Chapter 23

Anya had told herself that she wouldn't cry while she helped him pack. It felt like Garrus had barely unpacked his rucksack before it was time to drop him, along with the rest of the crew, off at the Citadel, their passages home all charted already, thanks to Liara and her new connections.

It had been hard, holding back, and she had managed to keep her expression in check until they were drawing close, until she felt like her soul was collapsing in on itself as they approached to dock the Normandy.

He had sidled up behind her, carefully taking her in his arms as she started to fall apart. Tears fell silently as she'd stood there, in front of her window, and she had let him just hold her for several minutes that felt like moments.

"We don't have to do this, Anya," he'd whispered once again, and she shook her head. Resurrecting his Archangel persona and starting a well-meaning mercenary band might have been a fun idea once, but she'd known that it couldn't last forever.

"I do," she'd murmured. "I do have to do this, honey. I'm sorry."

"I'll wait for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I would do anything for you." The words had hung between them, his meaning clear.

"Just stay alive," she breathed. "This is going to get bad, Garrus. I don't care about anything else, just stay alive."

"I'm hard to kill. You should know that," he had quipped half-heartedly, and she'd let out a weak laugh.

"I do know. You should hurry. Your ride can't wait for long."

"They can wait one minute," he'd countered, his hold on her tightening as he buried his face in her hair. The way he had inhaled as he squeezed carefully made the lump return to her throat.

"I miss you already," she'd whispered, her voice thick.

"Me, too." He was clearly struggling to force the words out.

"Be safe."

"I will if you do," he countered.

"I will," she'd managed, and a shudder ran through his tall frame.

"Just be careful. Come back to me."

"Always. I gave you my word."

"Then just don't forget."

"I could never forget you," she said weakly. He finally pulled away, and she had turned to throw her arms around his neck. He had quickly succumbed to her embrace, and she felt herself being squeezed tightly. He pressed his mouth to hers once, and she responded to the quick contact by standing on tiptoe to touch her forehead to his. After a moment, she started to pull away for his warmth.

"If I don't go now I won't," he muttered, pain clear in his eyes.

"If you don't go I won't be able to do this," she responded.

"I know." He had taken a breath as if he were bracing to charge into battle, and he strode away, snagging his duffle bag without breaking stride. He didn't stop until he was at the top of the stairs, where he had shot her a pained, longing glance that still popped up in her dreams six months after the fact before he kept going.

She wasn't sure which nightmares were the worst anymore. Now the loss of Garrus by her side tormented her more often than visions of Elysium, and those were only slightly less frequent than the Reapers. She was pulled from her reverie by the sound of the flap in her cell door clanging open.

"Shepard," Andrews called.

"Yeah?" She didn't get up, content to sit on her bed with her feet pulled up, arms around her knees.

"You have another debrief tomorrow, ma'am. Oh nine hundred."

"Of course I do." She sighed once, exasperated by the tribunal's insistence on raking her over the coals on a regular basis. They had called her for testimony three to four times a week for the first month she'd been in this little room. That number had settled to twice a week or so since then. She tried to remember how many times she'd told them most of what had happened since she'd been brought back. Was it thirty-eight now? "What's tomorrow?"

"Monday, October the second, ma'am."

"Of course they want to interrogate me on a fucking Monday morning," she groused lamely. "Vega my escort?"

"I can't answer that, ma'am."

"Vega's always Monday, Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday morning. You don't have to confirm anything, your CO is lazy and just copies the same details for you guys every week."

"If you already know, why ask, ma'am?"

"Making small talk, I guess. Force of habit." She took a breath. None of the men assigned to babysit her had seemed pleased with the posting at first. Vega had warmed to her some, hell, he still saluted her when no one was around, but the way he watched her had her convinced that even the most sociable of her jailers would rather be somewhere else.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what, ma'am?"

"Why say anything if you're going to waste your time saying nothing?"

"I can't answer that, ma'am."

"Of course not." Anya looked up at the ugly tile ceiling. "I'm so tired."

"You can always turn in, ma'am."

"I'm choosing to believe that you're being facetious instead of dense."

"That's your call, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes. "Good night, Andrews."

"Good night, ma'am." The flap was closed with another loud clang, followed by the barely softer noises of it being secured. She took a long, shuddering breath, wishing for a long moment that she had never come back. It seemed like every day was slowly becoming harder than the last. The way her days had started blurring together after the first month made her feel listless and adrift.

"It's going to be fine," she whispered to herself softly, eyes squeezed shut. "This will end eventually. I can do this."

(God, I feel like I'm going fucking crazy….)

"It's going to be fine," she said a little more insistently.

(This is not fine.)

"I can keep it together."

(What's the point?)

"He needs me to keep it together."

(Why would he wait for you? All you're doing is getting more fucked up and more crazy and more broken the longer you're here. You are going to die here, in this ugly little closet that they call a cell, and then the galaxy can move on without you, for real this time.)

"I don't have to listen to you, even if you're me."

The pessimistic voice fell blessedly silent, and Anya took a moment to focus on her breathing. The near constant isolation was hard for her mental health, and she pondered asking to see one of the base doctors about it for a moment before dismissing the idea. It would be different if it were likely to be someone she knew and trusted, but there was almost no chance of that.

She crawled under the sheets, not even bothering to change. As she laid there, she tried to focus on falling asleep, hoping the morning came quickly. Anything was better than being alone with her thoughts, even testifying to the tribunal.

"It's going to be fine," she whispered again, though she wasn't sure if she were making a statement or trying to convince herself. She felt tears prick her eyes as she murmured once more, "It's going to be fine."