Chapter 3 - Wish You Well and Let You Go
Garrus had lost track of what drink he was on a long time ago. He didn't get drunk often, mostly because he didn't handle it well. Red and blue swam in front of his vision pleasantly, but he found he couldn't focus on any particular shape.
His back was pressed against the wall now, or maybe it was the door, and he slid down until he hit the floor. By some miracle the bottle of wine was still intact, but he'd lost his glass somewhere along the way. Shrugging, he took a swig straight from the bottle, even though it took a bit of effort to line up the lip of glass with his mouth.
"Shep," he mumbled, almost incoherently. The alcohol had definitely helped with numbing the pain, but it had done nothing to help him forget. "Missed you." He tried to sit up a little better, but only managed to send the room spinning again in his vision. He frowned as he shook the bottle; he was almost out. "Leas' it's not going to waste, like the rest of this goddamn galaxy." He took another sip, and quite enjoyed the tingling burn of alcohol down his throat.
He grumbled as he moved his legs, the spurs digging into the ground painfully, but he could barely feel it. "S'it 'cause I'm not like you?" he asked the empty air around him, feeling a wave of nausea creeping up on him. He drowned it with another drink. "Maaaybe..." he trailed off, his train of thought derailing. His mandibles fell slack around his face, and he felt just about ready to fall asleep right then. "She's beautiful..."
His eyes closed, just as a familiar hissing sound reached his ears, followed by an even more familiar voice. "Garrus?"
His eyes shot open and he looked at the doorway. The door was shut, but in front of it was a very blurry-looking Shepard. He groaned inwardly, wondering if the wine had been spiked. Now he was hallucinating about her.
"Not right now," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, only to clang his metal cuff against his face painfully.
"Are you alright?" He fixed her with a glare, as well as he could manage, anyway. She looked at him as if it was genuinely concerned, as if he really mattered. He laughed out loud at the thought.
"M'fine." He moved to take another drink, but the bottle was picked cleanly out of his hands. He looked up at her and wondered if that could actually happen. He was tripping hard enough to see her though, so why stop there?
He could see her more clearly now, outfitted in something blue that he couldn't quite make out. "You're drunk," she announced with an accusatory stare. He shook his head to clear the bleariness, just as she crouched in front of him. She was watching him carefully, and he blinked slowly under the inspection.
"And you're not real. So what?" This time she blinked, and her face shifted into an expression he just couldn't interpret in this state. There was too much alcohol running through his veins for anything but basic instincts. Like drinking or sleeping, both of which he'd like to do right now, instead of talking to a figment of his imagination.
"'Nough with the talking, things are bad," he mumbled, moving his head away from her, only to hit the wall with his fringe.
"What's wrong?" He focused on her face a little better and stared at her incredulously, then snorted.
"Doesn't matter. G'away." She moved to touch him, then pulled back, for which he was grateful for. He didn't know what it meant if she could make him feel physical contact. At the very least, he'd consider himself clinically insane.
"Please?" He sighed at her, melancholy filling the void that she'd left, not for the first time that night. He didn't want to talk to himself, but who else would listen to his ramblings? And anyway, he was alone in here, so at least no one would hear him.
"She's not here anymore, not when I need her." He paused, forcing back the depressing subvocals that threatened to come through his voice, though he doubted he was doing a very good job of it. "Mom's dead, Sol and Dad are missing." He rested his head against the wall before continuing, "And Shepard..." he swallowed heavily. Just saying her name broke his flimsy attempt at keeping his voice clear, and his voice trembled painfully. "she's done with Garrus Vakarian. Just a failed C-Sec officer, failed vigilante. Who can't do right." He stared at her, blinking slowly, waiting for a reply at his outburst.
"Garrus..." She put her hand on his, and he flinched away, but she held him in place. She felt warm, calloused, and real. He flinched; this was too much for his mind to handle at the moment. "I didn't know, I'm sorry."
"I..." He was keening, goddamnit. Like a runt in training crying about his first crush. Any proper turian would rather be shot than be heard making sounds like these. He felt pathetic; no wonder Shepard had left him. "I gave my best," he mumbled lamely, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. "Guess it wasn't enough." She was quiet, so he filled the silence with more rambling. "She's Commander Shepard after all, she's got... better. She deserves better."
He closed his eyes with finality, determined to fall asleep and wake up with a vicious hangover and no recollection of this conversation with himself. He was jerked back into consciousness, however, when she pressed her palm against his unscarred mandible, his skin picking up every detail on hers. He tried desperately not to lean into her touch, she wasn't real after all, but he couldn't stop himself. But there was nothing stopping him from indulging in his screwed-up daydream now.
"Thought maybe if I made it off Menae, I'd go find her. Make sure she was safe. Spirits, I don't know what I'd do if she died again... First time was hard enough." He opened his eyes and fixed her with a glare. "But I lost her again. Screwed it all up." He let his gaze fall and sighed heavily, letting the strength in his body go with the air from his lungs. "'Least this time I'll be there. Watch her six. Won't fail her again." Sleep threatened to overwhelm him again, so he relaxed at let it. He'd had enough of this conversation with a figment of his imagination.
He was about to completely pass out again when he felt a warm sensation against his mouth; pleasant, but he couldn't place it. His eyes opened once more to see what was going on, and was utterly surprised to see her mouth pressed against his. The details of her face were vivid in his vision, from the slope of her nose to the individual strands of hair that fell around her face. He stared at her, and wondered frantically if hallucinations were supposed to even do this. A nagging part of him told him no, this was definitely not normal. She looked so real this close up, and he briefly entertained the idea that it was actually Shepard. He quickly shot that idea down though, because it was utterly ridiculous. He didn't know much about humans, but he was certain that their breakups didn't involve kissing.
Eventually, she pulled away, studying his face closely through warm eyes that held a glint of... sadness? He couldn't tell. "Let's get you to bed," she said quietly, getting up and lifting him to his feet. He complied, not entirely sure of what was going on, but he was beyond caring at this point. He was unsteady on his feet, so she held him up with an arm around his waist, walking forward through the main battery and down the gangway. He idly thought that if she was holding him up, she was real, coupled with the horror of spouting his feelings to the actual Shepard, but the alcohol in him did quick work of forgetting that thought. He let her steer him and did his best to not put too much of his weight on her, but he figured he was doing a pretty bad job of that too.
The lights of the crew hall were painful behind his pupils, so he let his eyes close, drifting off. "Stay with me, Garrus," she grunted, and with a tired breath he opened his eyes again and looked forward, trying to put one foot in front of the other without falling over. He heard a voice from what sounded like very far away; it was feminine and familiar, but for some reason he was having trouble placing it.
"Shepard, what are you doing?" it asked, and he tried to swing his head toward the source, but didn't manage to move more than an inch.
"Taking him to bed."
"His room is down here. Or... You're taking him to your cabin? You can't be serious, Shepard, I thought —"
"He's drunk," Shepard gritted between her teeth from beside him, "I'm not leaving him on the battery floor, Liara." Ah, there was the name. The other woman huffed loudly.
"With the way you left earlier, and now this. Do what you want, Shepard." There was the sound of boots clicking against the floor, then nothing else. Shepard was silent.
They kept moving forward, the lights swinging in a pleasant dance above him, before he was stopped by a pull against his chest. He sagged against her unconsciously, pleasantly aware of the warmth radiating from her. Before he could get used to it though she was moving him again, and he complied wearily. The lights weren't as bright in this new place, except for what looked like a wall of blue on his left. The place was familiar but, like the voice, he had trouble figuring out the specifics. He stumbled on the stairs that he didn't see, nearly falling over, but she caught him and yanked him back by the arm.
Everything went dark for a moment, and Garrus became aware of the soft, cushiony substance his face was pressed into. He felt a push against his side, so he complied and rolled over. His cowl panged a bit, but he ignored it in favour of enjoying the comfortable thing he was lying on. He couldn't stop sleep from grabbing hold this time, and let it take him under. Within moments, he was out like a light.
Marianas Trench owns the title.