Garrus decided not to waste time. If the squad was going to get a break, better now than later. He didn't expect their reactions.
Monteague swore unintelligibly until Ripper punched him in the arm to shut him up. Weaver and the sisters started yelling. Even Vortash and Grundan looked furious.
"No fuckin' way, boss." Butler folded his arms and did his best imitation of a mountain. "We're not goin' anywhere. There's work to do."
From the corner of his eye, Garrus saw Shepard nod. He waited until the squad had worn itself out before speaking, and then he chose his words carefully.
"There's always going to be scum, Butler. There will always be someone to fight. But we're getting sloppy. Erash, you were asleep on guard duty two nights ago when I came down, and Weaver, you still haven't fixed the delay on the sticky bombs."
"It'll get done, boss!" she protested, almost shrill. He held up a hand.
"My point is, we're up against three merc companies on a daily basis. Not to mention all the slavers, smugglers, murderers, thieves, and psychos who show up to test us. We've made a name for ourselves."
"That's the price of popularity," said Vortash. "Why stop now? We've got them running scared. I say, keep hitting them."
"I hope none of you have forgotten we're still just people," said Garrus. "We make mistakes." The humans, in unison, rolled their eyes. "I'm not moving on this. We can't afford to make stupid mistakes. If we do, more people than us will get hurt."
No one spoke. Garrus took the time to look at each of their faces. As well as some of them hid it, there was exhaustion in everyone's features. He knew Monteague had used stims at least once on a mission, and that it was a matter of time before the rest of the squad gave in to the temptation. It galled him to take a break, but the only other option was to watch the squad crumble.
"Two weeks," he said, and waited for the uproar. It was quieter than he expected. Either they believed him, or they were more tired than he thought. "Talk to me about where you want to go and we'll stagger departures and returns. No one takes a direct route home, and everyone goes armed. I have the shell accounts ready for buying passage to wherever you want to go." He took a deep breath, ready for their last question. It surprised him that no one had asked yet
"What about you?" Sidonis balanced his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. Garrus saw the way his plates were bunched and uneven from tension. "You're not staying here, are you?"
"Someone has to hold the base," said Garrus. "I don't plan on anything more than random patrols."
"Alone?" Sensat frowned. "Boss, come on."
"Don't forget, I was on my own for a while before I started collecting you misfits," said Garrus. He laid his hand on Weaver's head. After a moment, she leaned into him, her eyes closing.
"Thank you," said Mierin. "We need this." Grundan nodded.
Sensat, Grundan, and Weaver were the last to leave, on separate shuttles an hour apart. They were headed to the Citadel, through various tangled routes. Garrus went with Weaver, even though part of him warned against it, with Shepard close at his side.
"Don't touch any of my stuff," said Weaver at the shuttle dock. "Seriously. I'll kill you and pee on your corpse."
"You're repulsive," Garrus sighed. "Be safe."
"You too, boss." She hesitated before throwing her arms around him. "I'm going to miss everyone," she said into his carapace, warm and fierce and so very young. "Even you. Even if you think you're my dad. Don't get killed."
"I'll do my best. Go get your shuttle." She pulled away and headed for the shuttle without looking back. Garrus watched until Weaver disappeared into the shuttle. When he looked down, Shepard was grinning at him.
"What."
"You totally are her dad," said Shepard. She kissed him when he started to protest. "It's okay. Everyone wants to protect her. Too bad she's such a little monster."
"I can't believe she said she'd urinate on my corpse."
"Knowing Weaver, that'd be the least of the horrors she'd unleash. Come on. Let's go home."
The base was quiet as a tomb after the squad was gone.
Garrus kept that metaphor to himself.
"Garrus?" Shepard leaned against him from behind as he sat at his desk, staring into space. "You're a million miles away."
"I just realized I've spent more time with my squad than I did with everyone on the Normandy. Seems strange."
"Maybe you should try to get in touch." Shepard floated the idea lightly. Garrus considered but shook his head.
"No. I'm here. No distractions. Well, except you." Shepard laughed. "But if they come, I'll be ready." No need to ask who the they was.
"The Reapers haven't made a move in over a year." Shepard dropped into his lap. "Maybe Sovereign was just a test and they're regrouping. Maybe we bought ourselves some time." She curled her legs around his. "Maybe there won't be a cycle this time around."
"I never pegged you for an optimist, Shepard." He pressed his nose into the hollow under her ear.
"I've got nothing to lose hoping for the best. But just between us..."
"You think they're still coming."
She sighed heavily. "Yeah, I do."
He would been content to sit with Shepard coiled around him until the squad came back, but after a moment he groaned and shifted her off his lap. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the room.
"Patrol?" she asked.
"Patrol." Garrus opened his armor case. "Shepard, I want you to stay here."
There was a pause, long enough for him to start to tense up, before Shepard sighed.
"Don't suppose you'll tell me why."
"I'm alone," he said. "And before you tell me that's all the more reason to take you, hear me out. Weaver left the proximity charges in place, but if a large enough group comes through - if the mercs figure out where we are - I need someone here to blow the internal charges."
Shepard drummed her fingers on the wall. "Yeah. Make sure there's nothing left for them to find that links you or the squad back here. I get it." She sighed again. "I don't like it, but I get it."
"Right." He waited until the last seals closed before he turned around. "You can blow the charges and warn me before anyone hears about the blast." Shepard didn't say anything. "I'm not saying this because I don't want you to come, but you had to know I'd tell you to do this."
"I was hoping you'd give in to sentiment for once," she said with a half-grin. "Just promise me not to do anything stupid."
Garrus picked up his helmet. "I can't promise that. Stupidity's contagious on Omega."
"That's what you have the helmet for." Shepard swung down from the bed and padded barefoot to him. "No heroics," she said.
"I'm Archangel. Heroics are what I do." Before she could say anything else, he pressed his forehead to hers and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I'll be back before you can get bored."
Bravado aside, Garrus had every intention of keeping a low profile on patrol. A few sweeps, planting some of Weaver's security bugs, a judiciously placed computer virus, and then he'd head home.
Of course, all his plans went out the window when he rounded a corner and found Garm taking a piss against the side of a wall.
Sorry, Shepard. I'm about to be an idiot, he thought, and lined up his first shot.
The shot hit Garm in the shoulder. The krogan made a choking noise and stumbled back. Garrus swallowed a laugh when the krogan tried to tuck himself back into his armor and aim his shotgun at the same time.
Unfortunately, that pause was all Garm needed to zero in on where Garrus was hiding.
"Archangel." Garm's face cracked open in a parody of a smile. "I know that's you. And I only smell your stench, so you must be alone."
Well, that's not good. Garrus lined up his next shot and fired. It caught Garm in the gut, and Garrus had just enough time to lob a flashbang grenade overhand at Garm and aim.
Once the afterimages bled away, Garm was only a few feet away. The grin wasn't going anywhere.
"Let's see how good you really are, you little piece of pyjak shit," Garm said, the last word turning into a roar as he charged.
Garrus whipped around the corner, switching to incendiary rounds as he moved. His rifle would be useless up close, but if he could get enough of a head start -
"I'm gonna find your little toadies, Archangel, and when I do, I'll feed you their eyes."
Forget the head start. His pistol had incendiary rounds too.
He turned, already firing. Without his visor, he missed how Garm's first heart stopped and his second took over. The krogan stumbled back. Garrus kept shooting until the thermal clip ran out. Reloading, he kept running.
He saw an abandoned store ahead, with windows over the alley, vorcha scrounging through the trash in the doorway. He barreled through them and raced up to the second floor. Leading Garm into such a tight space was a risk, but if it meant he could get off a few rounds with his rifle, maybe take out a few more primary organs, it was worth it.
Garm staggered back to his feet, his breathing rough and clotted with blood, and started to count. Ten seconds was the most Garrus had to get into position. Five to climb the stairs, two to get into position. Three seconds, three shots.
Keep him at a distance. Disable the hands. He can't shoot without fingers and those take longer to grow back than eyes.
Not that a krogan needed guns to be deadly, but one advantage less meant a few more seconds to deal with Garm's natural defenses.
"I know you're in there, Archangel!" The vorcha scattered, but one was unlucky; Garrus heard a shriek, and a wet crunch. He didn't feel pity or even revulsion. Everything melted away as his focus narrowed to a single purpose: kill Garm. No room for hoping he'd make it out alive.
Garrus swung out of his crouch and fired. Garm's right hand disintegrated. The idiot didn't even have his shields up. Garrus fired again. The shot went wide and buried itself, sizzling, in the wall a few inches from Garm's head. The krogan looked up from his already-healing stump and smiled.
"This'll be fun," he said, and plowed toward the store. The impact rattled down to the foundations and Garrus stumbled back from the window. He almost lost his grip on his rifle, and lost the chance for a shot as Garm backed up for another run.
When Garm veered into his sight, he risked coming out of cover to shoot Garm in the knee. Garm's armor kept his leg from blowing clean off, but the krogan went down long enough for Garrus to shoot him in the other knee. While Garm groaned as bones and muscles re-knit, Garrus leapt from the window.
He hit the ground hard on his right foot. Pain lanced up through his leg; he thought his ankle was broken, but when he put tentative weight on the leg, the bones complained but held.
I can run. I have to run.
"If you're the best the Blood Pack's got," he sneered at Garm, "then I fear for the future of criminals on this station."
Garm roared and swung for him. Garrus backed easily out of range as he switched back to his pistol.
"First, I catch you alone. Then you're too stupid to even put up your shields. No wonder the Blue Suns and Eclipse think Blood Pack's a waste of oxygen." He punctuated every other word with a shot to keep Garm down while Garrus taunted him.
Finish it, said the dry, unimpressed voice in his head that always, always had Shepard's face. He's playing you, he's not as hurt as he looks.
This time, he listened.
"Good night, Garm," he said, and aimed for his second heart.
The krogan heaved toward Garrus on knees still half-healed and fragile as old plastic. How they supported Garm's weight was a mystery. Garrus aimed low and blew out Garm's knee for the second time. Garm collapsed, a thousand pounds of flesh and armor hitting the ground hard enough to make Garrus stagger.
The split-second Garrus needed to catch his balance was all the time Garm needed to pull out his own gun, and fire.
Weaver and Erash had spent months tinkering with Garrus' shields. A single shot - even from Garm's shotgun at near point-blank range - didn't make them do more than shiver.
"You'll have to do better than that," Garrus said, and fired. Garm rocked back. "Still haven't gotten your shields up."
Later, when he was on the Normandy again, Garrus would think of this moment and realize it was the beginning of the end.
Garm's grin turned wide and hungry. "Nice shields. Your little tech princess cook them up?"
Garrus froze. Weaver.
"She tried them on the Blue Suns before you rescued her. We know her. And we'll know the rest of your squad soon. I'm not as stupid as I look, Archangel." His knees were healed. Garrus had time for one shot before he had to run.
And now it was a race.
Every time Garrus managed to get a shot, he bought himself a little more time. It wasn't until he realized they were almost back at the Kima District that he turned and faced Garm again. He held his ground as Garm rushed him, waiting until the last second before he threw himself out of the way and circled back the way he came.
He wouldn't lead the krogan anywhere near the base.
Shepard, he thought, heart pounding painfully in his chest, Shepard, I hope you're watching. I could use the help.
The danger wasn't extreme, not yet. He was pushing himself, but he had plenty of thermal clips and his shields were holding steady. There had been a few tense moments when Garm got too close, but he'd managed to avoid getting grabbed. His leg was sore, but strong. So far.
He put on another burst of speed. Garm's footsteps faded as he rounded a corner and took the left fork when the alley split off into two paths.
About a hundred feet ahead of him were the abandoned docks for the Diulo District, honeycombed with decaying shacks and old crates. Perfect cover, as long as he could keep moving.
Garrus heard Garm thunder down the wrong path and bellow when Garrus' scent disappeared. He settled in, back against a crate while he switched to his rifle and checked the clip, and waited while Garm reversed and came down the right path.
One shot, then move.
As soon as he could hear Garm muttering to himself, he stood up and fired. Garm's right eye exploded, but the krogan barely flinched. His adrenalin was so high he probably wouldn't feel anything less than an asteroid being dropped on his head. Garrus didn't have one of those lying around, so he'd have to settle for more conventional methods.
He rolled out of cover, to Garm's right, and lined up the next shot. At the last second, he saw an old fuel tank behind Garm, and moved two inches to the left.
Please still be full. He exhaled and squeezed the trigger.
The blast threw him off his feet and destroyed what little cover he had left. His shields screamed a protest, then fizzled out with a crackle of static. Three months of work, fried in an instant. If Garm didn't kill him, Erash and Weaver would.
He rolled to his side, in time to see Garm take a step toward him. His back was on fire.
"You're taking too long to die, turian," Garm groaned, and lurched forward another step. "Say please, and I'll crush your head now."
"Thanks," Garrus coughed. "But I've got a date." He brought the butt of his rifle down and rolled away as fast as he could.
Not fast enough.
His rifle exploded, shrapnel flying out in every direction, some of it slicing through his armor. He hissed as a plate on his chest tore open and a sticky, hot trail of blood spilled past his waist. At least his helmet was still in one piece.
He forced himself to his feet. Garm was down, groaning, bleeding from dozens of holes with his face full of metal, but alive. Garrus pulled out his pistol and limped toward Garm, firing until the gun spat out the clip and only a clicking sound happened when he squeezed the trigger.
Time to go. He'd finish Garm another day.
When he turned around, two krogan blocked his path, and the shadows behind them could only be vorcha.
Garm hadn't been talking to himself. He'd been calling for help.
A/N: An early update! Don't worry, you'll still get the regular weekly update on Friday, my lovelies! Thank you again to everyone who has read and reviewed - your reviews feed me and keep me writing!
