Chapter Four: Pickpocket Your Heart
Heart beat in her throat. Acid in her eyes. The loud screech of death as it loomed over her.
Hernandez was screaming, My legs! My legs!
Youngblood sobbed beside her, rifle clutched to his chest like it was his last hope at life.
It was.
They lost two squads in the first half hour. Half of her own platoon was on the brink as well, one part soaked in acid while the others did their best to fight off the Maw.
The screams. Oh, the screams. She didn't know which was worse – her mates or the beast that was killing them one by one.
Shepard. Shepard!
She couldn't move, but everything else was in a constant state of motion. The whole world shook every time the Maw rose from the thick sand or fell back to stalk its prey again. Soldiers were running, throwing overheated rifles out of the way and grabbed a new one that was fully charged.
Shepard!
She looked up. Toombs was telling her to move. A convoy was on its way. Move. Move move move move. Move!
With a few shaking steps, it was when that she noticed the darkness of her vision even though it was the middle of the day. Why was everything so dark? Why couldn't she hear their screams anymore?
She brought her hand up to her face. The fingertips stung and she brought them into her eyesight. The dark green acid was mixed in with her blood. It had burned straight through her nerves. Her eyesight got darker. Darker.
Black.
Nothingness.
Move, Shepard, move! Move, Shepard, move! Move, Shepard, move! Move, Shepard, move! Move, Shep-
She lifted her rifle to her chest with one arm and reached out for Toombs' hand. He took it, and the half dozen of the troop left took off running. She couldn't hear the shuttle, but she could feel the vibrations in the air as the hover-pods thrummed. They were close. The Maw was closer.
Don't stop running, Shepard!
She didn't. She felt Toombs let go, but she did as he said. Everything was dark. There was no sound but the pressure of the blood pumping through her brain. She felt for the shuttle, smelled the fuel over the crispness of the acid on her face and the blood on her cheeks. Don't stop, Shepard. Don't stop.
Two hands came out and grabbed for her, pulling her weight into the shuttle. She couldn't hear the yelling, but she could feel their words against her hands, and their orders on the tips of her dead fingers. She shook like a leaf in a hurricane, skin chilled from shock. There was a blanket put on top of her, but the cold floor of the shuttle made her shiver more.
So cold. So dark. Cold, dark. Cold. Dark. Cold dark cold dark cold dark cold dark cold-
So young.
Garrus awoke to his alarm. The insistent beeping pulled him from his sleep cycle and reminded him that his shift was to begin in the next hour or so.
A shower, first. He needed one to wake his body and loosen his plates and joints. Most mornings it only took him a few stretches and some scratching at certain stiff plates, but the dextro-alcohol from the night before had caused his skin to dehydrate.
Last night.
He reminded himself to pull on a pair of sleeping slacks, too familiar with having the apartment to himself and no drunken humans passed out on his couch. His feet padded against the floor, talons tapping softly with each step.
She was awake. At least, he thought she was awake.
"Shepard?"
She didn't move, and he paused just outside the main room of his home. She was upright, not laying on the couch, but instead had her head in her hands, fingers gripping tight at her messy hair. Her knee bounced, heel hitting the ground everything other bounce and making a small tap with the sole of her boot.
"Shepard," he called again, but she didn't move. Her fingers tightened in her hair, almost to the point that she would rip the fisted chunk out, but he walked over to stop her. He was sure to make noise, so not to surprise her, but the moment he rested his hand on her shoulder, she jumped back as if being shocked.
She froze, staring up at him with a pair of eyes that made the whole universe seem so small. It made him feel so small.
They were dark, but in the light he could see the softest of white. It wasn't a reflection of light, either.
The eyes were not natural, at least on their inner workings.
He had read that after the attack on Akuze, not only was she the sole survivor but she was also gravely injured. Slathered in scars and she had lost most of her hearing and sight. How she recovered them, the articles did not say, but it gave a brief overview of how she rose through the ranks once her surgeries had been successful.
She was a sniper. Over twenty confirmed kills.
How had she not heard him?
"Shit, Garrus, you scared me half to death."
He frowned at the idiom, something he had caught on from the other humans in C-Sec but human phrases were still foreign to him.
"You okay?" he asked her, and her arms relaxed but her eyes still held tight. The scar across her cheeks ever prominent. "How long have you been awake?"
Those eyes flashed toward the digi-clock in the kitchen. Bright numbers screamed at her. She cursed under her breath and stood. While not as wobbly as the night before, she stumbled to gather her balance and he effortlessly helped her.
"Shepard…"
His subvocals hummed in warning. Spirits help him, he would tie her down if she went and drank anymore.
"Fuck, Garrus, I'm late. Roll call is in fifteen minutes, I'm not going to make it."
The Turian blinked in surprise, still not use to the uncensored translation. At least there was no static this time.
"I thought you were on shore leave?"
He got no reply as she stuffed the end tails of her shirt into her pants, double checking her boots.
"At least drink some water," he tried to reason, but she still didn't hear him. Finally, out of frustration, he grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Shepard!"
She finally paused, but only for a moment. Holding up a single finger, she flicked on her omni-tool and hit a few buttons before the tip of her finger went into her hear. She winced, and he heard the smallest sound of feedback.
"Sorry. Must have turned off my aids. I have to go, Garrus," she gathered her long hair and pulled a small circular tie from around her wrist to use and twist her hair into a bun. It piled on top of her hair, and he was almost impressed at the quickness she did it with. "Thanks for bringing me to your place."
With the same quickness, she's suddenly beside him and pressed her lips to his plated cheek. He didn't feel it, not really, but the pressure almost burned him to the bone. In a good way.
"I owe you."
And then she's gone.
Garrus threw up his hands in frustration, fingers digging into the back of his neck to massage away the beginnings of a stress headache. That human would be the death of him.
"This is what you get for helping humans, Vakarian," he grumbles to himself, stripping of his sleep pants and stepping into the shower. The hot water felt nice between his plates, easing off the tension that had grown. "Why can't you be like all the other Turians, huh? Why do you have to be like this and like squishy aliens?"
He dunked his head under the spray, the water running down his cowl and back plates.
Hopefully it wouldn't be a year before he saw her again.
And hopefully Aemilia wasn't too mad at him.
When he arrived at his office later that morning, he found a note on the keypad of his vid screen.
I'll be off-base for a few months. Sorry for everything.
That was the one thing that he could make out. The rest was scratched out or not completed.
Garrus growled deep and low in his belly, taking the note and crumbling it between his fingers.
"Rough night?" Velio asked as he passed by, mandibles flicked out in amusement. Garrus threw the crumbled paper at his friend, who ducked it with a chuckle and went to his own desk. When no one was looking, Garrus walked over and scooped the note back up.
He sat at his desk with a huff, smoothing out the wrinkles the best he could. When his supervisor came over with his next case, Garrus quickly hid the note in the drawer of his desk.
He deserved more than a hastily written note and a half-assed apology.
Even though there was nothing for her to be sorry for.