Nothing was ever easy. Just once, Shepard wanted to get a dossier that simply required finding that person at the bar, and asking if they would join up. At least the fight up through the half constructed levels of the Dantius towers had focused Shepard's thoughts on something other than Garrus.
Shepard found herself still conflicted on how to approach her turian friend. Although the shared memories now had the distance blurred reality of particularly vivid dreams, they had tainted her perceptions enough to make being around Garrus somewhat uncomfortable. When she had brought it up with Liara, the asari had surprised Shepard by rather crossly telling her to get over it.
"You need to stop treating him like some kind of...broken invalid, Shepard," Liara had looked up, concern and frustration written on her face. "He's still Garrus, and the fact that you either avoid him or treat him like he's made of glass, is hurting him." Pulling up a stream of data on asari justicars for Shepard to download, Liara had added: "I can understand how difficult you find it to deal with his memories Shepard, but they happened to Garrus, not to you, and you need to let it go so he can try to move past this."
The conversation had continued from there, tongues liberated with an almost continuous flow of good thessian wine, and Shepard had left feeling somewhat chastised; wondering what had happened to the meek, timid doctor she remembered from the original Normandy. But she had taken the advise to heart as best she could, and that had led her here, to a small, privately owned armor store that Liara had said was the best kept secret in Nos Astra.
When she had first stepped into the dimly lit shop, several days previously, Shepard had been unimpressed by the clutter and grime; but the young salarian proprietor had obviously learned his craft well, and she had placed her order; agreeing to return in three days for pick-up. As soon as she stepped through the entrance the salarian pattered out to the counter, wide mouth fixed in that enthusiastic, slightly creepy grin his race seemed to have patented.
"Commander Shepard! Your order is right here, I was just finishing up the biofeedback monitoring system we had discussed." The technician detached a few wires, clicking the object down on the counter, as he rambled on about biotic field measurement, in-built translation software and backtracing. Shepard was oblivious as she turned the modified visor frame over in her hands.
One of the first things Shepard had noticed about Garrus when they had first met was his complete attachment to his blue-tinted snipers visor. After a great deal of coaxing, he had eventually turned it over for Shepard to examine; hovering over her like an anxious new turian mother watching someone else hold their hatchling for the first time. After watching Shepard flick curiously through the HUD menu, Garrus had admitted that he had designed the visor himself, and the construction had cost him the better part of six months wages. Shepard could remember him wearing it when they fought their way through the Citadel, Sovereign dominating the skyline above them. Then later as he waved farewell from the partially repaired Citadel docks, the blue lit display brightening the navy lines of colonial markings on his cheek. Equally bright in her mind was the sharp, painful memory of the kick that first warped the frame, then descended again to shatter both the HUD screen, and the plating beneath it.
Running her hands over the struts that joined the visor screen to the dermal clamp, Shepard could feel the results of the final specifics of the commission against the skin of her questing fingertips. Of all the specifics she had ordered, Shepard had questioned her decision on this the most; Liara had provided the needed information, and left the decision to include it up to Shepard. As her fingers traced the names of Garrus' Omega crew, laser etched into the metal of the visor frame, Shepard couldn't help but think it was appropriate.
Garrus' room was empty and silent, and Shepard's stomach automatically dropped, all manner of reasons why, each more horrific than the last, spun through her mind.
"He's in the training hall, over on the east wing." Ignoring Shepard's somewhat undignified yelp of surprise, Lanestia smiled blandly, looking pointedly at the folded visor clasped in Shepard's hand. "What have you brought?"
Heart still racing from the Matriarch's sudden appearance, Shepard handed the visor over with some trepidation, expecting some kind of reprimand for bringing military hardware into a medical clinic. Turning the visor over in her hands, Lanestia's face creased into a warm smile, and she glanced up at Shepard, her eyes bright with approval, "an excellent choice Commander, Garrus will be glad of it...and well pleased to see you again, I imagine."
The subtle reprimand reminded Shepard that it had been nearly a week since she had been here, and she shuffled awkwardly, guilt worming its way across her face. "How is he then?"
Lanastia jerked her head for Shepard to follow her, "as well as can be expected, and better than I had hoped. When he isn't being stubborn and/or neurotic, he responds to treatment well... but you have to understand there is no magic 'cure' to this Commander, this will effect him for life. I'm just giving him the tools to cope with it."
Shepard nodded soberly, disappointed, but unsurprised by the doctor's blunt appraisal.
"I do have to ask you one thing Shepard," the ancient asari pinned Shepard with a gimlet stare. " I need to know what you intend for Garrus once he leaves this facility, because he is under the impression he will be returning to your crew."
"Garrus will always have a place on the Normandy if he wishes." Shepard watched as Lanastia relaxed slightly.
"I'm glad," the matriarch gave Shepard a clap on the back that was unexpectedly firm, "I was worried that you would not choose to have him serving on your ship again, and honestly I was concerned about the results of that decision." At Shepard's questioning glance, she continued: "turians with nothing to do will almost always go looking for trouble, trust me I know, I've been bonded to two of them." Lanastia wiggled two fingers at Shepard, a mischievous smile on her lips, giving a hint of the charming beauty she must have been as a maiden. "I certainly have no wish to influence your decisions, I am sure your work is both important and urgent; but I get the impression that without some cause to ground him, Garrus will go looking for the people responsible for the deaths of his friends, and on his own that would end in disaster."
Shepard supposed this was when she should be a good commander, make the decision that every Alliance general she had ever known would have made; there was no place on a warship for a soldier with questionable stability, but then Shepard had never been one for rules. "Consider me un-influenced, you have no idea how much I need Garrus at my back for this mission, there is no question that I want him back on the Normandy." As the words left her mouth, Shepard realized she had never been as sure of anything in her life, and the strength of that conviction surprised her.
Lanastia rewarded her with a bright smile, and was opening her mouth to speak when her omni-tool chirped at her, and she pulled up the holographic display with a sigh. "Never a dull moment," she muttered. " I apologize commander, but I really must go. If you follow this hallway," the matriarch pointed ahead, down the long corridor, "turn left at the end, the training rooms are pretty hard to miss from there."
The training rooms were massive, arranged in a rough hexagon around a central, open roofed courtyard. A glance through the first door revealed an expansive pool, where two asari seemed to be receiving some manner of instruction from a hanar; even from the door Shepard could see what looked like extensive burn scarring marring the otherwise smooth skin of one of the asari's backs. The second room seemed to be a mix of weight equipment and open floor space. A dark-plated turian with a brace from ankle to hip on one leg, looked up curiously when Shepard poked her head in to look around. Her curious gaze skimmed over him, fixing on the turian working side by side with a grizzled, older human on the other side of the room.
The first thing Shepard noticed was that Garrus had actually managed to put on a bit of weight in the last week, not a lot, but enough to make him look a little less skeletal. The human man he was working with wouldn't have looked out of place on an Alliance recruitment poster, all neatly cropped silver hair, trimmed beard, and muscles turned stringy rather than bulky. The movements him and Garrus were working through looked slightly like a dance, but Shepard instantly recognized the slow, controlled movements as a kata; a set of blows, counter-blows and dodges, strung together into a fluid, choreographed pattern. Leaning her hip against the door-frame, Shepard watched as the instructor stopped Garrus mid-move to adjust the angle of one arm.
"You have to get your shoulder up," the human's bass grumble resonated, as he carefully manipulated Garrus' right arm upwards, putting pressure on the still livid surgical scars, "And yes, I know it hurts, but unless you get the tendons and muscles in that joint conditioned, the first time you use anything heavier than a SMG the kickback is going to shatter that joint like an egg."
It was a testament to how far Garrus had progressed that he didn't immediately lunge away from the other man's touch, as Shepard had expected him to. She could clearly see the tension in him, and the sudden shiver of skin and plates as he flinched, it was clear the human saw it as well, but made no comment, simply maintained a light grip on the turian's arm until he relaxed, then continued as if nothing had happened. Shepard watched quietly as the man arranged Garrus' arm to his liking, getting him to hold the position until the muscles in his shoulder were trembling with the strain, only letting him relax the limb when it was clear he simply wasn't going to be able to hold it up much longer.
"Alright, that's enough for today, looks like you have company anyway," with a jerk of his grizzled chin, the man pointed Garrus in Shepard's direction. Shepard half expected the instructor to come over and introduce himself, but with a bawl of "Quinrus, you are here to work, not eavesdrop, put some effort into it!" he headed off towards the turian with the injured leg, who was now looking terribly embarrassed.
"Shepard!" Garrus padded over, the talons on his bare feet clicking against the floor, "I wasn't sure you were coming back."
The shy pleasure in his voice made Shepard feel a fresh wave of guilt, and she covered it by stepping forward and wrapping her alms around Garrus' slim midriff. Garrus gave a slightly surprised huff, and Shepard could feel his hands resting tentatively on her shoulders, as he tilted his head so his cheek was pressed against the top of her head.
"Oh, hey," Shepard moved back, reaching up to rest her hand against the angle of his jaw, trying to ignore the almost desperate way he automatically pressed into her touch. "I brought something for you!"
Garrus' eyes went wide as Shepard pressed the visor into his hand, mandibles flaring with shock as he unfolded the support struts and targeting screen, "Shepard, I don't know what to say, this must have cost a fortune..." Garrus was so enamored with the new tech he clipped his shoulder on the door-frame, and to Shepard's amusement, didn't even seem to notice, simply re correcting and padding into the hallway without looking up. After a few steps, however, he came to a dead stop, utterly frozen as he stared down at the names engraved along the visor frame.
Without looking at Shepard, Garrus sank down onto one of the wood benches lining the hallway, shaking fingers tracing over the names with an almost frantic repetition. "Their names," his voice was ragged, the harmonics of his dual-toned voice shaky, "how did you know?"
"Liara," Shepard offered the name as explanation, "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have..."
"No, " Garrus fumbled the dermal clamp into place on the back of his neck, the targeting screen settling over his left eye, "no, this , this is perfect...thank you." The last few words were heavy with a low vibration in the back of his throat, and to Shepard's horror Garrus hunched forward, his voice shattering into a kind of keening sob.
"Oh Garrus, I'm so sorry, I never thought..." Shepard winced as Garrus shook his head vehemently, his response such a slurred, multi-tonal mess that Shepard's translator couldn't make any sense of it. Not sure what to do, Shepard wrapped an arm around his shoulders, hushing him softly as he turned to press his face into the crook of her neck. It was then that Shepard realized that this grief had none of the self-destructive, hysterical desperation she had seen from Garrus before; this was simple honest grief, a catharsis of sorts.
Shepard could remember this kind of grief from Virmire, when all the guilt and self-recrimination fell away, and there was only the hollow, numb sense of loss. It was Garrus she had gone too then, half drunk, and lost in her own sorrow. She had cried for what seemed like hours and woken up in the mako, sore eyed and exhausted, but somehow lighter.
As Garrus keened his grief into her shoulder, Shepard hoped that this might bring some similar comfort, some measure of freedom from the guilt that had plagued him. Smoothing a hand over the smooth cartilage of his fringe, Shepard held him tightly as he cried; grieving for those cut down on the lawless streets of Omega, and perhaps for his own lost youth and innocence as well.