Ashley moved first after Shepard's casket disappeared from sight, speeding through the black toward the star. The chief cleared her throat and clasped her hands before pointing both index fingers toward the elevator. "There are refreshments and food up in the galley. Shepard once told me that when she died, she wanted people to drink too much, eat too much, dance too much, and then remember her in their hangovers the next day. I for one intend to comply with her wishes."
The group broke up as the ramp thumped into place, the pressure causing Garrus's ears to pop even though the barrier kept the pressure almost perfectly even. Instead of following the rest of the crew, Garrus hung back feeling the ship, her ship, alive and present around him. The new shuttle sat where she'd helped him tear apart and rebuild the Mako after the thresher maw incident. He'd barked his knuckles, and she'd forced him to sit down and let her look after them. He stroked the pads of the talons of one hand over the faint scars. He'd never felt anything to compare with her light, cool touch.
The memory of her hand stroking along his plates dragged a hoarse moan from his second larynx that he covered with a cough. For so many weeks, ever since they'd first kissed in the Mako, he'd held his desire for her behind tight reins. Some days the pressure behind his plates and the thumping of his heart nearly made him scream, but he knew she wasn't ready. Spirits, he hoped his body stopped aching for her before the longing drove him mad.
"Vakarian . . . Garrus," Anderson called, striding over to him. Garrus shook off the heavy cobwebs of memory and hopeless wishing, brushing the backs of his talons across his face. The captain held out his hand. When Garrus gripped it, Anderson said in a thin, hoarse voice, "Thank you for making her happy in her last days. She cared about you very much."
Garrus just nodded. There wasn't much he could say to that. He'd hoped to make her happy for the rest of her days. He just hadn't expected there to be so few.
Anderson released him and stepped back, shifting his weight for a moment before crossing his arms. "I tried to get into her computer earlier, but it will only unlock for you. Could you go through it? Flag anything that you think needs my immediate attention."
Garrus nodded, grateful to have something to do. "I'll do that now, sir." He needed to get to Omega and get the wheels turning. Keeping busy might save him, whereas too much time to think would drag him somewhere he didn't want to go.
"I know she asked you to run this rodeo, Vakarian, and I'll try not to step on your toes, but I'm here if you need me, and so is Hackett." Anderson slapped his shoulder, then spun and strode for engineering.
Garrus headed for the elevator, skirting around the still somber beginnings of Shepard's wake when he arrived on the crew deck. He didn't see Nihlus amongst the others. No doubt the Spectre hid in his closet swilling back his third or fourth bottle of the day. Despite the obvious pain the other turian was going through, Garrus envied him the connection he'd shared with Shepard through the Prothean memories. No matter what Garrus and Shepard would have become to one another if she'd lived, she and Nihlus would have always had that.
Garrus stepped through the door into the Captain's quarters and stood, staring at Shepard's bed—their bed—for several moments before gathering the strength to step past the threshold. That damned, stupid impossibly hard bed. He complained about it every night, and it hurt like hell most of the time, digging his plates into his bones.
"I'd sleep on that thing happily for the rest of my life if you'd just let me have her back," he whispered without knowing whom he was talking to. Turians didn't have gods. Would Shepard's god, the one she felt such anger toward, listen to a turian prayer?
Please, just let me wake up there with her arm flopped over me. How am I supposed to breathe without her? How am I supposed to do any of this without her?
Anderson had yet to move anything, leaving her few possessions organized and aligned either parallel or perpendicular to the edges of whatever surface. "Always so tidy and regimented," he whispered, looking around the room. "So afraid for anything to slip out of place." Sitting at the desk, Garrus activated her computer, but a wall came up.
"Voice print identification required to access records," the artificial female voice informed him.
He frowned and glanced over his shoulder toward the door, suddenly feeling like a prowler who'd broken into someone's home. "Garrus Vakarian."
"Good day, Officer Vakarian, please enter user password."
"Password?" he asked, frowning. She'd been worried enough to password protect it even after voice printing it?
"That is not correct."
He keened softly, low in his throat as he struggled to get the words—her words—out. "Sweet baby Jesus."
"That is not correct."
It became harder to get his primary larynx to override the keen coming from his second as the singularity trying to form in the center of his chest pulled all the air out of the cabin. "Glory hallelujah, Brother C-Sec."
"Access granted." Shepard's image appeared before him, that cocky smile forcing him to look away. Maybe it had been a mistake to try to look into her affairs without a few days worth of distance. He nodded and took a deep breath, straightening his spine and pulling his neck back, arching it slightly. Maybe, but he'd made her a promise, one that he intended to keep.
Spirits, she was beautiful. He didn't need to see Nihlus's version of her beauty—all dressed up and coifed. Short mop of curls, freckles, no make up . . . she would always be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. His hand lifted to touch the holographic image, but he forced it back to the desktop. He couldn't touch her. She'd become light and memories.
The image smiled, a sad smile, and he wondered which time he'd entered the room to find her sitting there had been the time she'd recorded the message to prepare for her death. Why hadn't she said anything? "Hey, Garrus. Sorry about this. I know the last thing you want to do right now is face the million details of this war, but as much as people will want to believe that Nazara was a single entity, we know the truth. There is still a hell of a war coming, and we . . .." She looked down, then back. ". . . you need to be ready to fight it."
She sighed, and he heard the weight of an entire galaxy in that breath. She hid how much it cost her so well that sometimes he forgot just how heavy it must have gotten . . . how afraid she must have been. Good thing for them she proved so much stronger than the fear.
"Okay," her matter of a fact tone drew his attention back, "first things first. I have included here a detailed accounting of the financial resources available to you. As soon as I died, they were all transferred into your name. Both Barla Von and . . . your father have copies of everything." She chuckled, meeting the sudden stiffness and questioning in his gaze as surely as if she could see him.
"By the way, hope you don't mind, but I've been in touch with your father pretty much since you told me about him under the Mako that day. I knew he'd worry, so mostly I just let him know that you were okay after missions. But that day you guys left me at C-Sec Academy, I met with him and brought him up to speed on everything." She shrugged, just that quick, marionette pop up and down. "I figured that since you trusted him—oh, don't look at me like that, you know you trust him completely—he was the one to help you keep going."
Garrus shook his head. "You meddling pain in the ass. Couldn't just leave anything alone."
"And stop grumbling at me, I'm dead." She softened the words with the sad smile. "He put it all together and came to the same conclusions we have. He'll make a hell of an ally, Garrus. He begged me not to tell the council what we'd learned about Saren, knew it would get me killed, but we needed their blessing to attack Virmire." She glanced away from the screen, furtively as if someone had approached her door, and she didn't want to be caught. A moment later, she looked back. "So, if he needs it, tell him to go ahead and get his 'I told you so' moment out of his system." She affected a stern frown. "Then tell him it's not nice to rub the mistakes of the dead in their face. So rude."
A spreadsheet appeared on the right of the monitor. "Congrats, you're a billionaire, and sorry, you have to spend it on things other than your own tropical planet. Okay . . . to business: Barla Von has started salvaging as much of Nazara as his people can get their hands on. Build a weapons testing area out in the terminus somewhere. Make sure everyone who comes in contact with the wreckage is inoculated. The geth, rachni, krogan, and hopefully the Alliance and Hierarchy will need somewhere to test weapons against Reaper materials. I really hope I'm right about their vulnerabilities.
"Contact Barla Von, do whatever you need to in order to keep the communication with the Shadow Broker open. He owes us right now, and no one in the galaxy has more feelers out there."
The spreadsheet vanished, leaving her sharp, pretty face sitting dead center again. "Work with Nihlus, Anderson, and your dad, Garrus. I've set everyone else up to take credit for our victories. Tali and Legion for the peace between their people and the return of the pilgrims; Wrex for the freedom of Saren's krogan slaves and genophage research; Anderson and Hackett for the battle of the Citadel." Her smile warmed. "Even Shiala and Liara are positioned to do what they need to do. As are you. You know where to go and what to do. Win the war." Her head tilted. "I know you'll do amazing things, Garrus. I know it. I'll be watching."
Her smile broke and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes just to be swiped at by an impatient hand. Her head tilted. "I'm sorry for so many things, but more than anything, I'm sorry that I never got a chance to give you this." She gestured at her body. "Because this . . ." She pressed her hand over her heart. ". . . belongs to you. Thank you for being the one person in my life I could trust enough to love. I love you, Garrus, and I'm sorry I never told you that." She smiled sadly. "Take care of yourself and our people."
Her hand reached out. "Good bye. I love you. You know what to do next."
Garrus lifted his hand to those delicate fingers, his breathing hoarse and laboured again. "Good bye, Shepard. I love you." He sat like that for a moment, then took a deep breath and closed the screen. For a moment, he felt as though someone had sucked all the air out of the room, but gradually, the choking lack of her receded, and he began to breathe again. He opened up the comm relays and keyed in routing information.
His father's head and shoulders appeared on the screen. After staring at him for a second, Herros nodded. "Garrus." His mandibles fluttered and dropped. "I'm so very sorry, son. She was a remarkable woman."
Garrus stared at his father's image for a moment, then let out a long, tremulous, bitter keen of grief. It climbed out of the very center of him, a living beast held caged too long and finally seeing a safe passage out. It went on and on until that horrible, empty place at his core fell silent: hoarse, scraped hollow, and dry.
When it ended, his father gave a soft cry of his own, one of empathy and love for a son in pain. For a few moments, Herros tried to speak, but then he flailed his mandibles a little, frustrated. "I'll meet you at the location in three days. We have a lot to talk about."
Garrus nodded. "I'll be there. Thank you, Pari."
"She really was a most remarkable young woman," Herros said, shaking his head.
Garrus spent the next several hours pouring over the details of the massive organization Shepard and Barla Von had managed to put together in three months. The volus hadn't dawdled in moving the art and other relics they'd confiscated from Donovan Hock's home. The enterprising financier had even sent a platoon of the Shadow Broker's private army to clean out the mercenary leader's home on Beckenstein. The total received from finder's fees, rewards, and sales to private collectors amounted to over ten billion credits. Savvy investing and private short term loans swelled the accounts by another two billion.
The real estate folder surprised him even more than the bank balance. He'd known about the buildings in Kima District that Aria had given Shepard, but they made up just the peak of the mountain. They owned mining, metal fabrication, weapon fabrication, and assembly plants on ten planets. The geth had just begun reporting their mining, construction, and manufacturing stats, but even after the first week, Garrus had to give Shepard far more credit for foresight than he'd guessed at. The whole time he thought she'd been playing it by ear, just racing to catch up. Turned out she'd been ten steps ahead the whole time.
"Spirits, woman, why couldn't you have been ten steps ahead of that gunman?" He closed his eyes and leaned his head in his hands.
"I was, Garrus. I started preparing you back on Feros."
He prepared datapads with the information pertinent to all the key players. He'd hold a brief meeting in the morning to set the gears moving, start organizing for a large planning conference on Omega in three days time.
The door opened. Garrus straightened and turned to face Anderson. Allowing only the deep lines around his eyes and mouth show his weariness, the captain strode over, straight and square, the very picture of buttoned down. Anderson should have been born turian.
He settled himself on the edge of the bed, forearms on his knees. "Any luck?"
"She didn't make it too hard to get in. The resources and network she orchestrated is amazing. We'll still have to keep a tight grip on the credit chits, but it's a very good start." Garrus gathered up the datapads. "If it's all right with you, sir, we'll get everyone together in the comm room at 0800, get ourselves organized, decide on the other players we need to bring in, then head for Omega."
Anderson nodded. "Will do. Hackett was going to return to the fifth fleet, but I think he'll be a useful ally. I'll invite him to Omega." The captain straightened, tilted his head back to one side and cracked his neck. "He's still not convinced of the Reaper threat, but he had a front row seat for Sovereign, so I don't think it'll take much to bring him on board."
Garrus nodded and stood. "It's surprising how easy it becomes to believe in the two kilometre long monsters after you've seen one try to carve its way out of the Citadel." His omnitool beeped, alerting him to an incoming message. He opened it, skimming down the header to the decryption information. "It's Barla Von. Has to be. He and Shepard went to absolute ridiculous lengths to ensure their messages didn't get intercepted."
It took all his decryption talent—which was considerable—everything he knew about Shepard, and some wild guesses before the message opened. When it did, he knew why the financier took such elaborate precautions. "Von reports that they've been able to collect five scows worth of salvage from Sovereign, and they're still working. They've found several large pieces. He figures he should be able to bring eight to ten scows worth to Omega. We just need to provide an escort." He closed the message, sending it to a secure folder. "Excellent, that will be vital for weapons testing."
The captain nodded. "We need to know how to hurt them, especially if as many of them are coming as you believe." Anderson stood and held out his hand. "Get some sleep, son. We've got a hell of a lot of work ahead of us."
Garrus stood and shook the offered hand. "We do. Goodnight, Captain." He strode to the door, but stopped at the threshold and turned back. "Um, sir . . . the book on her nightstand there . . .." He ducked his head, mandibles dipping and spreading in a bashful grimace. "I was reading it to her."
Anderson scooped it up and strode over, placing it in Garrus's hands. "I read to her when she was in the hospital as a teenager. She used to hound me to perform all the voices, and god help me, I gave in every single time." He chuckled and shook his head, his throat working. "She was so broken back then, but so strong. She never stopped amazing me."
Garrus palmed the control and stepped through. He held up the book. "Thank you." Turning, he fled before Anderson could call him son again. It made him uncomfortable. Replacing Shepard as Nihlus's partner in the war already hung from him with the weight of all those who'd yet to die in that fight. He couldn't bear the extra weight of being Anderson's last tie to Shepard.
"Garrus." Anderson called after him. When he turned back, the captain held a pillow. Anderson shrugged, his eyes red and glassy. "She spent her first sixteen years as someone else's daughter." His eyes looked to the deck plating, his voice thickening and going tight with the cost of maintaining his iron clad emotional control. "But she spent the last thirteen as mine." He held out the pillow. "I can't even move her things." When Garrus didn't make a move to take it, Anderson tossed it to him, but it landed short. "Someone left me once. It was all that helped me sleep. You haven't slept in nearly four days."
Garrus glanced toward the crew, but the wake had progressed to the point where they sat around in groups telling heavily slurred stories. He considered refusing, saying that he was fine without it, and letting it lie there. Damn it. He bent down and snatched it up, nodding his thanks before he spun, practically bolting for the elevator. Not that he didn't appreciate the empathy, but the more professional everyone kept things, the better.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he made it into the elevator without notice. Not that he begrudged the crew the outlet, but he needed silence and time to get his head straight. He'd indulged himself long enough. Judging by Nihlus's dedication to maintaining a minimum .15 blood alcohol level since Shepard's death, it was going to fall to him to take the wheel. Which suited him fine. Over time he'd get to where the emptiness calloused over, and until then, preparation efforts for the Reapers couldn't help but benefit from him pouring every ounce of his energy into them.
He left the elevator and headed straight for the shuttle. He'd throw the bench cushions on the floor, lock the hatch and go through the information in more detail until he fell asleep. Anderson was right about him not having slept since Shepard died other than dozing for a few hours that morning. He should be completely exhausted. He was completely exhausted, he just didn't know how he was going to manage to sleep.
"Vakarian."
He jumped, a hand slapping against his keel as he spun to face the voice. "Wrex." A harsh, embarrassed rumble rolled through his second larynx. "I thought everyone was up drinking."
The krogan chuckled, that deep rolling cough of sound. "You're getting jumpy in your old age, Garrus." He shook his massive head and held up a bottle. "I have my own. Parties are for the gloriously deceased. Shepard . . .." He shook his head again. "Shepard was bushwhacked by cowards. All that sort of death deserves is vengeance. I'll remember her when I thrust my blade into those pyjaks' hearts and their blood pours over my fist."
He upended the bottle, chugging down almost a hand's width to finish it off, then let out a roar encapsulating the collected anguish of the entire crew as he smashed it in the corner. "Shepard was the first hope the krogan have known since the genophage, the first alien . . . hell, the first person to stand up and say that the krogan are worth saving . . . that they can stand with the rest of the galaxy as equals." He slumped. "Now . . .."
Garrus strode over and laid his hand on the pauldron of Wrex's armour. "Now we pick up what she started and keep going, Wrex. We stick with the plan and show the galaxy that the krogan are ready . . . that their courage and ingenuity helped save us all. And this time, we don't let them forget it." He sat on the crate next to Wrex's. "You weren't back on Tuchanka long. Get anything happening back home?"
Wrex harrumphed. "The female shaman has distributed just about all the krogan artifacts. That got me meetings with the female clan leaders. They nearly killed me to get the genophage cure data, but agreed to setting up a lab in Urdnot territory as long as I declare it neutral ground and make a protected area for the females who want to be involved."
Garrus frowned. "Your females live separately? Have their own clans?"
The behemoth nodded, his whole body dipping and swaying with the motion. "They have to. For their own protection." A harsh chuff followed that. "And ours. Nothing is more precious than a fertile female. Males fight over them, blood rage sets in, someone ends up hurt or killed . . . sometimes females or young. Things were different before the genophage, but since . . .." Those huge, red eyes looked up at Garrus full of what looked like regret. "We can change that over time. Tuchanka's not a safe place, keeps you sharp and strong, but females and young shouldn't have to worry about getting killed by the males."
Garrus nodded. "I know Shepard gave what data you managed to get off the computer to Dr. Chakwas, and she's working with a couple of other people she trusts to put the rest of it together. You just worry about unifying the clans and wrestling thresher maws." He grinned and tipped his head a little. "And rebuilding the rachni into a cooperative race."
Wrex nodded toward the back corner. "I see she's still here."
"Yeah, although Shiala says that after Omega, the queen wants us to revisit Ilos and see if there is any chance of settling her there." Garrus let out a long breath. "It would be a good fit if we can make certain there's no Reaper tech. No one knows how to get there but us. They'd get a chance to rebuild in peace." He gave the battlemaster a hearty slap. "Well, we'll discuss all that when we get everyone together on Omega. Get some rest, you have a people to unite, rachni to help rebuild, and thresher maws to tame."
"Ha!" Wrex bellowed out a sharp laugh, the sound like grinding boulders. "I should have all that done by midday." He stood and stretched. "She didn't look it on the outside, but inside, Shepard was all krogan."
Garrus stood. "She was something. I don't think any of us will meet anyone like her again." His throat closed again, the pain behind his keel forcing him to take shallow breaths as he backed away, heading for the shuttle. Exhaustion proved an intractable enemy when dealing with his emotions. He'd made it fifteen cycles into being an adult without having to worry about getting his heart broken. Now, he seemed to be making up all those cycles in a single shot.
Would you trade it? Would you give back the last couple of months to avoid feeling this?
Wrex grumbled, not seeming to notice Garrus retreating. "Yeah, she was all krogan." His massive shoulders slumped. "See yah, Garrus."
Garrus headed over to the shuttle and opened the hatch, placing the pillow and book on one of the front seats while he made the crew compartment comfortable. He dragged the bench cushions onto the floor and threw a couple of blankets over them. Try as he might to relax his throat and breathe . . . to wrestle the mournful ache back under control, each breath just drew the strings tighter.
He stripped off his tunic and boots, then retrieved the pillow and book. Maybe he could read for a while. His human common was getting pretty good. That last night Shepard had only had to tell him the definition of one word. He held the book up, staring at it. Did it matter? As much as he enjoyed the whole hard-boiled detective tale, he'd done it for her . . . to take her mind off the million worries pulling her in as many directions.
"If you stop reading those stories, I'll kick your ass, Garrus," her voice whispered through his thoughts. His mandibles dropped, and he let out a low keen. "Don't throw me away just because it hurts. I'll be closest in the moments you're doing our things."
He set the book down at one end of the cushions and laid down. Damn, even paper thin cushions on the floor of a shuttle was more comfortable than that bed. He spread a couple of blankets over himself, then tucked her pillow between his head and his cowl. Closing his eyes, he breathed in, her scent enveloping him and suddenly he became certain that if he opened his eyes, she'd be there, curled in next to him. It became so real that his front side warmed, her slight weight pressing into his plates.
"I had so many plans for us," he whispered to the air. "I didn't want to scare you by laying out everything I saw for us, but I never intended to let you further than an arm's length away. If we died in flames, fighting Reapers, we'd die together, wearing one another's coillasi. If we survived, and ever saw the end of war, I thought maybe we'd live somewhere quiet, put down the guns, and who knows . . . maybe even have a family." The soft keen broke the air again and he curled around the pillow, pulling it in against him.
"I'm sorry I let you down, Kahri. I got careless, and I destroyed the lifetime we could have spent together. Spirits, I hope you're okay wherever you are. I hope your family is there with you, and you're happy." For long moments, he just held the last remnants of her close, the pain of the hollow place where she should be escaping as a soft cry, low and deep in his throat. Eventually, it died away as exhaustion won, and he slipped into a light, fitful sleep.
Coillas (Coillasi - plural) - The chains that hold turian bonding robes closed. After the ceremonies, they are wrapped and fastened around the wrists of both bond-mates. They are traditionally made out of the shell of a mollusk analogue that dwells in the shallow tide pools along the rocky shores of the equatorial oceanic areas. The chains are carved already linked and are nearly unbreakable.