Bioware's Sandbox.

Captain's Personal Log: The Archangel

I paced outside of the Medbay. My dark red armor coated in the navy-blue of his blood. His rattling gasps for air still echoed in my ears, haunting my footsteps. My bare hands were covered in his slick, viscous blood because I'd taken my gloves off so I could try to hold him together with a makeshift bandage, praying he'd lost nothing vital, nothing irreplaceable.

God, I needed a cigarette.

I walked back and forth, tracing an "L" shape. Main Battery, kitchen, Medbay door. Medbay door, kitchen, Main Battery.

When I'd finally found my friend, he'd been ass deep in alligators. I knew Garrus Vakarian had learned a lot in our hunt for Saren, but I didn't know he'd learned so much as to start his own vigilante group, much less lead them on some damned-fool idealistic crusade. I'd gone up into that building, expecting a strange turian I would have to get acquainted with, and possibly overcome the prejudices of, but hoping it was my friend. The relief I felt when that blue helmet had come off made my knees weak for a fraction of a second. It was Garrus.

He looked so tired, though. His shoulders slumped, a tremble to his three fingered hands. The expression on his face was as if he didn't believe I was standing there. As if he thought I was some dehydration or hunger induced hallucination. He was exhausted, but still sure of himself, unlike the Garrus I'd remembered. He had a world weary confidence now, something stronger than the arrogance he'd once projected to me and to Kaidan. It was the attitude of someone who'd seen too much, done too much and none of it had agreed with him.

The first two fingers of my left hand twitched with the need to hold a cigarette. A craving for the simple rush of nicotine flooded my system. I thought about biting my nails to alleviate the craving, but the blue blood under them made that prospect unappealing.

How had he gotten to that hell hole? When I'd left him, he'd been eager to put his time in and apply to the Spectres. When I'd died, he'd been happy, or at least as happy as Garrus can get. He'd always taken the little and the great injustices life handed everyone personally. As if he'd been put here to stop them. Having caused more than a few injustices in my time, I'd always wondered where his opinion of me would stand if he knew what I'd been before becoming Commander Fucking Shepard.

And now, he lay bleeding on an operating table because I just wasn't fast enough. I grabbed a pen on one of my passes. I hoped playing with it would keep my hands occupied, lessening my need for the cigarette I wasn't going to allow myself.

"Commander, you'll wear a hole in the deck," Jacob pointed out, perching on one of the mess tables.

"Ask me if I care, Mr. Taylor?" I replied, spinning at the apex of the Medbay leg and resuming my circuit.

"Commander," he stepped in front of me, his brown eyes kind. He halted me with his hands on my shoulders and anger flared through me at his touch. "Shepard, you should clean up. When he gets out, do you really want his blood all over you?"

My anger, glad to finally have an outlet, ignited to full flame and the tingling of a biotic field shivered up and down my body. However, I used my hands to push him away, hard, and he stumbled back. "Never. Touch. Me. Again."

He put his hands up and backed away, "All right, Commander. I was out of line, I apologize."

I resumed my pacing. I remembered the body bags. He must have put them in those things himself. His dead team mates.

My pacing ground to a halt as a memory invaded. Akuze. Heat. Darkness, blood, gunfire, screaming. Dead, all dead. No body bags for them.

Garrus was now a sole survivor, too.

I started my route again, counting my footsteps to keep my mind occupied. Jacob resumed his perch on the mess table, watching me. I wanted to punch him for the compassion in his eyes. I wasn't leaving here until I knew something. Anything. I started bargaining with God, silently. Please God, don't let him die, don't punish me like this. I'll do anything, I'll even stop wanting to go back to being dead, just let him come out of that room in one piece and breathing on his own.

Cocky bastard had seen me coming, knew who I was, only way in was a bridge and I hated wearing helmets. "A little target practice," he'd said, his voice sounding worn out. Keeping his skills sharp. He'd definitely made no friends on Omega. "It wasn't easy… I really had to work at it." I'd laughed at that, leave it to Garrus to make the understatement of the year.

I tilted my head to the side, studying him, "You nailed me good a couple times, by the way."

He'd looked at me from under his brow ridges and drawled, "Concussive rounds only, no harm done. Didn't want the mercs getting suspicious."

"Uh-huhn." I'd let my disbelief invade my voice.

His eyes bore directly into mine, "If I'd wanted to do more than take your shields down, I'd have done it." He glanced away, then flexed his mandibles in a grin, "Besides, you were taking your sweet time, I needed to get you moving."

Wait… was he? No, he couldn't be. But that was the most innuendo laden set of sentences I'd ever heard Garrus utter in our entire friendship. He must really be tired, maybe punch drunk.

And then, he let me look through his sniper rifle. And fire it. And I remembered all those jokes on the SR-1. The ground team and the ship's crew were always teasing him about his affection for his rifles. Hell, when I'd bought him the Spectre grade equipment, he looked like the kid in that Christmas movie who'd just gotten his first BB gun. And he let me hold this gun, this rifle that had gone through hell with him. No… this was Garrus. He was delirious with no sleep and the loss of his team. Probably still thought I was a hallucination.

A hallucination that he'd handed his favorite object in the universe to.

And then, the rocket hit him. I don't know what possessed him to leave cover like he had. Maybe he saw me. Maybe he thought he could hit the hallway and the stairs and better safety before the thing reloaded.

Medbay door, kitchen, Main Battery. Main Battery, kitchen, Medbay door.

I wound the pen uselessly through my fingers as I paced. I spun to complete another circuit and suddenly, Joker was in front of me. "Commander, I really think you need to get out of your armor, get cleaned up."

"Why? You got a video feed hooked up in my room?" I snarked, stepping around him to resume my course.

"Of course! I get 50 credits with every download of the famous Commander Shepard taking a shower," Joker retorted.

"Great, I'll never take a shower again. And the stench will be your fault." I stopped pacing to turn to him. "What do you want, Joker?"

He stepped toward me, awkwardly, his palms up and open, "You've just been through a hell of a fight, Commander. You're exhausted, you're streaming dark energy like a leaky drive core, you're shaking and you're dripping blue blood all over my deck plates."

I just glared at him and turned to start pacing again, tapping the pen against my thigh. He grabbed my arm. Unlike Jacob, though, I trusted Joker. "All right, Mom. I'll eat my vegetables and wash my hands. Will that make you happy?" I asked sullenly.

"Absolutely ecstatic; now all you have to do is smile pretty for the cameras in your shower stall," the pilot said, his smile used-ship-salesman wide.

I grinned through the fatigue suddenly swamping my body with its inexorable tide, "You're lucky you're adorable, or I'd kick your ass." I didn't want to laugh, I didn't want to be amused, but dammit, he was incorrigible.

He was all cheekiness and guile, "You and what army, Shepard?"

In my quarters, I shucked off my armor, setting it in the refresher unit to be cleaned, then hopped in the shower. Once I'd started, I was suddenly frantic to get his blood off me. I scrubbed until I was pink, the water turning blue with the blood sluicing off me. I wasn't even careful with my unhealed scars like I usually was and my red blood as I reopened a few scabs mingled with his, turning the water vaguely purple, before being sucked down the drain. I glanced down at the mingling blood and the tears and terror and worry I'd been holding back with my anger hit me. I fell to my knees in the shower, the blue still washing out of my hair where it had gotten matted in, my reopened scars still bleeding.

I don't know how long it took me to pull myself together. I do know it felt like I was reassembling myself from the core outward. This is Meghan Shepard, this part goes here, that one goes there. That part's strong, put it over there. That part's weak, hide it over here. With each piece of uniform I donned, with each swipe of the mascara wand, I rebuilt Commander Shepard, putting Meghan somewhere safe where she couldn't get hurt. It didn't cost four billion credits, this self-resurrection, but the will power was expensive.

Finally dressed in that damnable Cerberus-logoed tunic and black trousers, I left my cabin, running into Jacob Taylor on his way to get me. "Mr. Taylor?" I asked politely.

"I was hoping to catch you on the way to Medbay. I think you need to wait here for news, Commander." He crossed his arms, looking at me steadily. "I don't think it's good for the crew to see you so emotional."

I raised an eyebrow, "You don't think it's a good idea for the crew to know I care about a member of my old team?" I stepped closer, getting in his face. "Or do you not want them to see me get emotional over a turian?" I snarled.

"I think it's a bad idea for the crew to watch their commanding officer have a temper tantrum, period. What if he doesn't make it? You going to fall to pieces in front of them? That'll be good for morale," he pointed out.

He was right. Damn him. "Fine. But I'll wait in the briefing room and you have to get me a PB&J."

He smirked, "Hungry, Commander?"

I shoved past him to the elevator, he followed me in, "I'm a biotic, Mr. Taylor. What the hell do you think?" My stomach growled audibly, underscoring my words.

I left him in the elevator when it got to the CIC level and headed for the briefing room. I needed a cigarette again and I'd left the pen on my desk. I resumed my pacing. I was beginning to feel a little hitch in my hip as I walked, probably one of their implants not taking the abuse well.

The briefing room table was fourteen steps long and three steps wide. The glowing model of the Normandy floated serenely above the faux mahogany. It was seven steps long. I felt like it was mocking me, floating there, calmly. My anger started to rise and I felt the familiar frission of dark energy coursing along my nerves. I halted my pacing and stood there, breathing deeply, trying not to flare up all over the briefing room. I was going to get used to this damned L5n if it killed me.

Jacob came in at that point, and walked to other side of the table. He leaned heavily on it and looked up at me. My heart sank, but my stranglehold on my biotic control held, thankfully. NO! This wasn't happening! "We've done what we could for Garrus, but he took a bad hit. The docs corrected with surgical procedures and some cybernetics. Best we can tell, he'll have full functionality, but…" Wait… "full functionality?" He's not dead?

Jacob turned at the sound of the door opening. I moved more slowly, almost afraid of what I would see. Garrus' voice, "Shepard." I turned and leaned one hip on the table, not trusting myself to speak or move further. I'm pretty sure if I did, I'd throw myself at my friend in a very unprofessional manner and cry on his shoulder in relief.

"Tough son of a bitch. Didn't think he'd be up yet," Jacob said, unnecessarily. I didn't look at him, my eyes were locked with Garrus'.

Garrus turned and I saw the side of his face the rocket hit. His carapace was scarred and even torn off in places, the skin beneath raw and open. The bandage on the right side covered half of his head and continued down to encircle his long neck. My breath caught in my throat. It looked like it hurt like hell. Why wasn't he still doped up on painkillers down in Medbay?

Garrus walked into the room, the door closing behind him, "Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad is it?"

Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I went with humor, "Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and no one would notice."

I was rewarded with his rusty laugh, his hand going to his face but stopping short of touching it, "Don't make me laugh, damn it. My face is barely holding together as it is!" He grinned with only one side of his mouth, the other mandible immobile, "Some women find scars attractive. Mind you, most of those women are krogan…" I shook my head, laughing. All but unnoticed, Jacob saluted and left. His departure barely registered.

I had my friend back, in one piece. All right, God, I guess I'll stick around.

"Frankly, I'm more worried about you. Cerberus, Shepard? You remember those sick experiments they were doing?" He asked in a low voice, stepping closer and looking down at me.

I smiled up at him, "That's why I'm glad you're here, Garrus. If I'm walking into hell, I want someone I trust at my side."

That crooked grin again, "You realize this plan has me walking into hell, too." He chuckled, "Just like old times." He turned to leave, "I'm fit for duty whenever you need me, Shepard. I'll settle in and see what I can do at the forward batteries." He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm.

"Wait," I made a vague gesture around the room and pointed at my ear. He nodded, catching my meaning. His Omni-Tool flared to life and he tapped a sequence into it. Seconds later, I heard at least a half dozen bugs and cameras short out and die violently. "I just want to tell you…." I trailed off, uncertain how to continue. He waited, patiently, those silver-blue eyes just looking at me. "I'm glad you're here," I finished, lamely.

His one healthy mandible twitched in amusement, "You wanted me to short out the listening devices in here to tell me that?"

I took a deep breath, let Meghan out of her safe place, "I really don't trust any of them, Garrus. I was dead. I really was. They spent four billion credits putting me back together. I feel like a jigsaw puzzle, or worse, Frankenstein's monster."

He blinked at me, "I think my translator glitched. Jigsaw puzzle? Frankenstein's Monster?"

"Nevermind. I'm just glad you're here."

He nodded, "I'll be here if you need me." He turned and left the briefing room.

I leaned on the table, my head in my hands. Kaidan had better not try to catch a rocket in his teeth when I finally find him. I don't think I could handle two days like this. I stood up, scrubbing my face. It was time to find the salarian doctor. And a sandwich. My stomach was still empty.