Instead of finding comfort within the blackness, his thoughts swum chaotically, and his heart thumped louder. He felt like his insides were shouting, and he didn't know why. Within the confines of his mind, grief and anger tore through any clarity, emotions firing like energy beacons. The possibility – probability – of their upcoming death? That he could face. Whatever the fuck was wrong with him now was worse. He didn't like not being in control.

Warmth spread from fingers placed on his wrist. His eyes flew open. Shepard's steady, comforting gaze was staring back at him. She must have approached him quietly while his inner battles raged, and was sat beside him, upright but relaxed, her hand on his arm. His heart hammered louder, betraying his feelings, putting his muddled emotional state on display– the vulnerability he tried so hard to keep shoved below the surface. He turned and stared at a wall, swallowing loudly.

"Shepard…" he tried, subharmonics clogging with sorrow.

"Don't talk. It's okay."

Strength and empathy flowed from her, finding its way into his heart. It was a depth of understanding and lack of judgement he'd rarely experienced. Perhaps not since he was young, when his mother would sit beside him, compassionately watching him while he raged at something unimportant. He swallowed his gratitude, and stayed where he was. He felt discomfort arising from allowing himself to be seen in this state, and sat through that discomfort, accepting it, letting it swell and shrink like waves. Her hand stayed warm on his wrist. He could feel her gaze resting on the side of his head, perceptive as ever, not expectant, just lending strength.

Slowly, slowly, the knots tightening his chest loosened. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes again. This time the thoughts cleared a little. Now when they opened and he met her eyes, he held them steadily. She smiled a small smile.

"Thank you, Shepard."

He had the feeling she didn't need him to explain. Things were tough for everyone around here, and lonesome breakdowns were probably not uncommon. His emotions subsided like an angry ocean venting its pent-up energy and sinking back into the tide. As she stayed watching him with eyes as steady as the moon, he felt that urge, again, to press his face to her neck. It was a common gesture of trust among turians, but even then he only remembered doing it with his family. The strength of his desire to express himself in that way surprised him. He'd never wanted… or needed to communicate with a human using turian expression before. For a third time, he swallowed.

Feeling a little raw, a little tender, and a lot more peaceful, he stood up, letting her hand fall back. He stood there ringing his hands. "Shepard... I'll talk to you about it sometime. I promise. I think I need to get some rest."

Silently cursing himself for the lack of familiar dry humour – humour that was usually used to deflect uncomfortable emotion like this – he turned his head away again before she spoke.

"Garrus. Don't be a pyjak. It's okay. Go and sleep. You need it, and hell, you've all earned it. Go on."

Hesitating, he held her eyes for another heartbeat. Thump.

He felt something unfamiliar stirring inside him. Then he swallowed one last time, turned, and headed back to his quarters.

Sidonis.

The name flashed.

His heart punched his chest.

He stood staring at his omni-tool.

Seen. Alive. Located.

The name that kept him awake at night. Wrenched bitterness from his gut and pushed it deep into his throat. The prickling sensation trickled down the spines on the back of his neck, and he growled.

Death was coming for him.

Red shaded his vision, focused his mind. Calmly and collectedly, he informed Shepard of his mission, and the help he desired.

She will stop you.

He shut out all other thoughts and feelings and could feel himself become concentrated, almost robotically so. When Shepard agreed to come with him, he headed straight for the armoury and sat cleaning his guns, his mind as cold and ordered as a machine. Check, polish, load. Check, polish, load.

He continued at Shepard's side through her other missions, and greeted the team when necessary. His aim was sharp as ever, but his humour distant. He couldn't bring himself to care more than necessary about the problems in front of him, knowing Sidonis was out there, free and unscathed.

When Shepard came down to the battery and announced their next stop was the Citadel – for him – his heart hardened like a stone. He could tell she was worried about him, her expression betrayed that, but he didn't care. This was going to happen.

He stood silently on their shuttle as they headed towards the space-port. Not even Thane's knowing stare rattled him. This wasn't the anger of fire and fury, of injustice and pain. This anger felt icy and calm. Orderly. It stayed with him while they interrogated the volus in the shipping warehouse. On discovering the contact that helped Sidonis get away was actually Harkin – the disgusting, sleazy ex-C-Sec officer that was the opposite of honour and everything turians held important – his anger twisted into a sickening rage. Old C-Sec memories flooded him, the frustration he used to feel at Harkin's ability to lie and get away with accepting bribes. He remembered punching him once, for finding him harassing a woman down at Chora's Den, and then he HIMSELF got punished for it. Fucking C-Sec police. Fucking Harkin.

He followed Shepard as his emotions churned.

When they hailed an air cab down to the factories, he could feel the calculated coldness slipping, and nervous anticipation rise. Ever since his team lay dying due to the betrayal of his own friend, all he'd dreamed about was getting revenge. He didn't know why he'd done it. He'd never had many friends before, so to finally trust one and then be betrayed made him sick with confusion. Why had Sidonis given the location of his teammates away to the criminal gangs they were fighting!? It didn't make sense. And for his whole damn team to be killed because of it…

He growled and shut off his heart.

When they finally reached Harkin, anger boiled over. He took genuine pleasure hurting him, shoving him against a wall and spitting in his face. When he kneed him between his legs, such a sensitive area on humans, the predator inside him growled in satisfaction, and he pressed his foot on the man's neck. Only a little squeeze, and the life will drain from him. He almost did it, but Shepard's gentle hand on his arm held him back.

They got what they came for. A meeting arranged with Sidonis. Shepard urged them to leave.

He wanted to hurt Harkin more. He hated him. He hated everything he stood for. He knew he'd hurt women before. He felt torn between wanting to bring justice, and wanting to keep Shepard's respect. In a final reaction, he headbutted the man before turning away and leaving him to sulk.

Anyway, the anger would be used for a better reason soon.