General AN: This is just a little PSA/note to anyone who follows my writing in general on ff dot net. My frustrations with some aspects of the site are causing me to switch permanently to ao3 as a means of publishing fics. I won't be publishing any new works on this site, so if you're interested in continuing to read my stuff, you'll have to switch over to my tumblr (jhoomwrites) or ao3 (jhoom) accounts. HOWEVER, because I have a number of unfinished WIPs and series on this site, I will continue to update those until they're complete. That means that the following stories/series WILL continue to be updated on ff dot net: The Mark; Academy Blues; love to hate; What's in a Name?; any fics related to Welcome to SKU. Anything new that I post that is NOT related to those stories will NOT be published here.
AN: it's... it's done? like, i don't even know what to say... *fans self* wow... okay, so thank you to everyone who's stuck with me through this story, who's commented or left kudos or just read along. seriously, your support means a lot guys 3
thank you to mordinette for beta-reading for me and helping me out immensely as i've worked on this project ^-^
There's a part of him that never considered the fact that they might fail. Yeah, there were times he thought they were done for. But that was back in the days of Saren and the Collectors. Former commanders coming back from the dead and surviving a suicide mission tend to alter your perception of what's possible. So if he's being honest with himself, it hadn't occurred to him that they wouldn't make it out of this alive.
Maybe he believes too much in Shepard. Maybe he's just foolish.
It's not until he watches her walk away from him, right back into the thick of destruction as they push on to the Crucible, that doubt finally settles in.
He might not see her again. They might fail.
After everything, it kills him to see her leave. Because for the first time, he truly doesn't know if she'll come back.
Liara has to physically drag him onto the ship and manhandle him to the medbay. Not because he resists, but simply because he's forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other. He's numb to the world around him as Chakwas checks his arm (completely limp at his side) or the gash bleeding into his eye. Instead he centers his focus on his right hand, feeling for every minute change. Anything that would—
There's a flare of pain, sharp and red-hot. Less than Alchera, if he had to guess, but worse than he's felt in some time. He tries to bolt off the bed, but he feels arms keeping him in place. They called James in at some point and if Garrus were more cognizant, more there, he'd be embarrassed by how little effort it takes to restrain him. In his panic, he may even snarl and claw at the younger man, but it does nothing to prevent him from being pushed down on the exam bed.
"I know, Scars. Believe me, I know. But nothing we can do for Lola but sit tight and wait it out."
He follows that pain, waits for it to fall into the background but it doesn't. He knows Shepard has a high threshold for pain, but it's not a matter if she can take it. He's much more concerned that it isn't going down. It remains steady and ever present, beyond what he's capable of ignoring.
And then it's about a hundred times worse. The physical injuries denoted by the earlier agony blends into the background as the threat of indoctrination nearly knocks him out. He clutches his right hand in his left, talons digging into the plates around his mark in a blind attempt to shift his focus to any lesser pain. At some point he wishes he could cut the damn limb off because that would surely hurt less.
Unaware of his own screaming, his flailing and desperate subvocals, Garrus is ignorant of the hands that grip him tight and strap him down. Somewhere in the distance, he's sure he hears people shouting over him. Then there's the telltale prick of a syringe, injecting liquid cold into his veins. He's out soon after that.
Consciousness comes back to him in waves.
The first wave brings sound. Whispers that gradually get louder, words slowly taking shape. They've crashed and the comm system's down. The relays might be down too, but that's a moot point if they can't get in the air.
The second wave is sight. Bright lights and blurred images that slowly form into a coherent picture of the medbay. Soon he's able to give the shapes moving around him names. Doctor Chakwas. Liara. Tali. Vega.
Scent and taste come back to him and get pushed aside. His nose plates are bruised and there's nothing to smell but gauze and medi-gel. Not much to taste, either, his tongue all cottony and dry.
Finally the doctor lessens his meds enough that he can feel. He takes inventory of the aches and injuries, all ones he's well aware of, and promptly dismisses them. Because the only thing that matters is that square inch of skin on his right hand.
When he's given the okay for visitors - now that he's sitting up and somewhat able to talk around his swollen tongue - Liara's the first one. She takes a seat beside him, reaches out for his hand but hesitates, eyes pleading.
"Did she make it?"
He pulls back the blankets to show his mark, still bright red, blue, and purple. The edges were faded when he first looked, but the color's coming back to chase away the gray. "Yes," he croaks. Swallows to clear his throat and tries again. "She's alive."
Liara breathes out and allows herself a small, pleased smile, before she tenses up. She takes his hand gingerly, rubbing soothing lines along his talons as she whispers, "Is she...?"
"No," he interrupts. "She's not indoctrinated."
"Oh, thank the Goddess." She looks like she could cry, which he understands. He's had the better part of the morning (afternoon? evening? no one tells him the time anymore) to adjust to the news.
Shepard's alive. He's going to get off this backwater planet and get back to her. And then once things settle down, once they've had the chance to recover and the galaxy has time to right itself again, they're going to get married.
They did it.
Garrus snuggles closer to Shepard, mindful not to squeeze too hard along her ribs. The doctors have officially declared them healed, but Shepard says they're full of shit since they're still tender and she doesn't feel anywhere near as strong as she's used to. In moments like these, it's difficult for him to restrain himself, in the darkness that blankets them. She was missing for so long, and he longs to breath her in and remind himself that she'shere and alive despite everything.
She sighs deeply and snuggles closer into his heat, pulling his arm over her chest and squeezing firmly. And he thinks maybe she needs remind herself the same.
Sleep eludes him, but that's not unusual. Since the Reapers fell, sleep has been hard to come by. Strange how he found more fitful rest when the galaxy was about to end, but now it's the unfamiliarity of peace that keeps him up late into the night. He almost doesn't know what to do with himself. He can fight, he can strategize, he can kill. Give him a hammer and he's lost.
But Shepard, in the midst of recovering from the state they'd found her in after the Crucible, passes out almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. He doesn't blame her - her presence has been felt everywhere, and she's in turn felt the need to be everywhere. To show that she survived and she stands with them as they all work to rebuild the world.
Today seems to be an exception to the rule. A few minutes (or hours, he has no point of reference in the quiet of their room) pass before she sleepily mutters, "I'm glad I came back."
He stiffens briefly before he can force himself to relax. He buries his face in her hair, citrusy sweet from her shampoo, and whispers, "Me too."
"Tickles," she grunts and cranes her neck away from his mandibles. "Worried I wouldn't see you again," she says around a yawn. "Worried I'd save everyone but I'd lose any chance of saving myself in the process."
You and me both. But there's no point in voicing the worry that had plagued him for weeks, both before and after the Reapers fell. Up until the moment the Normandy's comm systems were repaired and the first message they received from the fleet was The Reapers are defeated. The Crucible worked. Jane Shepard is in critical but stable condition.
Instead he says, "Maybe the galaxy realized it owed you one."
"Damn galaxy. Better learn to take care of itself from here on it." And although she might appear awake, Garrus isn't entirely convinced she isn't sleep talking.
"Agreed. And if it can't, it doesn't matter. Cuz you and me? We're retired as of now."
"Retired, huh? I like the sound of that." She shifts and with monumental effort loosens the blankets. She shimmies around until they're facing each other, nestling in close by his cowl. "Tell me more," she breathes against his plates.
And he does.