as well as does.
The nightmares aren't as frequent anymore, but the intensity has never faded. He sighs and shifts into a more comfortable position. He hates waiting for her to wake and allowing her to suffer.
But she told him she'd rather finish the dreams, that in some strange way she keeps waiting for them to change. That maybe in her dreams she can accomplish what she couldn't in reality.
Her hand reaches out grasping at something he can't see. She strains toward it mumbling in a soothing voice. She cries out and her hand falls back to the bed clenched in a fist. She shivers.
He gently lays the covers over her body. She curls up and hugs them to her, still mumbling in pained whispers.
He takes a breath as anger courses through him. She should at least be able to find peace in her sleep. She has enough to deal with while she's awake, it's not right that things should follow her into her dreams.
He asked her once what she dreamed about and she told him there were three. She dreams of Ashley, having to leave her friend to die so she could save the greatest number. She dreams of being spaced, knowing complete darkness and loneliness floating among the stars. She dreams of him being shot, reliving the pain, terror, and uncertainty that he would ever wake. She dreams of death.
She bolts upright with a gasp, her eyes wide and unseeing. Her fingers clench and unclench in the sheets. Her shuddered breaths come rapidly, shaking her entire body. She blinks and her body slowly relaxes. She looks around and sees him.
"Garrus," she whispers.
He pulls her to him and brushes her sweaty hair back from her face. Once again he wraps the sheet around her shivering body.
She reacts to each nightmare differently and he hasn't seen these reactions before. He can tell it's a new one. It fills him with pain to know there's not really anything he can do. To know he can't fight the nightmares like he would any other enemy. He can't shoot them, there's nothing he can do to stop them from hurting her. Now there's a new one. Something else he can't stop from haunting her.
"What happened?" He asks.
"Back on Earth, before the attack I was looking out the window. There was boy playing with a model ship. He seemed so happy. After the attack I saw him again. Anderson and I were trying to get to the Normandy. I heard something and I found him hiding in an air vent. He wouldn't come to me. He said I couldn't help him. Anderson said we had to go and when I looked back he was gone. I saw him again after I was on the Normandy. He made it onto a shuttle. I watched as it exploded. I watched from safety as he died. He was right I couldn't help him. Garrus…"
She chokes on a sob and swallows. He pulls her closer, running his hand up and down her arm. He kisses her shoulder. She leans into him taking, taking his free hand before continuing.
"He's in my dreams now. We're in the woods, it's all blacks and grays. He's dressed in white and it's like he's glowing. He laughs and runs from me, the model ship in his hand. I chase him. When I reach him I stretch my hand towards him and he bursts in flames. Then I wake."
She feels helpless. He knows that feeling all too well. Knowing there's nothing really that you can do or could have done. All the while desperately wishing there is.
