It didn't feel real.
That was the only thought in Garrus's mind. He stared at the monument they had erected, the pillar they placed in the Presidium. He'd seen it from a distance the day before, one of many onlookers in the crowd. They offered to let him speak, to say a few words, to put down something in the annals of history to codify Commander Shepard.
He refused.
What words could he say? Shepard wasn't someone who could be summarized. Not to him. Hero didn't come close. Mentor said too little. Friend… friend was far too mundane.
Besides… What did I even know about her?
He hadn't even known her name. Commander Jane Shepard, the Butcher of Torfan. He had known that much, he'd even heard about her family dying to slavers. That had been a part of the Butcher's legend, a wrathful beast let off the Alliance's chain. A measure of just how ruthless humans could be, a cautionary tale to every other race who harbored ill will against them.
But he had never known Jeanne Pâtre, the name the Commander had left behind on Mindoir. And he had certainly never known Yuanna Al Ra'in bint Antuan. He didn't quite understand it, but from what he read, it was common for members of Shepard's religion to translate their names to avoid stigma in human society. Their untranslated name remained personal, spiritual. Almost a human equivalent of a soul name.
Spirits, Shepard had a religion. He'd thought she was an atheist, like most other humans. Had he ever seen her pray? He'd seen Ashley pray, she was never subtle about it. But maybe Shepard wasn't very devout, not dedicated. Or maybe she was, but private and more understanding of others' discomfort.
Did not such questions show how little he knew?
This woman he had idolized. He hadn't known her at all.
He was certain this was just a bad dream. A nightmare induced by nerves after he'd been told when his first evaluation for Spectre training was going to be. The training he was in because of Shepard, both her recommendation and her encouragement, giving him the strength of will to step away from his father's shadow.
That had to be it. It had to be, if it weren't for the evidence before him. Garrus could never ignore evidence.
His hand reached forward, shaking, claws tracing the intricate, swirling symbols a mason had carved. Tali had explained it to him the other day, speaking to him even when he remain taciturn and unreactive; in one of Shepard's native tongues, they would take names and create an artistic seal in calligraphy. His claws scrapped the marble. It looked like nothing he had ever seen Shepard write in or read.
The funeral had been just a blur. Garrus had ignored Tali's gratitude, Kaidan's heartbreak, Liara's tearful goodbye. He didn't want to hear their pain.
"Healing will never come without acceptance."
Garrus was startled. He whirled around, half expecting a fight. Who he saw should have disarmed him, but he only grew stiffer.
"Liara… Are you here to offer me spiritual guidance? That priest you sent my way last night already tried."
The asari scientist gave him a long, sad look. "The imam was trying to help, Garrus. He came to me to see about speaking to you. After you refused to give a eulogy."
He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "That doesn't change the facts. I don't need some religious pep talk telling me how I should feel, what I should do. I don't need someone to ease my soul. Not some human priest, not you and your Goddess, not my own people's Spirits."
"It's not… Garrus, your soul isn't what this is about. It's about your mind. Dr. Al-Baghdadi is a licensed psychiatrist, not just a cleric. He was offering help you with your grief—"
Garrus snarled and stepped in close. "I don't need a damn shrink, either! Why do you asari think the best solution for everything is to go rooting around in people's heads?!"
He regretted it the second the words had come out of him. It was Liara, someone innocent and kind, a friend who shared his pain. But Garrus didn't want a friend, or pity or even empathy. He just wanted to wake up from this, for it all to be an elaborate ruse, a deep cover op, or a tale of miraculous survival.
Liara, for her part, didn't react. She just stared him down. "You aren't alone, Garrus. I wish you would realize that."
She was right, but Garrus just pushed past her. It was irrational and selfish, but he wanted his grief to be his own, to be special and different. Even as he walked away, he knew how childish that was.
Stupid… I wasn't anything special to her.
He had been some young hothead she felt the urge to help, to guide. He was one of many friends, and not even her closest. In the end he wasn't someone who should be mourning her deeper than even her lover. The thought struck him to message Kaidan. Maybe the human would understand, even offer the secret for how he was keeping himself more put together. But as quick as that thought had come, it was followed by a memory of Shepard.
She had come to see him, before Ilos, as he prepped the Mako. She was focused, mind on the mission, but she seemed to be more relaxed, less stress coiling in her sinews. His nose had wrinkled as he took in her scent and realized why.
"Stop!" he screamed at himself, drawing looks from passersby. They must have thought him insane. Sighing, he looked at the GPS on his omnitool. Taking a shuttle would be fastest to get to his apartment. But he was within walking distance. A long walk, but a feasible one.
The turian forced himself to do it, hoping to clear his head. He walked and walked, his feet hurting as his shoes slammed his talons into his toes. Shepard didn't leave his mind for a single step.
What's wrong with me?
The door to his apartment jammed like it always did, but he had no patience for it. Garrus forced it open, the gears grinding, before slamming it shut behind him. The walk hadn't done him any good.
It took two steps into the entrance hallway before he noticed something was amiss. He distinctly recalled leaving his umbrella to the left side of the coat closet, not the right. The forecast had been for rain, as was necessary for the Citadel's planet life, but Garrus had ultimately decided to leave later, after the rain had subsided.
The umbrella had moved.
All his melancholy and heartbreak seeped inside of him, bottled up and tucked away as soldiers' instincts rose to the fore. He always kept a concealed weapon on him, all C-SEC investigators did. The small pistol would be useless against any armor, but if a would-be assassin had hidden in his house, he doubted they would burden themselves too heavily.
The gun stayed down, at his thigh, and he had a normal gait as he resumed his walk. But he was now hyper-aware of every little detail. Just as he took a step into his living room, he caught movement, near imperceptible, in the shadows of his bathroom. Garrus spun, gun up, aiming straight into the doorway.
"I see you. Come out now and you go to C-SEC in handcuffs rather than a bodybag," he rumbled, and in case he was dealing with a turian, his sub-harmonics growled with lethal intentions.
There was silence. It lasted long enough for Garrus to wonder if maybe he was just being paranoid. Then he felt cold steel press against the back of his head, on the unplated hide of his neck. The barrel shape was unique enough for him to recognize it was a Carnifex. Even a graze would probably kill him at that close a range.
"Don't move turian," came a cold voice, distorted by some kind mask. In front of him, a hulking figure emerged from the bathroom. The size of a krogan, but clearly human or batarian, the figure stomped forward. "This doesn't have to get messy," the same voice said again from behind him.
Garrus snorted. "Something tells me you weren't intending to be subtle." That was when he felt a needle in his neck. Garrus stumbled forward, but he raised his gun and took a shot. The figure behind him let out a cry of pain. Looking to his left, Garrus saw the bigger assailant charging him.
As the giant brought his fist down, Garrus juked and punched the man's crotch. Regardless of species, it would be a weak spot. The giant grunted in pain, but he grabbed Garrus's arm. The turian was yanked up into the air, spun and thrown straight into the wall. He heard a pop as his back hit the painted gypsum board, and the photo of his family fell, smacking his head with a crack as the glass broke.
He grunted in pain, but raised his gun and fired. The sand-grain sized round missed, going over the giant's shoulder, and the force of the shot put a bullethole in the wall of his apartment. He fired again, and it hit the giant in the chest, but the figure didn't even flinch. Lumbering closer, his hand smashed Garrus's throat, and the gun fell from his weak grip. Garrus was dragged up the wall, and when he tried to slash with his exposed talons, the giant jostled him, head hitting the wall again. The room started to spin, whatever drug had been put in him was making him sluggish.
The second, smaller enemy walked up. Now that Garrus could see her, she was clearly female. "You just had to become a problem for us. No matter. You won't be a problem for much longer," she threatened ominously. Her needle was jabbed into his neck yet again, and this time the world went black. Garrus only had time for one more thought.
See you soon, Jane...
A gasp ripped from his throat as Garrus sat up in bed. He looked around, finding himself alone. He was undressed, laying on his bed. No mysterious assailants, no needle in his neck. The implications were clear, but Garrus still forced himself out of bed, and looked around.
His gun was on his dresser, it's usual place, and as he creeped into his living room, he didn't smell anything amiss. He found the wall devoid of any blood or bullet holes, and his family photo was uncracked and hanging in its proper place.
There was nothing to confirm that his hazy memories were real.
A dream… A deathwish…
It made sense. Trudging home from Shepard's grave, mind spiralling into a dark place. To be killed suddenly, by unknown enemies, one last fight before going off to whatever afterlife awaited. He probably just got too tired, stumbled to bed, and filled in the night with what he hoped for.
Spirits, suicidal? Maybe I should see that psychiatrist…
He sighed, and felt shame. Shepard wouldn't want him to act so pathetic, to break down with her gone. She had set him on the path to being a Spectre. That was how to honor her.
Garrus slowly got dressed, and readied himself to face the day.
"WHAT?!"
The entire seated audience turned to look at him. Mostly turians and salarians, a few asari. Each a candidate for the Spectres, the final twenty, narrowed down from a thousand. Garrus had felt proud to count himself amongst them, to be so close to being the one chosen to serve as a hand of the Council. Proud up until that moment.
The Council. He'd known they were political creatures, that Shepard had plenty of issues with them. But Garrus had always thought that the Council was wise, if skeptical. That they acted for the good of the galaxy, putting that before anything else.
"Is there a problem, Candidate Vakarian?" Sparatus asked, eyes narrowed.
"You're dismissing the Reapers?"
"The Reapers are a myth, a simple lie used by Saren to control the Geth."
"I was there! I heard Sovereign speak!"
"You heard what Saren wanted you, or rather what he wanted Commander Shepard to hear. Sovereign was just Saren's ship, likely with an on-board VI or even AI, but nothing so advanced as described."
"The damn thing destroyed the Alliance Fifth Fleet! It wasn't just a ship! How can you be so Spirits-damned blind?!"
"Candidate Vakarian, you should remember to whom you speak," warned Councilor Valern.
Garrus snarled, uncontrolled and uncaring. Sparatus and most of the turians in the room jumped, hearing his sub-harmonics rumbled in utter rage. It was rare to hear, what with their culture's emphasis on control and deference.
"I thought I was speaking to the Council. The wise leaders we trust to guide us in dark times. Not idiotic cowards who rather bury their heads in the sand than accept an inconvenient truth! Not scum who would spit on and tarnish everything Shepard fought for!"
A member of the Council's security approached him, keen to escort him out. Sparatus shook his head and sighed. "I see the line of Vakarian has fallen far…"
Another snarl from Garrus. "When billions die, the blood will be on your hands, you fucking bastards!" The guard grabbed him roughly, and Garrus acted without thinking. He broke the hold, and his fist smashed into the guards face. The turian fell to the floor, holding his nose. There was a cacophony of mechanical clicks as guns were trained on Garrus, and he half-expected the room to open fire on him.
Garrus just glared, and marched for the door. As he hit the entrance, he felt compelled to get in one last word. "To think… Shepard didn't even hesitate to save all your lives. How quickly you disrespect the dead." Then he was gone, and in a hurry.
The second Garrus left, he knew a warrant for his arrest was probably being sent to C-SEC. He called a shuttle to his apartment. With plans on moving soon anyways, he already had transport crates. He threw clothes and guns inside the smallest one, having attended the earlier ceremony in his armor. Everything he needed fit into that one box; he left his pictures, paintings, cherished items, furniture.
Serving the Council clearly wouldn't honor Shepard. They'd buried her, and then they buried her legacy. Garrus wasn't entirely certain what he was going to do. But he knew he had to leave, to find some other way to be the hero Shepard inspired him to be.
At least he already knew of a place to go. His last case at C-SEC, a slaver who slipped through his fingers to the most infamous station in the Galaxy. It was beaten only by the Citadel in size, and only rivaled in debauchery by Illium: the station of Omega.
He exited the apartment carrying his crate, when a message appeared on his visor.
F. CHELLICK: Be there in 5 min.
F. CHELLICK: You need to be gone. Councilor wants your head.
G. VAKARIAN: Already gone.
F. CHELLICK: Be safe Garrus. For what it's worth, the recording of what happened is going viral. A lot more people are on your side than you might think.
He didn't respond further. He just moved down the staircase, and called a shuttle to Zakera Ward's departures. With luck, he wasn't yet on the run-risk list, and his passport would still work. Even from the line, he could see only one ship heading for Omega. He even recognized it, a vessel that had come up in plenty of cases as under suspicion for trafficking suspects away from the Citadel.
The asari handling processing took his passport, and Garrus tensed. But his fear was unfounded as the computer gave a blink of green light. He'd set his outgoing destination as Palaven, and he even paid for the ticket. All it took was a flash of his now-defunct C-SEC badge to get his cargo past the scanner. Once through the gates to the docks, however, he approached the crew of grimy looking transport freighter called the Unlucky Ulysses. Its captain was leaning against the ship, a human who looked like he'd been crossbred with a rodent.
"I need safe passage to Omega. Discreet. And I have the credits."
The human just grinned. "2,000, upfront."
Garrus didn't haggle. He put the funds on a chit he pulled from his pocket, and then handed it over.
"Name for the manifest?"
"Dr. Castis Heart."
"Welcome, aboard, Dr. Heart. Hope you enjoy your time on Omega."
[A/N]: Not completely happy with this chapter, but it gets things going. Garrus is going to be a major perspective character as well as Shepard, so I needed to get him in and start laying the groundwork for his role in the story. After all, there's no Shepard without Vakarian.
Oh and some may be confused on the names for Shepard; I'm just expanding the 'culture' of Mindoir I'm using for this fic. A population of predominantly European Muslims, and the Alliance is canonically mostly Atheist. Shepard was born with a French name for public and private use and an Arabic name for use in her faith. She will consider Jeanne her real name, Yuanna is just for certain occasions. More explanations on this and her name change will come in the future.