-Garrus-

Since hearing the devastating message from the Normandy that finally made it through to their comms after they discovered the truth behind the 'rogue VI' on Aite - and after they subsequently used the research station's now open comms to contact the Alliance of the need for asylum for David Archer far from his brother- Garrus has been in a state of stunned shock.

All sounds are nothing but distant murmurs that don't make it past his ears as if hearing through a helmet with communications inactive and his eyes see nothing but the shadows of people he thinks he knows and lights too bright. He has only found himself in the Conference room from being practically herded in by the rest of the ground team not giving him any other direction as bodies swarmed around him from their transports and into the lift in a need for explanation.

Certainly he must be within the virtual reality that the VI / human hybrid threw him into because there's no way he could have lost her - again - to the Collectors on the Normandy. She was supposed to be safe here, on the more advanced Normandy with defenses and armaments he personally made sure could drop a Reaper and, yet… she is gone.

What's worse -worse than the truth that he has only himself to blame for her being on the ship when it happened - and what doesn't help this all feel real, is that he doesn't feel that certainty. Physically, he knows she is not here, but there is that lack of absolution that suffocates when he knows she's gone.

After all, he lived it for two years to ever doubt that feeling, but it's not there and he isn't sure if that's a good sign or just caused by his state of utter shock. The beginning of those years apart was pretty fuzzy from the amount of alcohol he drowned his system in, so he may not have his timeframe of grief and loss correct.

He wishes it was him dragged away by the demons of her dreams instead of the second half to his very self, to face this enemy alone. No matter what he seems to do, he is always two steps behind her when, as she would say, 'the shit hits the fan'.

"Don't even get me started on unshackling a damned AI."

"Hey, I did the only thing I could to save the Normandy," the pilot snaps at Lawson in defense, and the words seem to make it through the fog in Garrus' head, the words completely reopening old wounds that had begun from the moment they received EDI's relayed transmission.

"What did you just say," he growls as he shoves past someone between him and Joker, not caring who it was, and wraps his hand around the man's neck, firm like a vise ready to snap even the strongest of bones in his grip. "You sacrificed my wife, again, for the fucking Normandy?! Again?!"

The pilot chokes a bit, brittle hands not even attempting to break themselves to useless attempt to get free, and the others seem unsure if they should step between the raging Turian, whose anger they seem to understand in this moment, or Joker, who may or may not have done something more to save the crew or their Commander. "I did all… I could… Garrus. You have… To believe me…"

"I don't," he snarls with a slight shake of the man. "I made a mistake not killing you the first time-"

"Garrus," a soft, accented voice starts as a small three fingered hand lays on his forearm before Tali turns her helmeted face up to him. "This isn't the way."

"We did everything we could, Operative Vakarian." He growls at the blue orb siding with the useless sack of glass bones and meat. "There was no way for the Normandy to be able to elude the Collectors or defend itself after the viruses embedded themselves in my systems."

"We can go after her, now, Garrus," Tali says, a plea obvious in her tone and wide, worried eyes. "We aren't going to give up and give her reason to call us something dirty and confusingly human, are we?" She offers some humor, her hand on his armor tightening as if he could feel it, feel her concern.

With a scoff, he drops Joker, none too gently, onto the ground, not caring at the loud gasps and coughs for air. "You want redemption, coward? You want to prove you're more than a ship scortum? Then get to your fucking post and plot course for the Omega-4 Relay," he grabs the man's uniform and yanks him to his feet, growling with mandibles dropped to reveal his teeth in threat, "and if you fail, you better hope your death is quick by other means because I will not be so merciful."

Miranda, despite all their differences and arguments, actually nods as he shoves Joker towards the door. "I'm with Garrus. It's time we finally take the fight to the Collectors."

"And rescue the crew and Shepard," Jacob adds with a determined nod in agreement. "Just give the word."

Surprisingly, eyes don't turn to the ebony haired woman, but to him, the Turian who hasn't been subtle with his complete lack of forgiveness against any slight to his wife or threats to the crew in case their loyalty falters. Even Miranda Lawson, herself, looks to him for input or orders and, just like that, his rage is completely drained and he's thrown back down into that pit of shock and loss of direction.

Knowing what has to be done and drawing on an old saying the military tried to drill into his head - 'Fall in line or be left behind in the line of fire' - he nods, squaring his shoulders at least for the show of being in control of his warring emotions. "Everyone stock up on whatever you spent on Aite and head to your stations, we move on the Collector homeworld the moment we jump Relays. We will get the crew and Jane back, or die trying - and taking every last one of those abominations with us."

Knowing better than to question or stick around, the band of misfits his wife somehow managed to collect together into a cohesive team take their leaves without so much as a breath of sound beyond the shifting of respective armors and footfalls. Say what he will about them, and ignore the ache in his chest from the absence of that very driving force at his side, Jane put together an amazing team despite his previous doubts. They worked well planetside under his command, with very little arguing or insubordination, and he has to at least give them the credit that they know how to put their personal issues aside for the mission like true soldiers.

Seemingly alone, Garrus moves to the large table and leans on it, eyes clenched tightly against his low keen. She's gone, gone and I did nothing but force her to stay here, practically handing her offer into Collector hands. In my attempts to protect her, I unwittingly failed her.

He growls in anger to the sounds of his talons carving into the glossy wood just before he slams a fist into the table, hearing a crack in his hand as the thick wood merely creaks, the weaker of the two giving into the force of his fury and pain. The room is spinning, not from a pain he doesn't even feel in his hand or head since being forced into virtual memories of another or the exhaustion from the long mission, but from the tumultuous storm of emotions, the biggest contenders to his rage guilt and gut wrenching fear.

He cannot lose her again. If he does, he won't wait and go out in a meaningful suicide and, instead, just put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

"Garrus," a feminine voice combined with an accent that doesn't completely get across through his translator speaks, letting him know he wasn't at all as alone as he thought.

"If you're here to complain about me giving orders and stepping in on your command, don't bother," he interrupts before she can even start, back still to her and thrumming growl still pointed down at the table. "You finally want the control? You now have it."

"That's unnecessary. The team would follow you more than they ever would me. And after Aite, I'll admit I'm impressed. Shepard's faith in you was well placed."

At his incredulous look over his shoulder, she explains her sudden support after all the two of them have personally been through. "I know why you did everything you have, our disagreements. If I place myself in your position and Oriana in Shepard's, I would hesitate to do much the same as you have.

"I can see you're more suited to take us all beyond the Relay to find her. After all, everyone on the ship already considers you the unofficial XO of the Normandy no matter who the Illusive Man put in that position. They also trust you, as do I after yours and Shepard's help with my sister."

Surprisingly, she smiles slightly in sincerity and he rumbles in uncertainty as he drops his head to stare holes into the wood between his outstretched arms. "You're well aware of what happened to my last 'team'. Doubt that's what you have in mind handing over command."

"First of all, the only command I have to hand over is the impracticable title of Executive Officer to someone who became the unofficial XO the moment he was brought aboard. Second, you won't let what happened to your old team happen here because you have more to lose." He doesn't care to hide his scoff, but she persists despite his refusal to believe. "You lose this team, you lose friends, people I'm sure you can see some semblance of family in no matter if you deny it. More importantly, if you lose the crew, you lose your chance to save her."

Mention of his missing mate draws another deep growl from him as he clenches his most likely broken hand into a tight, painful fist. "And if I sacrifice all of you for her? You still ready to convince me to take command?"

"No," she answers with little hesitation. "I know there is no convincing you of anything you won't do under any circumstances, only Shepard has that power. You will either step up and command in her absence or you won't."

"You willing to stake the entire crew and Normandy on that?" He narrows his eyes over his shoulder at the woman who seems so confident, so in control when he's falling apart at the seams. "You may be regretting that when I choose her over all of you without hesitance."

"I don't doubt you will," she agrees with a firm nod. "But we would be fools to think she wouldn't do the same for you in turn. I just need to look back to your accident and the time before, between her waking and finding you." Turning to leave, she stops with a look back to him. "For whatever it's worth, the crew is behind you, Vakarian."

He only has the sound of the doors closing to the deafening silence and the view of glossy, dark wood between his splayed fingers to give him company as he is haunted with the day, with his words to his wife, the transmission of the unbelievable that became very realist when his own eyes landed on the empty ghost ship void of all life but the useless boon of a pilot, and by the truth that, if he doesn't put aside his own agony and loss, he will lose everything. His chance to rescue his mate, fulfill her mission to maybe cripple or slow the Reapers, and get out of it all alive to prove everyone who claimed this would be a suicide mission wrong would all turn to sand slipping through his fingers.

Unless he swallowed his feelings, became a good Turian for once in his miserable excuse of a life of duty, and went into this as Archangel, void of the crippling noose around his neck that had slithered from the scarring on his neck and waist from a human's tiny teeth and weak bite. The question wasn't could he, but should he. Should he let the part of himself void of empathy have control of the very people Jane had put together as a new part of her life, her family made of all kinds of characters from across the Terminus, and who may very well also occupy a sort of place in his own mind? Should he lead them into what can surely be all their deaths after all he's done?

It only takes a few moments before he realizes that there is only one answer, one he can live with himself for making and only one that will get all of them – Jane, my bondmate, included – out of this alive. Realizing now that the words drilled into his head from basic really meant, he stands straight from the table and holds his head up with the Turian equivalent of Jane's Commander Shepard face, dubbed the Archangel mask by Jane, herself.

'Fall in line or be left behind in the line of fire' was not merely meant as a threat of death to subordinates for not following orders of their commanding officers as he once believed, but for those very commanding officers as well. Garrus will fall into the position he's been edging on from the beginning, led to by the guiding light of his mate and that he, himself, had always wanted, but was never able to achieve after he lost all drive.

Wielding the fear of complete failure as his driving force instead of the weights around his limbs, he will lead the Normandy into victory. He will fix the mistake of his and his mate's separation and, like the pull of Binary Stars, all he needs to do is stop fighting the gravity that pulls him to her, the same that pulls him into his place.

Heading out of the Conference room, he heads to the MedBay to gather what he needs before he will head up the Cabin and prepare. So much needs to be done in the short time before they reach the Omega-4 Relay and he has always been one to never leave things undone when there is no assurance that he will have a second chance.


Personal matters tended to – not including the moment of weakness he had when he got caught up in cleaning her scattered sketches from the floor where they must have been thrown during a struggle – and armor stocked with weapons, his and hers, on cleaned and strapped into their places, he returns to the Conference room with still a half hour to spare. It's just as well because he didn't have much more to do, and the new dose of drugs in his system was only making him pace and tense his muscles in anxiety up in the Loft, and he would be damned if he wasn't more than prepared from the moment they approached the Relay.

"Garrus, the Illusive Man is contacting the Normandy." EDI's voice follows him through the halls as he doesn't bother to stop and directly speak to the holographic orb. "He does not know of Shepard's current location. Do you wish to respond or reject his communications request?"

"Answer it, EDI," he growls with a sneer, good mandible flicking once with a clicking in his throat. "I have a few words for the man."

"Very well." Whether she has the capability to truly understand the look on his face and would rather not attract his attention or she simply continues to keep the clipped, emotionless tone even after her unshackling, he isn't in the mind to care as he steps into the already dark room, the table just completing its decent through a grid of lights that illustrate the perimeter of the QEC's sensors.

"Shepard." Garrus has to admit, seeing the Illusive Man in person – well, in hologram – just seems in contradiction to his very name. The illusion of an all-knowing head of humanity is lost when one sees that is it merely a man who apparently has a bad habit of smoking and staring at dying stars in a suit he's probably seen before on the Citadel in his days with C-Sec on some high class politician. "I wish I had more information for you." A slow draw of his cigarette and the Turian crosses his arms, getting more impatient the longer the man keeps his back to him. "I don't like you heading through that relay blind," at that, he begins to turn, "but we-"

"Expecting someone else," he rumbles with a flick of his mandible.

"I was expecting Shepard, not a game so close to the Normandy hitting the Relay." Standing here before the image of the man that most certainly must be accurate, Garrus wonders how such a man could really be the head of a monster that is Cerberus. What did she call it, a three headed dog? Sounds like a nightmare creature, but, then again, Cerberus did too many nightmarish things to doubt her.

"This isn't a game." He drops his arms to his sides, fisting his hands with a growl. "You've either been withholding information from us or outright not knowing a damn thing. As far as I'm concerned, you've been more an obstacle than an ally."

"Unfortunate you feel that way, Archangel." Another long inhale held before an exhale that shadows his face in the imagining. "But I see it an entirely different way. Without me, none of this would have been possible. You wouldn't have been here and, more importantly, Shepard wouldn't have been here."

At the mention of her name, as if she were some bargaining chip, he snarls and steps closer to the hologram, seeing the grid flash a red in warning of being near the end of the sensory range. "Listen to me and listen well, she is not some toy for you and your fucking games-"

"Ah, yes. I know of your relationship with Shepard," the human interrupts. "While not my first choice to involve not only any familial involvement in the mission, but also that of her Turian husband, it was an unforeseen consequence of trying to provide her with the best operatives for her team."

Snorting in condescension, the fact that the human supremacist would – surprise, surprise – insult his species helping to calm his rage due to the fact that racism isn't anything new he's had to put up with, no matter how subtle. "It takes a big man to sit in a chair and pretend he has value while sending others to do the work." He shakes his head with a chuckle void of any humor, or at least any good humor, he speaks again before the man can try to say something else directed to rile him up again. "Now, unless you actually have something valuable to say, I'm two seconds about ordering EDI to terminate the call and lose this number."

Silence passes for a moment as the man, unperturbed it seems, takes another calm smoke. "Shepard is a valuable asset to all of humanity. Find her and assist her in succeeding in her mission."

Garrus admits that he takes after his wife when he says, "No shit, now tell me something that I don't already know." Though he doesn't actually stick around to give the man that option, turning and stepping from the comm platform with a low "And stop treating her like a fucking object."

Stepping from the Conference room, he finds Miranda coming to look for him, a look on her face that speaks before a single word leaves her lips. "We are in route to jump."

"Understood," he rumbles with a nod. "Oversee the jump from the cockpit."

"Where will you be," she asks, a bit stunned that he wouldn't be at the helm with the pilot to directly oversee the first time anyone of them has ever jumped the Omega-4 in hopes of surviving.

"The Battery. We still have to be prepared and on the offensive for whatever lies beyond the relay." Walking past her, he calls over his shoulders. "I'm the only one I trust to do that."

Sure, he knows Jane would be there, standing right beside Joker as they jump into the core of the galaxy to weather the storm of dying stars and black holes, but there is no use for his presence with it leaves them with no ship in the end. If this is to be the situation that hinges on the smallest of percentages of chance that he knows it will be, he'd rather not entrust it to the limiting mathematics and logic of an artificial intelligence when it takes more luck and ingenuity only an organic can achieve.

As the lift lands on the Crew Deck and Garrus starts to make his way to the Battery, he hears the ship wide alert to stand by for the jump and get ready for a most likely turbulent ride. He makes it to his station and snaps on his helmet, the room one of ones that would lose oxygen if there was an emergency to start diverting life support systems to locations where it could save more crew, just as he begins to feel the sensation of his organs shifting, almost as if weightless, that comes just before a jump.

It last longer than usual, his first sign that they truly are jumping, and when it's complete with a grinding halt of his internal lift, a halt so sudden that he audibly grunts and hears a gurgling of his gizzard's upset, he knows that all hell is about to break loose, as Jane would say. Turbulence hits next, the inertia so strong he stumbles at the console before turning on the magnetization in his boots. Never before did he think he'd have to use mag boots in the middle of a pressurized ship, but, like always, missions like these seem to redefine his expectations.

His head snaps up from the console at the whirring sound that echoes through this area of the ship that can only be from the secondary weapons under each of the wings, against each side of the hull. That can only mean they have found themselves combat, and his assumption is confirmed when the ship trembles at a loud screeching boom that leaves his ears ringing.

"EDI, report," he snaps out an order with barely a glance overhead to check and make sure whatever that noise indicated – which is also nearly impossible to pinpoint from his station – doesn't mean a giant hole in this particular part of the ship. If the Thanix goes, we might not be able to take down anything bigger than a shuttle down and even set foot on the Collector's base.

"We are currently taking evasive maneuvers from hostile targets." Meaning they are too fast to be able to target and use the Thanix, that has a short period of charging, on. "Hull integrity is still maintained from the upgraded heavy armor." Another shutter shakes the ship with a thundering crash. "Alert. Hull breach on the engineering deck. Immediate intervention necessary."

"Dammit." Growling, he demagnetizes his boots and hits the command to the door. "I want Legion, Knight, and Mordin on my six. Now." His words must have either been louder than he thought or the AI had broadcasted his command because right as he makes it to the lift, the Geth and human are at his side, armed and organic, at least, helmeted.

When the lift opens, the last of his squad is there, ready and stepping aside for their admittance, and they drop down to the level, guns in hand. A heavy scowl lines Garrus' face as they enter the nearly destroyed cargo, giant holes in the hull through which they can see space filled with bright light and destroyed wreckages of past failed expeditions. The only thing separating them from a fate too eerily close to that of his mate's so long ago is the shimmering blue of the kinetic barrier and even that is still too little for his liking, too much of a reason to drop this flying orb of tech that has to be Reaper as fast as possible.

"Well the hell is that thing?!"

"Shut up and drop its armor," he growls through the comm as he motions the more professional of the three to circle around, try to flank or at least draw attention in tandem. That seems to snap the man into line as Garrus sees his helmet nod and raise that strange Collector weapon up, a beam much like the one this mechanical orb is emitting launching from the barrel and burning into its silvery plating.

The others follow in McKnight's example, ducking into cover with one lifts to lay down fire, and, when that red eye turns to him, Garrus takes a rocketing shot from his rifle, loving the recoil that surges through his body at the heavy boom in his ears. He'll admit it gets even better when the damage the shot makes is so visible that the orb shutters, closing its now cracked and sparking porthole and shooting out like a cannon through the hull, making yet another massive hole that the barriers cover, doing little to ease the vertigo of feeling sucked out to join the stars.

"We're sitting ducks out here," Joker's panicking voice practically yells through the entire ship – and comms, Garrus discovers, probably EDI's doing in attempts to keep everyone aware of the situation minute-by-minute which seems more likely to distract the crew than help them. "I have to try to lose them in the debris field. Everyone strap in and hold onto something!"

Mag boots activated again to keep them from fulfilling the very horrific possibility of accomplishing Garrus' previous fear, they have no choice but to hold on to something, anything – most of which turns out to be pieces of the shuttles or nearly destroyed cargo crates filled with food stuffs and day-to-day ship supplies – as the Bay flips end over end. This isn't mere turbulence, Joker's hitting the debris! Tali's barriers better hold.

Heavier shaking to the roaring thunder of barrier impacts and Garrus watches his team struggling. Knight is stumbling enough to lose his weapon as he makes the decision between keeping a hold on it or rush to a more secure crate to grip onto, Legion's head flaps flick rapidly as it probably attempts to predict which to be more concerned with, the return of that orb or their possible death via being ripped apart by derelict wreckages of ancient ships, and Mordin barely doges a crate that comes unsecured and goes tumbling over the deck and out the broken hull.

When it all seems too much for any single ship to take, the thundering and trembling stops, only leaving behind the overhead alert of the stability of the Cargo Hold and the haunting silence outside the massive holes. The stillness is short-lived, however, when their foe returns, he'd say angry if machines could ever truly feel emotion, and they are forced to find cover strong enough to withstand the new onslaught from the thing's beam after what they've already been through.

With it already heavily damaged and their ammunition well stocked enough to continue the fight longer that its armor can hold, the group is able to lower its defenses until it is at a point where it weapon's shielding is destroyed, its own hull sparking and damaged, and a loud, clanking sound is emitting every time its hovering changes direction. Knowing this is the point where they finally have a chance to end it in one single well, placed shot instead of continuing to whittle it down, Garrus sets up his shot.

With a sharp hand motion, he gives a nonverbal command and, learning fast from its short stay here on the Normandy, Legion leaves its cover, firing continuously to draw the orb's attention, and heads towards Garrus' position. It works, the orb turning its red, pulsing and leaking eye towards the Geth – and right into his scope – and he doesn't hesitate as he inhales, holds, and slowly releases as his finger adds the minutest amount of pressure to the trigger. With the resounding boom of his ebony rifle - a gift from nearly three years ago that still fires the same, if not better, as before- the machine explodes, its own weakness the very thing that made it so dangerous.

Snapping his weapon back, he doesn't wait for the others as he rushes back to towards the lift, the need to get back to his station burning in his mind. "EDI, status," he barks as his fist, still sore but overshadowed by the rush of adrenaline and drugs, slams against the lift command to rise.

"We have successfully lost all enemy pursuers. Kinetic barriers are at thirty percent." A pause as it most likely gauges the situation in the cockpit. "We are estimated to be clearing the debris field within the next few minutes."

Surprisingly fast compared to any other time he's taken it, or because his mind is more occupied with the potential disaster at any moment, the lift opens upon the Crew Deck and he wastes no time heading into his station, preparing the Thanix. If there's anything he's learned, it's to trust his instincts, and those very instincts are telling him that they will be needing this class of weaponry very soon.

Miranda's voice sounds through the ship and he's actually grateful to hear she took his order of position when she says, "We've cleared the field and are on approach to the Collector base. All hands are to be prepared for our arrival and …Wait," he growls, knowing that tone all too well in a time like this, "Prepare the main cannons. We have company."

His console lights up with a target closing in and he doesn't bother to care about the smirk that crosses his face and the excited thrum that vibrates in his helmet. He's waited for this moment, the chance to disintegrate the very ship that took away his mate, his life, for two whole, agonizing years, and had the audacity to steal her away again.

Now's his chance to fix that little discrepancy as he types fast into the console, pulling up his most devastating firing algorithm to date, one that will surely do what no other offensive measure has done to the Collector ship thus far. Watching the radar and console of sensory data, he waits for the perfect time, the words of the AI telling of the successful dodging of an enemy projectile blast just a buzzing in his ears when he sees it, the perfect shot.

Like the sniper he is, only wielding a pair of massive and powerful, Cruiser class cannons instead of a long range, heavy powered rifle, he takes that one opening that most would never catch, the split second between the shot and a mere grazing or wounding one, and activates the firing sequence, sending a projectile of molten metal at a fraction of the speed of light straight into the center of the Collector ship, drastically crippling their defenses and maneuverability. The readings tell him enough to know that they are moving in for the kill, like a predator against a wounded animal, and it takes only seconds before he activates and fires the weapon again, piercing through the Collector's defenses and ship in an eruption of thunder that can't be completely contributed to the massive weapon recoils in the battery.

Before he needs the alert to brace for impact, he already knows they won't be landing like planned when a massive blast wave throws the ship, making him stumble and hit the weapons bench with a grunt and sharp bolt of pain up his side. He barely feels it, not when he's much more preoccupied with the jerk of momentum in the opposite direction that tosses him off his feet and sliding across the floor to crash into the side of the cannon.

He's pretty sure he blacks out for a few minutes because, when he comes completely to, there is no longer the bucking of the ship or the tell-tale sounds of a ship in flight, and he knows all too well the reason. Groaning as he gets to his feet, sure to be sore tomorrow – if there is one – he shakes off the stiffness from the crash.

"EDI, ship status."

"Multiple core systems overloaded during the crash. Restoring operation will take time."

And now we all see why we all called it a 'suicide mission', he thinks as he rumbles and nods. "And the crew? And injuries or casualties."

"No casualties or major injuries that will impede their capabilities during the assault on the Collector base," she informs. "Would you like me to direct the crew to the Conference Room?"

He nods and heads for the door. "Do it. And get me something we can go off of so we aren't going into this blind."