A/N: Life looking to be busy and a longer chapter of Zorah than I thought coming up, so figured I'd release a one shot I've been working on a for a while. One of the first things I began working on after playing LE, let me know what you reckon. Next chapter of Zorah should be in about a week, see y'all then!
The air was thick with ash and dust, glowing a dull ruby from the surrounding fires and flashes of red plasma, but the hundreds of soldiers that made up Hammer kept running. Figures silhouetted against the dull fog of whipped up dust that clouded the crater, senses closing off from every input around them except for the sight of their goal in front of them.
They dashed in different directions, trying to time their movements and deduce where the next flash of red would impact; the only constant being that they keep running to the towering pillar of light that shone so close to them, piercing the fog of war. It shone brightly illuminating the area merely a short dash away. But every step saw a fellow soldier disappear, a life dissipate. The light may as well have been a million miles away, separated by miles of death and a burning stench of death.
The sky, what could be made out through the dust was dark. None could tell if this was due to the ash or due to night falling. Vision had been increasingly difficult as they had fought their way further and further into central London, a borderline suicidal push to access the link to the Citadel the Reapers had opened. A maze of collapsed ruins, corpse piles and Reaper Thralls, completely divorced from the pre-war maps and landmarks and instead taking on a far more macabre hell. Time had been dilated, each member of Hammer had lost track of any sense of it as they tried to ignore the horror, the smell and sights of corpses decomposed or burning a frequent instance on the war-torn streets.
Had it been days, or just hours? How many Reaper thralls had they killed? They struggled to breathe on the ashen run as they tried to ignore any considerations other than how best to survive the next few minutes, but one thought remained branded across their consciousness even then.
Just how many of their own had they watched die?
They were no longer sure, and the trio that was towards the front of the mad, confused dash down the hill were aware of this in a way no others in Hammer were.
Garrus Vakarian, a man who had effectively ordered the deaths of tens of thousands of Turians through his tactical advice to the Primarch trying to save hundreds of thousands others. A man who had watched entire squads die in front of him, forced to console desperate men as they felt their life drain from their bodies. Be it from Reaper projectile or Merc bullet, he had long lost count of how many he had watched die wretchedly. He ran forward, drove himself forward, so that he wouldn't have to watch another die.
Tali'Zorah, a woman who had effectively killed a race by killing her friend, Legion, when it had tried to upload Reaper upgrades to the Geth fleet over Rannoch. She'd wept as she'd held the Geth in her arms as it had asked it's – no, his – murderer if it had a soul. Wept just the same as she had when watching entire squads of Quarians be wiped out by Geth assault squads, or die hacking and coughing due to suit breaches in ancient Quarian ruins, all out of a sense of duty to protect her. She had lost count of how many she had killed in such a way, and dashed for the light so that she would never need protection again.
John Shepard, the man who held the fate of a Galaxy on his shoulders and had been responsible for the deaths of billions, from random mercs trying to make a living to the innumerable Geth over Rannoch whose fate he'd sealed by failing to convince Gerrel to withdraw. A man who had felt forced to hand the abomination of the Collector Base, a base still ringing with the cries of those who had suffered there, over to the only force in the Galaxy seemingly fighting the Reapers despite their evil; only to find he had strengthened the Reapers themselves when Cerberus' unwitting allegiance was revealed by their indoctrination. The man who despite uniting what remained of the Galaxy; Humans, Turians, Krogans, Asari, Quarians and many others felt like a failure for dragging untold numbers to their ends. He pushed his legs as hard as he could, so that he could fulfil the last promise he felt that he could keep; to build her a house on Rannoch.
They tore through the fog and smell as did hundreds of others, each soldier turning a personal promise they had made over and over in their minds. Everyone imagined their moment entering the beam, of surviving the gauntlet. The ground was uneven, jagged with twisted metal and broken pieces of concrete and asphalt, and all tried their best not to stumble and fall. To fall meant death.
None who saw the crater knew whether the depression had been a natural depression with the developments flattened, or if the Reapers had cut their way into the ground of London to create a more defensible position. Marauders and Cannibals fired at them from the left and right, barely being able to seen through the dust, instead illuminated by their fired projectiles and bullets, crawling over the huge piles of rubble that penned in the narrow strip of semi-open ground. Carried through the end, piercing even through the crashing and groaning of the battlefield came the cries of Husks waiting at the base of the crater, unable to be seen but heard and sensed.
Soldiers from all races flailed and dropped to shots fired from the Reaper forces around them through the fog, shields overloaded and tired by combat offering little protection as bullets and projectiles reduced many to a bloody mess. Those who continued to advance however paid them no mind. Surviving long enough to reach the strip of light that stretched into the sky was the single thought in every soul's mind. All, even the heroes of the Normandy, ran without a thought to empathy, stepping on those who had fallen before them, dead or not, ignoring the wounded. The felt themselves driven almost psychotic by the need to survive.
All of them had promises to keep, but every shot from a Reaper thrall, every shot from the towering Reaper guarding the beam itself, saw fewer and fewer promises kept on that no man's land.
Hammer's numbers began to thin, the constant barrage wiping out most of the men and women who had dared to continue the final run. The two last Makos, the remains of the armored column that had pushed its way through battered streets triggered their thrusters, drawing ever closer to the mythological light. Their crews prayed to any God that would listen for a final push to speed past the imposing Reaper and open up the Citadel, faster than anyone could run, and deliver them from London.
Such hopes were dashed in moments, the tall leviathan-esque construct with optics that glowed with a hellish malevolence that effortlessly shone through the grey smut and floating cinders almost lazily shifted its attention to the speeding vehicles and fired. The beam screamed as it cast aside the clouds that caked the area, hitting the first ones frontal driver position. The Hammer forces, particularly the Normandy trio that now led who few were left, tried to ignore that their last vehicles were being utterly destroyed as they watched the Reaper beam effortlessly penetrate the Mako's shields and hull.
In seconds, with a scream carried in the air that none where sure they'd imagined or heard, the vehicle flipped over as though it were a plastic toy, taking it towards the Normandy trio. Its front was almost dissolved by the impact and it's front wheels burned as it was cast aside.
John, who had been just behind the speeding vehicle, saw the mass of metal flying through the air and slid to avoid it, cutting off his own momentum just enough to avoid a collision. He slid heavily into the settled mass of the Mako, bouncing lightly against the ignited rubber protected by his armor. Barely missing a beat, he turned himself around and planted his back against the toppled Mako ignoring the small flames from some of the wheels, and dared to give himself a moments respite from the madness all around him. While the deafening noise continued, John found a bizarre calm as he found himself out of harm's way. Men and women screamed in anguish from their wounds all across the hill, a sound muffled only by the sounds of gunfire and the drone of the Reaper flagship, and John swallowed his guilt in taking a breath as others continued to run.
He locked eyes with his two crewmates as they ran a mere few yards behind him for a moment, before another explosion made the ground shake near him, forcing him onto his side. The shake forced Garrus, Tali and other members of Hammer to stumble – a stumble that led to many of them being cut down in a hail of gunfire, the few that John could see who avoided the hail and kept their feet fired their weapons indiscriminately into the floating filth where the shots had come as they continued to dash. Their eyes stared into the ash trying to identify threats, a search that was meaningless as all that could be perceived was flashes and tracers.
Garrus recovered from the shake before Tali, who was on all fours and disorientated shaking her head, and Garrus was sure he could hear a faint hissing from her suit, as if a seal was broken. He prayed that she didn't have a breach. John was frantically looking around for the source of the blast for the briefest of moments, before a shadow appeared above him. Through the fog he became aware of a hurled Mako coming straight at him and his borderline adopted sister, over the vehicle John had taken shelter behind. and his borderline adopted sister, sliding through the air with a faint whistle.
Tali was still clambering up, shaken and unsteady, and hadn't seen the Mako flying towards them. By the time she would, Garrus realized, it would be atop her.
Acting on impulse, he barreled himself into her hoping to push her out of danger – and preferably himself too. He hissed at the exertion, nearing the end of his adrenaline fueled stamina. He heard a shout from John, faintly able to be made out over the hail of war, but the contents of the shout were distorted. Garrus was aware he had mere moments, barely seconds, his heart stopping in fear.
Not Tali.
Being unsteady on her feet, she put up no resistance as the tall Turian pushed his entire weight into hitting her to the side, yelping in surprise with a noise that would have been amusing in a situation less desperate. He kept himself atop Tali, aiming to shield her from any shrapnel from the crash. The Mako flew with a deafening crash into the spot where the two had been running, but Garrus had barely enough time to turn to look at it before a crushing explosion hit him.
A fierce heat shot out at him, charging towards him faster than he could comprehend with black blotches shooting out like bullets. No detail could be made out, as he was pushed into a cold darkness almost instantly, his brain growing dark as he felt a thousand piercings through his armour and a huge force cast him and Tali away.
Pain greeted Garrus as he awoke.
Fierce, almost unbearable pain that made Garrus struggle to breathe as he experienced muscle spasms across his upper body. His brain struggled to cope with the overwhelming signals assaulting him, the quickest of breaths being the only indication that he was alive aside from his twitching form. For that moment, a moment that lasted for an eternity, Garrus Vakarian wasn't there. So clouded by agony there was simply a mess of muscle incapable of comprehension, struggling desperately to conjure a reaction to its state and utterly immobile.
"Medi-gel application complete. Stocks depleted" came a robotic voice from his earpiece, accompanying a soothing feeling that ran through his body. It cooled the fire he felt across every fibre of his being, dulling it and returning a semblance of sanity to Garrus. He felt as if he were in a dream however, the world suddenly feeling slow and heavy as shrapnel and bullets continued to fire around him. Atypically, he found himself not being overly concerned by the danger.
Damnit the suit must have used the full medi-gel stock. Spirits what happened?
Garrus felt for Tali's form, before realising that he was lying on his back with Tali nowhere near him. He also noticed he could only move his left arm, and only barely, and was unable to feel his legs. He opened his eyes, looking into the ash atmosphere of the area once again. It stung his eyes, as it had before, but the medi-gel in his system prevented him feeling any real discomfort from it. He forced himself to blink viciously, trying to clear his mind and focus.
He tried to turn over, but found his right arm once again unwilling to cooperate. He looked down, finding his armour fractured and partially melted on the surface and saw that his arm was no longer connected – it had been flung off far to the side of the clearing. His legs were still attached, something he noted with satisfaction, but there was no sensation at all and no mental command would move them. His clouded mind struggled to comprehend this as he turned to his left arm, seeing it mostly intact and moving. The armour was still present, but a variety of holes were apparent across the length of his arm. It felt restricted to move, but with great effort movement was possible.
He shoved his elbow into the dirt below him, using it to prop himself into turning over, his body screaming at the action.
He became vaguely aware of a roar over him, a roar that belonged to the lithe frame of the Normandy that came to hover just up the hill from him after passing over him. As it floated it cast away the dust covering that floated above the path, exposing the area to much greater scrutiny. Some of the Reaper creatures that occupied the adjoining rubble were exposed to sight no longer protected by the dim grey that had cloaked them. Some brave souls stopped their dash to fire upon the bared thralls, cutting down many of their enemies at the cost of making themselves open targets of themselves. The men and women that continued to run found themselves under less fire due to the sacrifice however, keeping the towering Reaper by the beam too occupied to deal with the Alliance frigate floating up the hill.
John was carrying Tali, without a care for being shot by the Reaper standing behind them all or being caught in the gunfight against the ground troops in the rubble. He stumbled, treating his carried cargo as delicately as he could, towards the opening cargo hold of the Normandy. Marines were dashing onto the ramp and firing at the Reaper thralls that were occupying the ruins, a much needed aid to those soldiers that had stopped to try and thin their numbers and spare their comrades some of the previous rain of bullets. They made quick, targeted shots from their elevated position, protecting their Commander and allowing the few soldiers that had stopped and survived the firefight to break back into the run down the hill as the remaining thralls were quickly subdued.
Vega taught them well.
Garrus' thoughts were only briefly taken up by the Normandy's Marine Officer as he tried to focus again on John and Tali. They were family, closer than even his father and Solana were, and his heart burned in a way different to how the pain ebbed at his medi-gel infused body. Tali was dripping blood, a long strip of metal from the Mako impaled into the right side of her stomach straight through to the other side, while her suit showed signs of multiple breaches from smaller pieces of shrapnel as it was torn and leaking. Her visor was cracked, but mercifully it hadn't split completely. She was completely limp, John being forced to carry her completely. He couldn't see if she was conscious.
Her suit's emergency anesthetic protocols must have kicked in. That or she feels the same way I do.
Garrus took his eyes away from the Normandy, his drugged and tired psyche becoming aware of how exposed he was. Lying in the middle of no-man's land was a fine way to get himself killed.
He tried to stand, but quickly abandoned the idea after it proved to be an utter failure. His legs would respond to no signal, and hitting them with his remaining arm had earned no reaction. Garrus' mind knew that wasn't good, but refused to focus on it while he was exposed. Looking around, he looked for any cover that he could crawl to, his eyes quickly setting on the Mako which John had taken cover behind. It lay around 20 meters away, a distance that he would have crossed in moments normally.
To Garrus now it looked like a marathon, a goal further away and more unreachable than the beam had appeared when he had run down the hill.
He reached out his left arm, burying his fingers in the dirt and dragged himself closer to the burning hull. Sharp pieces of rubble buried within the dirt tore at his talons and his body screamed in agony at the movement, his missing arm weeping blood that left a blue stain across the ground covered. And the results had been barely notable.
He did this a few more times, moving slightly closer to his goal, earning agony that before landing on Earth would have been unimaginable. Despite the medi-gel phantom pain began to set in, his missing arm paradoxically feeling like it was peeling flesh. Garrus wanted to scream, but found little energy for it.
With every crawl, his head began to seem to float further from his body, a wooziness setting in.
I'm losing too much blood he thought with bitterness, eyes locking on the Mako after shaking his head. He would make it, he had to. He hadn't come all this way for this. He'd faced Rachni, Geth, Reapers and Cerberus, he refused to just roll over and die in some dirt, but his body screamed at him to stop. His receding mind searched for anything to latch onto, to drive himself into cover.
Garrus knelt over his comrade and swallowed in distress, the sight before him filling him with horror. The room was in chaos, bullet holes all around the walls with overturned props that must have been attempts at finding an impromptu piece of cover. Much of his team were lying dead around the room, some seemingly caught unarmed while others had a weapon near them showing signs of recent discharge. In a corner sat Erash, thinly breathing and looking at Garrus with glazed eyes. He was covered in bullet wounds, and unarmed, clearly caught in the opening surprise attack and gunned down.
At the outskirts of the apartment was a slew of mercs – Blue Suns, Blood Pack and Eclipse all distributed around. His team had clearly given as good as they'd got, he thought with grim pride, and noted the stupidity of the mercs in trying such a frontal assault even if they had surprise on their side. Then again, hadn't it mostly succeeded? Garrus quickly stifled that thought, walking quickly – but carefully expecting an attack at any moment – towards Erash. He covered the room with his rifle as he walked before kneeling down next to his friend.
"Garrus, you gotta make it out of this" said Erash, as he sat motionless against a pillar in their makeshift fortress. The blood pooled below him, and both men knew he had little time left. "There's still some of us upstairs, I heard the gunfire. Help them."
Erash breathed heavily and with huge effort, his eyes strained by the exertion. "I will Erash, I'm not going to let the bastards win, count on it" Garrus said softly.
Erash weakly nodded, slowly lifting his arm up. He tried to reach Garrus' shoulder, but found his strength lacking and settled his hand on Garrus' knee. "You were the best of us Garrus, our heart. If it had been up to me I'd have taken a rifle and started shooting in the streets of Omega after what this place did to my family," he stopped and winced, "You helped me, helped all of us. You deserve to get out of here."
Garrus smiled sadly, as memories of Shepard and Dr Saleon washed over him, of how Garrus had almost got so caught up in self-righteousness he could have lost self-control. When he came to Omega he'd sought out similar people, lost souls searching for direction, and tried to be their Shepard – and now he'd gotten them all killed. Shepard had died saving his crew, and here he was watching his team die while he remained.
As if sensing Garrus' thoughts, Erash let out almost in a whisper "Don't blame yourself Garrus, we knew the risks when we signed up with you. We went to the den knowing full well we could get bit. You did everything right."
Garrus didn't want to cloud his friends final moments with uncertainty, so didn't voice his own thoughts, merely nodding.
"We all came on board fighting against injustice Garrus. Against what they'd done to us and so many others." Erash's already quiet voice hushed even more for a moment "So these bastards wouldn't kill the kids no more, and we had a good run of it" Erash's voice began to completely leave him and Garrus could see his eyes losing their focus.
"Live for those who die here Garrus, and keep fighting. Never let them change you. Live…" Erash stopped midsentence, and his head dropped as strength left it. Garrus didn't need to check his pulse to know what had happened. He was dead.
Garrus picked up his rifle and ran upstairs, hoping to find survivors. He would save what remained of his team, and if he couldn't he would get out of this and make every merc who had attacked them pay. He'd make Sidonis pay, that bastard had fled and might even have tipped the merc's off. He had a promise to keep, and he'd be damned if he died before he could keep it.
Garrus saw the memory vividly, the dank smell of the Omega apartment, and how it had mixed with the pungent whiffs of death and blood making him forget he was in the dirt of London. He went through the names of his Omega team, closing his eyes and steeling himself as he began to rapidly drag himself along the ground.
Butler.
The Mako stood defiant some distance away.
Weaver.
A man running down the side of Garrus' vision momentarily stopped, head turned towards him and beginning to turn towards him.
Montague.
The man disappeared in a flash of red, which Garrus ignored and kept pulling.
Sensat.
The fire over the Mako climbed higher than Garrus could see from his prone position, but he swore he could see the Reaper's optics mocking him.
Grendan.
He stopped, his mind darkening before he mentally kicked himself, refocusing his vision and continuing.
Mierin.
A Cannibal ran into the clearing between Garrus and the Mako, a straggler from those that had occupied the rubble, being quickly cut down by gunfire from behind him.
Vortash.
Garrus' mind briefly noted that the Normandy must still behind him as he crawled, his ears barely recognising or registering the dull scream of her engines.
Melanis.
He was almost at the hull, he closed his eyes and steeled himself for the final push.
Erash.
He was in the shadow of the Mako, but still had to prop himself up to be able to survey his surroundings, feeling trapped while prone on his front. Fatigue infected his mind, slipping in even as he tried to convince himself of the importance of staying alert. His remaining arm vainly flailed at the wheels of the Mako for a moment, searching for something to grab hold of to pull himself into a sitting position, but ran into nothing but hot rubber. It lightly burned his semi-exposed hand, bringing his mind away from its tiredness for mere moments before he began to recede once again.
"I've reached the cover, maybe I should rest before moving again" he said to himself in a hoarse, breathless voice that he barely recognized as his own. He experienced it as if a different body has whispered it near to him, heavy eyelids sliding down his vision. His head fell face first onto the dirt, which he thought welcomed him like a soft pillow, and he felt himself began to drift into a silent darkness.
"Jesus Christ, Garrus!" his dimming mind heard from behind him, before feeling itself thrust back into reality as an adrenaline EpiPen was pushed into his suit's medical application slot. Awareness brought with it pain, the blinding pain from before softened only by what little the medi-gel his suit had applied could do to dull the agony. He began to scream and his phantom right arm began to feel itself set alight.
"Fuck Garrus hold on, I'm so sorry. Hold on!" the voice from behind Garrus' prone form was panicked, incredibly. Garrus had heard the tone before, from Vortash before he died on Omega. Desperate and begging, utterly terrified. Vortash had begged Garrus to do something, to save him somehow despite half his guts littering the floor of the balcony. Garrus had just cradled him, trying to console him as his soul had left the body. Who in Hammer would be so terrified for him?
After all, John and Tali escaped on the Normandy.
Garrus felt another application of medi-gel, its soothing relief once more giving some temporary respite, almost bringing him to the point of overdose. His exposed arm socket began to weep less, and Garrus felt a numbness began to build not just in his legs but his whole body.
That medi-gel sure is effective.
He felt his body being turned over, carefully so as to limit the movement as much as possible. The action didn't bring as much pain as Garrus expected, quickly feeling all sensations dulling. He quickly looked to his savior.
"Garrus?" John said, haggard and wide eyed but unmistakable. Garrus tried to chuckle, but it came out more as bitter coughs. John tried to look for some kind of way to take off Garrus' armor, to try and tourniquet his arm, but being unfamiliar with Garrus' custom armor – doubly so in its heavily damaged state – could only glide his hands in vain searching for some kind of release.
"Dammit Shepard you were supposed to go with Tali and let us deal with this, she'll be so pissed when she wakes up." He croaked out, trying to ease him, coughing again afterwards.
Garrus looked at John's face hoping to see a momentary grin, even a slight easing of the stress clouded expression, but the fear in his eyes never left despite the Turian's attempt at humour. His eyes became fixed, staring at Garrus' chest. Garrus wondered why, following his eyes to see fresh blue blood staining his armor, atop the dirt that had collected from his crawl. He was coughing up blood.
Spirits that's not good.
"Is she safe?" he asked in a strained voice, as directly as he could. John answered immediately.
"She's on the Normandy, regained consciousness when Kaiden came to get her. We… spoke." Garrus watched a single tear float from Shepard's eye, watching the internal battle in the man to hold himself together. A better Turian than him, keeping himself together despite everything.
"I loved her you know Shepard, if you two hadn't have been all over each other –" he said, before another bout of coughing.
It was true. He'd been so racist to her at first, it wasn't a phrase he was afraid to brand his younger stupid self. He thought back to his time on the SR-1 with shame. Shaming her for the Geth, playing upon stereotypes. It had been John, who hadn't given a second thought to her people's heritage or stereotypes, that had forced him to confront what he was. He still remembered what John had said to him when John had confronted him about a comment he'd made to Ashley about Tali being so close to the Normandy's Engines.
"I grew up in poverty because my dad was killed by a Turian in the First Contact War. My mother had little else, and the financial crash that had hit a few years later sent me and my mom into the Vancouver slums. She didn't last long, and I had to live in that hell for 18 years. Should I blame you for that?"
"No Shepard, I didn't kill your father," he'd protested, "the war was a long time ago."
"Exactly"
John had walked away, and Garrus had been left with an abyss of shame opening up as he began to think of how unfair he had been… how cruel so many people had been.
He'd taken more time then to talk to Tali, to learn about Quarians, their culture, their people's hopes and dreams. Tali had joked that towards the end of the Saren mission Garrus had come to visit her almost as much as John had, and she wasn't likely far from the truth. Garrus began to find himself enjoying his time with her, picking up on the quirks of her body language, the rhythm of her voice. It hadn't taken him long to realize he was attracted to the same women he'd decried as a stereotype merely months earlier. The irony wasn't lost on him.
But then she'd confessed her crush on Shepard, one night while he was keeping her company while doing some Drive Core maintenance. It was a few weeks after they had beaten, and they were both still serving on the Normandy reluctant to return to their prior lives. Tali had been stammering, nervous to even admit it to a friend so he could very easily see why she hadn't confessed it to John at the time. She'd asked for his advice, and Garrus had felt a slight hollowness open up as he realized he'd lost before he'd even made a move. But he didn't envy John – with the way Garrus had treated her he was lucky to be considered a close friend by Tali.
He'd smiled, and said he'd help however he could, happy at the prospect of being able to do right by Tali and maybe atone somewhat for how he had treated her at first. The two had conspired an overly elaborate scheme all night, inspired no doubt by Tali's love of romance flics, to try and get the two together.
Tali was terrified, but had admitted to Garrus that having a friend she could rely on to help gave her the push she needed. Maybe it would fail, it was an open-secret on the Normandy that Liara was attempting similar maneuvers (although John had given no indication of even being aware they were happening). They began the next day with a sense of vigor, a solid if fantastic plan behind them. But by the end of that day, the Normandy had been destroyed and John spaced.
Garrus had kept a hand on Tali's shoulder throughout the funeral, she hadn't bawled or wept with wild abandon. She'd just been silent, deathly silent, eyes never leaving the casket. Garrus swore then to look after her, for John, and make sure she was ok. A promise broken almost immediately after she'd snuck out of his apartment where she'd been staying and left for the Migrant Fleet, cutting contact for 2 years. He thought that was the last time he would ever see her, a strong motivator in his decision to go to Omega. And when John had returned, with naught but a few scars for his ordeal, it had been the greatest day of his life.
Once Tali had been recruited for the Omega-4 Relay Operation – the official name for what they'd all referred to as the "Insane Suicide Mission" – Garrus had spent more time than he had cared to admit pushing John towards Tali. He'd noticed how he'd talked about meeting her on Freedom's Progress, how animated his eyes became when she was mentioned, even if he himself remained oblivious. Tali too had receded into herself, two years of orthodox Fleet life taking its toll making her unwilling to take that leap she'd been so close to on the SR-1.
In the end Garrus had just given up, concocted a situation to get them both in the elevator and then locked it, with the willing accomplices in the Engineering Team agreeing that Elevator Repairs were low priority and as such could be left for a few hours. It had worked perfectly, and Garrus looked back on it fondly. In a way he still loved Tali, but seeing her and John together made him happier still. Truer lovers would be hard pressed to find he reasoned, but he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to admit his feelings just once, since he was growing increasingly sure that he might not be able to keep that promise to Erash after all.
As if to prove his point, he began to see soft white snowflakes begin to fall from the sky, something that John seemed strangely unperturbed by.
The Human winced momentarily hearing the confession, his eyes flashing with surprise. "I didn't know," he stammered, his usual eloquence leaving him, "after you pushed us together I thought…"
"It's ok Shepard, I just wanted to put my cards on the table," Garrus interrupted, "I very quickly realized she was too busy trying to get your attention to notice me, and you were so dense while obsessing over her. Someone had to take charge."
John momentarily had a genuine smile, the pressure and fear wiped for a moment, at Garrus quip. "I'm over it Shepard, don't worry. Tali is my sister, and you're my brother."
Garrus reached his arm out to John, hanging it in the air, which John quickly took with both of his hands. "I thought you were gone, when I got to you and Tali" he said, his voice wavering.
"I think I took a good bit of the blast Shepard, so you might only be half right. I was gone enough for you to think I was dead, and now I'm bleeding out." He looked John deep in the eyes. "It's been a good ride John."
John gripped Garrus' hand tighter. "Don't say that, I'll get medi-vac here, or stabilize you myself if I have to. ICT taught me a lot Garrus, you'd be surprised –"
Garrus shook his head. "John, you have a date with that beam over there, saving the galaxy then retiring to a nice arid planet you recently liberated with a beautiful Quarian. Doing nothing but sitting on a beach with royalties coming out of your ass. A one-armed Turian like me is just going to become a punchline in one of Joker's awful jokes, so I'll sort myself out."
"Tali asked me to come back to her" John choked out. "I didn't say anything back… I couldn't"
"Then promise me you'll get back to her. Keep that as a promise to your favourite Turian, so I have something to watch after this."
"I'm not leaving you" John said desperately. The hands holding Garrus' trembled uncontrollably.
"It's ok John, you aren't" Garrus replied. If John felt any strangeness at Garrus using his first name, he didn't let on, his face still creased with worry.
"There's no Shepard without Vakarian" John meekly whispered, clearly unable to think of any other words to say. He visibly deflated.
Garrus could feel the adrenaline wear away, his vision beginning to darken again as his eyelids felt heavy. "I'm just going to take a rest John. I'll catch you up, and if you don't see me I'll have you in my scope somewhere, watching your back. But you better meet me at a bar someday, I meant what I said back at the FOB."
"I'll be there Garrus, you get some energy back and run on after me ok?" An explosion rocked them, to the side, bringing both of them back to the situation. Hammer was down to its last stragglers, and Garrus knew it was now or never for John to have a chance.
"I'll see you John, I'm just going to catch my breath" Garrus said, closing his eyes. Within seconds, his body ceased moving and he felt himself drift away, overcome by a soothing feeling as the snowflakes intensified into a bright light.
Sorry Erash, but this is as far as I go. But we did alright didn't we? John will win, and I'll see them again. See you, and the whole team again too. I know it, and you better have space at the bar.
John gently lay Garrus' hands down and stood up, tenderly treating his friend's body. His wounds were terrible, but he could see a strange expression of peace on his face. John's inside curled at the face, unsure whether to feel sorrow or peace that Garrus was able to find such a paradox on a battlefield such as this, but beat the emotions down. He had promises to keep.
John turned and ran past the Mako, and towards the beam. Hammer had been decimated, the hundreds that had begun the charge reduced to a few dozen stragglers. But the numbers or odds didn't matter to John, the Reapers wouldn't get this one for free.
John ran as fast as he can, towards a future he dreamed for, towards promises made to his unconventional family.