Grains of Sand
Amber Penglass
Chapter Nine
It had been a long, long time since Shepard had felt true, unbridled bloodlust like the kind that welled up at the sight in front of her. Not since Torfan, not since her days on Earth.
"Well this is unexpected," said Miranda from beside her. She wore her white and black little combat suit that was suspiciously extra supportive, but the way she held her pistol dared anyone to make a prostitute joke.
Garrus' stronghold was decimated. Streaks of black from weapons fire scored nearly every surface, and rugged pockmarks speckled the walls, the furniture, even the floor. There were a pair of giant craters near the door. Krul's work, she'd guess. The tables had all be overturned for extra cover, and they were battered, too.
Then there was the blood. Red, downstairs, and blue upstairs. Ripper, or Garrus?
The sniper rifle near the trails and pools of blue gave Shepard her answer.
Shepard shifted her weight, feeling the rub of her new armor like the comforting chafe of warm hands on cold. It grounded her, helped her push back the red haze that clouded her vision. She took in a deep, silent breath of air, then let it out. She'd been reduced to breathing exercises to control herself. What next?
"Whoever was here, they put up a hell of a fight," said Jacob, from Shepard's other side. She shot him a sidelong glance as he knelt to examine a trail of blood that led from the window overlooking the bridge below. "Until they didn't. Looks like someone got em from behind. Took them alive, though."
"Then they had some self preservation instincts," Shepard said. Something in her tone made her two shiny new squadmates glance at her. Jacob had concern in his eyes, while Miranda cool calculation. That was fine. She didn't much trust them, yet, either.
She hadn't yet figured out what to make of Miranda's tale of acquiring a desiccated corpse, resurrecting it, telling it that it's name was Commander Jane Shepard, all for the purpose of fighting off some unknown Collector agenda. Her meeting with the Illusive Man via quantum entanglement communicators -now there was some serious cash- had left her with more questions, and the assurance that the only way to get the answers was to go along with them. With Cerberus.
At least she was pretty sure she wasn't a really, really good clone or AI. That was something.
She had forgotten what it felt like, the oppressive weight of expectation. She had not missed it. She thought it a hilarious way of measuring her life, that she realized she'd preferred her time as a penniless, homeless, nameless Omega waif. But those thoughts were taking her precariously near something like self pity, so she squashed it, ruthlessly, and turned her attentions back to the task at hand; finding and murdering the sonofabitch who'd shot up Garrus and his team.
"Shepard, I've found something," said Miranda. She'd walked away to examine a discarded omnitool, one of turian configuration. She scanned it with her own, and a moment later a holovid popped up. A rugged-faced asari, nearing her matron years, glowed orange.
"Shepard, if you're seeing this- Who am I kidding, of course you're seeing this. Your turian boyfriend's act is pretty good, but it's getting old. I've attached a set of coordinates to this vid. Meet me, and he goes free. I want you alive, Shepard, but I'll take your corpse -and his- if I have to. Don't keep me waiting." The holovid winked out.
"There are coordinates," Miranda confirmed. "I'll send a recon team to scout it out and-"
"No time for that," Shepard cut in. She shifted in her armor again. "Forward them to my omni. We go now."
Garrus' everything hurt. That's about as far as his assessment of his injuries went. His gauge of his surroundings wasn't much better. He was in the hold of a small cargo freighter, one out of a million models of the same that floated around the galaxy. They were cheap to manufacture, easily adaptable to a variety of purposes, and damn well impossible to tell apart from the outside. He had no idea how far they were from Omega, but he'd guess not far, probably still in the asteroid field. It was a good place for clandestine exchanges, and one of the reasons Omega had flourished in the first place once its mineral and ore resources had been tapped.
The asari, who certainly had the Spectre-grade chops to back up the little winged emblem on her hardsuit, had immobilized the shrapnel in his arm with a cannister of foam that hardened soon after hitting the air. It meant he was in far less danger of accidentally nicking an artery, but it also meant that the arm was still useless. The lack of adrenaline had let him begin to feel other injuries that had paled beside the trauma of his arm. Bruises and contusions from the initial blast, scratches from more shrapnel and glass across his neck and exposed cowl, many deep enough to ooze blue.
The worst was his left mandible, which hung loose against the tight, swollen flesh of his jaw. The blow from the asari's rifle had been truly spectacular, hard and vicious enough to drive him to his knees after he'd made one too many pointed attempts to glean information. He'd been left with what he could discern with his own two eyes, which had been just that yes, his people had gotten away. No, the asari was not alone. And yes, she really did plan on using him as bait, as evidenced by the holovid he saw her record and leave on his omnitool.
And, also yes, she believed Red was Shepard.
Did he believe it?
Spirits, he wanted to. He wanted to believe it with a ferocity that made the pains of his body pale in comparison. The more he thought about it, the more Red and Shepard were identical in his minds' eye, hair or no hair. So much so that he wondered how he could have ever missed it. It would be worth it, all of it, if it were true.
Which, of course, made him lean towards not believing it. In his chaotic life, things that were too good to be true usually were. It was a euphemism not unique to humans, but he liked their way of phrasing it. It was wishful thinking that was aligning their features in his memory, making connections between their way of speaking, their body language, that was yes, familiar and similar, but not identical. It couldn't be.
He'd seen the vids taken by the Normandy's and the life pods' external cameras. He had seen the footage of the flailing human body, so tiny, so frail against the massive backdrop of icy Alchera. Seen the arms reach up and back to the suit breach, the moment the arms had gone limp, fallen away, and-
Garrus halted his spiral down that particular dark well of memory. It would help no one, least of all him.
Point was, wishful thinking aside, he was one of the few people in the galaxy who had actually seen the irrefutable evidence of Shepard's death, short of a body. He, and certain members of the Normandy crew, the Councilors, and of course…
Garrus' thoughts trailed off.
Spectres had all access clearance.
His asari captor...she would have had access to the vids.
And she still believed Shepard alive, believed enough for all of this.
Garrus hung his head, shutting his eyes tight against the fresh onslaught of that most horrible, wonderful, painful of all emotions; hope.
Shepard wasn't entirely surprised when their trek back to Cerberus' makeshift base was halted by three figures emerging from the shadows to block their way. She'd expected them to keep an eye on the routes to and from the compound.
"Monty," Shepard greeted. "Ripper. Butler. Glad to see you all unharmed."
"Sorry I can't say the same," Ripper snapped in reply. Shepard didn't honor it with a response. She kept her gaze on Monty, who was examining her, her spanking new armor, her two companions.
"Red." Monty said, voice neutral. There was absolutely no trace of the woman who Shepard had teased about a Shakespearean name. "We weren't sure what happened to you. I see your Cerberus friends finally caught up to you. You look awful chummy, considering this morning you and Sidonis were planning to blow em up.."
Shepard shot Miranda and Jacob cold glances. Miranda had an eyebrow raised. "You could say that. We...had a talk. There's a truce, for now. Least until we get Garrus back."
"Yeah, about that," Butler said, holding out an arm to halt Ripper's snarling step forward. "We'd rather you sit this out. Until things get cleared up. Hope you understand. Garrus is one of ours."
He was one of mine first, Shepard wanted to say. She didn't, because that wouldn't help anyone and she was better than that. Usually.
"It makes more sense to team up," Jacob said. "We've got resources, you've got intel. Besides, the asari who took Garrus wants Shepard in exchange. You show up without us, you'll just get your guy killed."
The sound of her name in the air was like a bell. Where the attentions of their three person roadblock had been intent before, it was predatory now.
"Shepard." Monty echoed flatly. "As in, Shepard, coma, Commander? Garrus's old buddy? Dead buddy? Please."
While Monty scoffed, Shepard had brought up her omnitool and started up the holovid. It was a good thing they were in a rather narrow, secluded alleyway. While it played, she watched the faces of Garrus's teammates. Ripper's didn't change a scale, just kept glowering at Shepard directly. Butler looked thoughtful. Monty?
Monty laughed.
"Garrus let himself get taken by a crazy old asari cat lady. God, I am gonna give him so much shit. She actually thinks you're Shepard?" She laughed harder. Despite herself, Shepard felt her lips twitch in answering mirth. Dark mirth, perhaps, but mirth.
"All right, fine," Monty said. "But just you."
"Out of the question," Miranda snapped. To Shepard she said, "We're you best bet for getting Vakarian back, and you know it. You can't trust them."
"I know no such thing, and I trust them more than I trust you," Shepard replied. "Then again, at the moment I'd trust a hungry varren near a pyjak steak before I'd trust you." She reached out and gave the orange emblem on Miranda's chest a pointed tap, paired with an even more pointed look. Miranda's face took on a pinched expression, and Shepard knew she'd gotten her point across.
To Monty she said, "I've got the coordinates. You got a shuttle?"
Monty nodded. "Ready and waiting."
Only because he was waiting for it was Garrus able to tell when something bumped against the ship's hull. Could have been asteroid debris. Or it could be a shuttle docking.
A few moments later, the unmistakable sound of weapons fire and biotics filled the air, muffled by the bulkheads between him and whatever was going on. He would have settled in to wait, but the whole being tied to a chair thing meant he was already pretty settled. Blood loss and exhaustion had set in, but listening to his people fight to get to him had him as wide awake as a jolt to the heart.
He strained his ears for any hint of what was happening. He heard the unmistakeable whoop and hollar of Butler, and Monty's mocking laughter. The biotic blasts seemed to only be coming from one combatant, so that was the Spectre. There was more weapons fire, the rat-a-tat of a heavy assault rifle among the denser explosion of a shotgun, the higher pitched rapport of a pair of sub machine guns.
There was somehow organic sounding explosion- a biotic detonation, he'd guess. Those were exhausting, if his time with his own asari teammate and Alenko was anything to go by. The Spectre was getting desperate.
There were a handful more of the detonations, each followed by a frantic rush of gunfire and shouts.
Then, silence. He heard Monty give a wild cry of triumph, and something inside Garrus slumped with relief. He would have slumped physically, too, except- Well. Chair. Ropes. Etc. Garrus found himself chortling quietly. Shrapnel or no, the Spectre had gotten to tie up a turian afterall.
Faintly, he realized his elation was mingling with the effects of loosing too much blood, and he was becoming mildly delirious.
He heard hatches out in the corridor being cycled open, one after another. He managed to muster up enough energy to give a hoarse shout to guide them, and a moment later the pounding of heavy hardsuit boots heralded the door to his cabin cycling open. Filling the now open hatchway, four figures stood decked out head to toe in the heaviest armor and armaments he knew they could get their hands on. They'd come ready for a fight, and the scorch marks and blood smears said they'd gotten one. Monty in her blue suit, Butler in his black, Ripper in her red, and a fourth humanoid figure figure with her helmet visor shut. He must have been wrong about only hearing one biotic, since the only person this could be was Melenis.
Unless...Red? Had they found her? Possible, but unlikely that they'd let her come along on something this...well, he didn't want to be egotistical, but this important. Was it ego to consider his own life important?
They rushed in, clearing the room -his people weren't stupid- before coming to surround his chair and set themselves on the ropes.
"Good to see you in one piece, buddy," Butler said.
"Good to still be in one piece," Garrus replied. "Any idea who the asari was?"
"No idea," Monty said. "But can you believe that crazy biotic bitch thought we were hiding Shepard? Your old Commander?" Monty was hooting.
Garrus felt his innards seize, and he started coughing. His mandible flared with pain, and he tasted blood. "Easy there," Monty said. "We got a shuttle waiting."
"And here I thought you'd floated all the way from Omega," he replied, hissing as one binding on his foot came undone and sensation returned in a tingling rush. It was the fourth humanoid who was kneeling in front of him, freeing his legs. The Spectre had really tied him up good, wrapping several lengths of cord around his lower legs from ankle to knee.
At his attempt at a joke, the woman untying his legs barked a laugh.
He knew that laugh.
It wasn't Melenis.
"Red?" He asked, and despite his hours of telling himself hoping did not equal reality, he'd had to stop himself from using another name.
The figure hesitated, then looked up and raised the visor on her helmet.
He sucked in a breath.
No, the similarities had not been his wishful imagination under duress, after all.
It was Shepard's face. The helmet hid the bald pate, and over the past few days the furry lines above her eyes had begun to grow in. They were red. She gave him a wry half grin, and Spirits be damned, that was on point, too.
Not possible, he reminded himself.
Looking down into that green-eyed face, he said, "First thing that comes to mind when I say 'Mako.'"
Red's eyes took on a weary look as she smiled and said, "You bitching about having to redo the suspension for the sixth time in a week."
Garrus's breath halted in his lungs. Butler, Ripper, and Monty went absolutely silent.
"Wrex and Ashley."
"Longest lasting staring contest the Normandy ever saw." She didn't hesitate.
"My dad."
"Wouldn't like me, not because I'm human, but because I'm a Spectre corrupting his little boy."
He gave a short, painful bark of laughter. Her answer was so true it hurt, literally.
"Upper Ward Med Clinic."
"I still say you were an idiot for taking that shot. Also, the whole ship knew about the turian chocolates Dr. Michel sent you. Tali composed a lovely little teasing rhyme. It was pretty good, actually." Now she was smirking up at him. At some point she had finished untying his other leg. Butler and Monty had finished untying the rest of him. He lifted his good arm, and let his hand fall heavily on Shepard's shoulder.
"Well," he said. "You certainly took your time getting here."
Shepard snorted. "Sorry. No one gave me a roadmap for coming back from the dead."
"Yeah, about that-"
"Soon as Nalah checks you out, you'll know all I know. Promise."
He nodded. There was a numbness keeping...everything at bay. What that everything encompassed, he'd look at later. Right now, his head was swimming, his heart was pounding, and…
And Shepard was alive.
With his vision beginning to blur, he heard Monty exclaim, "Wait, you're- Shepard- You really are- What the fuck?"
Yeah, that about summed things up.
Garrus passed out.
See my Ao3 for notes. :-)