14. [LIE]
The room was quiet and still. A light breeze tugged at her hair. Her exposed shoulders prickled with goosebumps.
Garrus dropped his gaze to his straining erection. Laughed, once, dryly. "So this is what it takes to get the whole truth out of you."
She stared at him. "...What?"
He shot her a flat look. "Shepard, I was a cop. I know how to tell when someone's holding out on me."
She turned her face away. Looked instead at the upholstery pattern on the ancient sofa behind them. The golden-orange shafts of light retreating into the murky distance. The blooms of dust still swirling lazily in the air.
Her gaze fell on their abandoned glasses. She leaned over and retrieved her drink. Pushed his over to him, cutting a trail through the dust.
"How long have you known," she said.
He finished fastening his trousers, and lifted his glass. "Realized as soon as the alcohol burned off, after we left Mierin's apartment. You said some things that didn't add up."
She snapped her head back up. "And you've just— what? Been biding your time ever since?"
He nodded.
"...Pallin was an idiot to let me take you out of C-Sec," she said.
He shifted and leaned back against the couch. Watched her with a pale stare. Waiting.
She looked up at the ceiling. Collected herself. Took a deep breath.
Her body still ached with slow-dying arousal.
"You know the YMIR on Aeia," she began.
He nodded slowly.
"We'd split up. You hung back to cover while Jacob and I swept up the sides." She closed her eyes. "We were too spread out. He got surprised by a group of hunters, then went down in the crossfire before I could help. Then the YMIR was right on top of us." She rapped her knuckles against her breastbone. "Took a rocket at point-blank. I bled out in the grass in front of you."
Garrus was staring at her. "That's... not how I remember it."
She smiled faintly. "That's because we did a lot better the second time around."
"What?" His good mandible fell slack. "Shepard, what the hell—" He shook his head. Pressed one hand to his face. "No. I'll wait. Keep going."
Shepard took a sip of her drink. Rolled the glass between her palms. "Horizon."
"The Praetorian," he said.
"Yeah." She looked down at her hands. "Got myself lasered the first time. That was just stupid."
He sat perfectly still. His eyes were fixed on her.
"The next time I got cocky. Went in too close. Ended up pulverized by that biotic knockback thing." She blew air out through her teeth, remembering. "That really hurt."
A thin, unpleasant noise came from somewhere inside his throat. "I think I'm starting to see the pattern."
She smiled again, a little strained. "Yeah."
"Illium," he said.
"Twice. A sniper in the Dantius towers. Then a gunship." She rubbed the back of her head. "...The dust may have been a contributing factor."
"The Collector vessel."
"Three times."
He tipped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.
She waited.
"Is that all," he said, finally.
"No." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "I think I'm at twelve or thirteen now. Not quite sure. The little ones sort of blur into each other."
He took a long, slow sip of his drink, and said nothing.
"Actually," she murmured, "Now that I think about it, there've been more. Back on Freedom's Progress, I was still fresh off the operating table. Stumbling around, kind of out of it. I told myself at the time it was just memory issues— deja vu. But now—"
Garrus's hand had frozen around his glass in mid-air. "Shepard."
"I die, Garrus," she said. "That's what I do. I die. Again and again. One minute it's all blood and bullets and screaming, and the next... it's like none of it ever happened. Like rewinding a vid. Or—"
"Resetting a game." His expression was fixed. Unreadable.
She rested her chin on her knees. "Yeah."
"And the rest of us?"
His voice fraying through the comm line. His hands fused tight to her melting armor.
"I'm not sure," she said.
Miranda's ruined eyes, shriveled and blackened from the heat. Beads of plasma glistening between the cracks in her blistered skin.
"I think you die too. But no one else ever seems to notice. To remember."
Gasping, bitter, blood-soaked laughter. The last breath bubbling in his throat.
She glanced up at him. "But I remember everything."
Garrus stared at her.
A sharp, thin noise made them both jump. He looked down at his hand. The priceless antique glass had cracked between his fingers.
He stood up, pivoted, and hurled it against the wall.
It exploded into fragments. Shards rained down into the dust. Drops of molten-metal liquid spattered around them.
Shepard scrambled to her feet and backed away, eyes wide, hands raised. "Garrus."
He just stood there, breathing hard. A dark silhouette, tall and stiff-shouldered, staring out into the gloom.
"You were the last person I had left," he said, without turning around.
She took a deep breath. Stepped forward. Her boots brushed through the dust, stirring up swirls and eddies. "Garrus—"
He tilted his head fractionally. Wan golden light spilled over one cheekbone. "I asked you not to die again."
"...Yes," she said.
"You promised you wouldn't die."
"Yes," she said again, her heart sinking.
"You said you didn't know what I was talking about when I asked you about the YMIR. About the Praetorian."
"Yes."
"You didn't just leave things out. You lied to me."
She swallowed. Fuck. "—Yes."
"You lied," he said again, his voice cracking on the word.
"I—" She stopped herself. Bit her lip. "I didn't want to lose you," she managed, finally.
His jaw clicked sharply. "That's your justification?"
"I just— Garrus—" Shepard put her hands to her face. "I died. I'm dead. But look. Here I am, new and improved."
He made a complicated, multitonal noise that she couldn't interpret.
"Everyone's forgotten me. Forgotten the Reapers. It's like none of it ever even happened. And now I'm not just undead but actually fucking immortal, and working for Cerberus because no one else will take me, and nothing makes any goddamn sense anymore." She dropped her hands to her sides. Let out a short, sad bark of a laugh. "Even the fucking guns are different now."
He turned to face her, finally, chin lowered. Arms folded.
"Everything that's happened is so crazy, I feel like I'm drowning in it. But you're here. You're sane." She spread her palms. "I thought if I told you the whole truth, you would hate me. That you would find me disgusting. That you would leave me. I couldn't— I can't—" She let out her breath. Gestured down at her body. "Back on Earth, we tell each other horror stories about this kind of thing, you know? Monsters that die, then come back to life."
A discordant rumbling noise. "Sounds like your monsters and your gods have something in common."
She looked down at her hands. The fine, threadlike surgical scars glimmered faintly in the low light. "Yeah. I guess we do."
Silence.
"Did you ever do it on purpose?"
"Do what?"
He glared at her. Pointed a finger at her heart.
"Oh." She hesitated. Fuck. "Uh—"
His eyes narrowed.
She sighed. "...The Collector ship."
"Tell me."
"It was just— a clusterfuck." Shepard turned her head to the side. Closed her eyes. "Miranda's skull cracked open. Scion pulse. It was my fault, I put her out on the wing, and she wasn't covered. Then, the next time, I overcompensated, and you— your shields were out. They cut through your armor. Depressurized your lungs. The medi-gel bought you an extra minute, but you weren't— I couldn't—" She exhaled. "I wasn't going to let that happen to you. Either of you."
"You killed yourself," Garrus said slowly, his voice taut with disbelief. "You killed yourself to fix a mistake."
"I did it to save your life," she snapped, leaning forward. "What would you have preferred? To lie there rotting on that platform while the Reapers storm in and screw the entire galaxy?"
"We were a unit," he said patiently, as if explaining to a small child. "And you abandoned it. You left me behind." He tilted his head to one side. "I realize humans and turians are different, Shepard, but military is military. I would have thought by now you'd picked up a thing or two."
She lifted her chin. "Sure I did. How to salvage a shitty situation. How to look for alternate solutions. How to see the mission through."
"Strange solution you found. Don't you Alliance have a saying? Something about loyalty? Honor?" His voice softened to a dark purr. "Or did Cerberus decide to leave out those bits when they were stitching up your brai—"
She grabbed him by the cowl. Yanked him in close.
"Fuck my honor," she hissed, glaring up at him. "If honor doesn't keep you alive, then it's useless to me." Her fingernails dug into his undersuit. "I hated every motherfucking second of it. I hated leaving you there. You screamed at me to stop and called me a rotten fucking liar and I kept going. I walked straight into Harbinger's— into that Reaper's hands and listened to it gloat while it fried me to ashes. It. Hurt."
His eyes were wide in the darkness. Pale rings of blue around the black.
"I burned to death to save you," she said, more quietly. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'd do it over and over again. I'd do it every day if it meant I could keep you by my side." She released her grip on him. Lifted her other hand to his injured cheek. "...I wish I'd done it on Omega."
He was silent for a long moment, that indecipherable look on his face again.
"I'm touched, Shepard," he murmured, finally. "Never figured you for a romantic."
Before she could retort, he shifted in her grasp. Tilted his face down towards hers. She opened her mouth to— protest? crack a joke? something— but then he kissed her, long and hard. The shocking heat of his mouth pressed her into silence.
Heavy, warm fingers curled around the back of her neck. A thumb brushed against the corner of her jaw. His forehead rested against hers.
His voice thrummed, soft and rich in her ear. "But as far as grand gestures go, I'd prefer ones that involve you staying alive."
...God damnit, did he think she hadn't tried?
She shoved him back and threw up her hands. "Tell it to the fucking Collectors, Vakarian. I did my best."
A dark rumble rose up from his throat. "If you have to walk headfirst into a Reaper to fix it, Shepard, then your best isn't good enough."
Ah.
There it was. The rotten heart of the matter.
"Well." She wiggled her scarred fingers at him. "I have a medical excuse."
His eyes narrowed. The rumble deepened. "...You've changed."
She flung her arms out. "No shit, Vakarian. I'm fucking immortal!"
"Not what I meant." He gestured at her head, her heart.
She put her hands over her heart and glared at him.
"Other people don't seem quite real to you anymore, do they?" he said slowly. "It's all just a game."
"...How dare you," she hissed.
He chuckled, once. A low, bitter sound.
"Lawson really is a genius, isn't she," he said, looking her up and down. "I was completely taken in. Started to think you might even be better than the original."
She looked down at her fingers, still folded over her chest.
"But then again." His voice was soft. Poisonous. "Lately, it seems I'm not the best judge of character."
The last person left who still believed in her.
She'd killed herself to save him. And now she'd lost him too.
She closed her eyes. Lowered her hands.
Her lips twitched.
Her mouth curled into a strange, warped smile. It stretched and deepened. Cracked wide across her face.
A chuckle bubbled up out of her, startling them both. She hid her face behind her hands. Then another muffled snort, and another, and then she was laughing helplessly, doubled over, a sick, hateful ball of laughter.
It was actually really fucking funny, if you looked at it from the outside. All the lies. All the bullshit. All the late nights lying awake, all the loneliness, all the fear. All the panic and fury and wretched, grinding self-doubt. And for what?
To protect this last, fragile thread of connection— to protect her best and strangest friendship in the entire universe— to save his life, she'd committed the one crime her bad turian could never forgive.
Her body shook. Her sides cramped. She could barely breathe. Her heart felt boiled dry inside her chest.
A warm, heavy hand came to rest on top of her shoulder.
She looked up at him, still panting from laughter.
He looked down at her.
"Infida," he said, or something that sounded like that.
After a brief moment her translator parsed it: 'Faithless place.'
She wiped at her streaming eyes. "What?"
"In turian philosophy, there's a special hell for people like you." His good mandible tilted out at an angle she couldn't read. "Too bad you can't stay dead long enough to experience it."
She let out a hoarse chuckle. "Whatever turian hell's like, it's got to be better than this."
He turned his face away. Looked out into the murky room, his gaze unfocused.
He still hadn't moved his hand. His fingertips brushed idly through the ends of her hair.
"Of course, if there's one thing I've learned in my life," he murmured, "it's that the bad guys run too fast for hell to catch up."
"I was always good at running," she agreed.
His thumb stroked over her collarbone.
She stepped in closer. Tipped her head down, and let it rest against his shoulder.
After a moment, he wrapped his arm around her.
They stayed like that for a long time, in silence.
"Typical," he said into the darkness.
"What?"
"You somehow managed to pick a secret that was even worse than all the horrible things I'd been imagining about you."
She glanced up. "Like what?"
"That you were a preprogrammed clone. That your brain had been hijacked by Cerberus implants. That you were some kind of synthetic construct, infused with Reaper tech."
"Jesus," she said, appalled.
He was silent for a long moment.
"So you really are a god now," he said, finally. "How does it feel?"
She huffed out a laugh into his shoulder. "Shitty."
Another wordless pause. She listened to him breathing.
"...I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I trusted you."
She closed her eyes. "I know."
"You should have trusted me."
"I know."
His hand shifted from her shoulder. Trailed down to the small of her back. Pressed her close.
She stretched up on her tiptoes. Wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I'm furious," he said, his voice low and soft in her ear.
"I know," she murmured, and hugged him tighter.
"I hate this. I hate what you've done. I can't make sense of it."
"I know."
He kissed her again, hard and lingering. Her eyes stung. Her cheeks burned. She kissed him back, fiercely, the dormant arousal shuddering to life inside her.
"Promise me you won't sacrifice yourself like that ever again," he whispered, looking intently at her face. "Promise me next time you'll do whatever it takes to get out alive. That you won't leave me to die alone in an empty universe without you."
She stilled. Stared up at him.
"No," she said.
His shoulders stiffened. "...What?"
"No," she said again. "No. I can't promise that. If I'd run when you told me to, you and Miranda would both be dead right now. For keeps. I'm not going to let that happen."
His hands clenched around her. "That's not the point. Those other versions of us were real, too. So Lawson and I are both dead right now. And because you're not there with us, because you gave up and left, our deaths don't even mean anything. That's worse than going into an unmarked grave. That's worse than—"
"—God damnit, Garrus," she said, her throat tight. "Do you think I don't know that?"
He'd grasped the fucked-up metaphysics of the situation a whole hell of a lot quicker than she had.
"You're going to do this again," he said.
"If I have to," she said. "Yes. I will."
His good mandible snapped down hard against his jaw. He yanked her arms from around his neck. Stepped back. Bent down and picked up his gloves.
Something wrenched inside her. "Wait. What? You're leaving?"
Garrus shook his head, and let out a short, scornful laugh. "...As if there were anywhere else I could even fucking go."
He went over to the doorway. Collected his jacket. "I'll be there for missions when you need a sniper. Don't bother coming by the battery. EDI can keep me apprised."
"Garrus. Please." Shepard pressed her forehead into her palms. "I did it to save you."
"You didn't ask me if I wanted that kind of saving."
He paused at the threshold. Put his hand on the doorframe.
"Why did you even bring me along, if you weren't going to rely on me?" His voice was low. Strained. "You kept me in the dark this entire time. Was I only here to be your barometer for insanity?"
"I'm sorry," Shepard said again, dropping her hands. "I do rely on you. I trust you. And I need you. More than anyone else."
"No, you don't." His good mandible flicked out in a black, bitter smile. "You're invincible."
She recoiled.
"Fuck you, Shepard." He turned on his heel. "Do whatever you want. You always have."
She stumbled backwards. Sank down onto the dusty couch. Stared out at nothing.
Her shoulders prickled with goosebumps. The back of her dress was still undone.
A beep. She blinked down at her wrist. The alarm. She had to— she had to contact the ship. She had to go back.
It was almost pitch-black inside the room now. Faint traces of blue sky reflected off the shiny parts of the floor, where the carpet of dust had been disturbed. Footprints. Butt prints. Leg prints. Swishes and swoops from her skirt. And a large, empty swath where their two bodies had tangled together.
She tapped on her borrowed omni-tool.
A moment later, Miranda's tinny voice came through the speaker. "Normandy SR-2. This is Lawson."
"It's me." Her voice sounded hollow. Unfamiliar. "Checking in. I'm heading back now."
"Acknowledged. See you soon."
The line cut out. She didn't move.
The last of the light vanished.
A cold breeze swept over her bare shoulders.
Shepard sucked in a deep breath, and pushed herself up. Flicked on the omni-tool's flashlight. Made her way to the door. Burrowed into her dusty cloak.
After a long pause, she turned back, and retrieved the bottle. The precious, ancient fluid twisted inside the glass. Bent the beam of her flashlight into broken fractals.
She shut the door behind her, and began to retrace her steps.
By the time she made it back to C-Sec, her stomach was cramping from hunger. She hadn't brought rations. Stupid. Even if she wasn't actively fighting, her metabolism still carved her up from the inside out.
Bailey was off on break. His assistant asked no questions. Shepard told her where to forward the cleaning bill.
The pieces of her armor lay alone in their box. He'd come and gone.
She clipped and snapped her way back into uniform, tucked the bottle of priceless Palaveni liquor into her spare pack, and left.
The wards thronged with people. Barflies, shoppers, restaurant patrons. She stood in front of the gate leading back to the docking bay for a solid minute before she turned around again.
The chef plunked a steaming bowl onto the counter in front of her. She wolfed the noodles down without really tasting anything. Wiped her mouth on her hand. "Hey. Is there a theater or something around here?"
"You must be new," the chef said. "Three stairs down, right below this shop. —Wait, did you mean a movie theater, or a theater-theater?"
"Either," Shepard said. "It doesn't matter."
"Oh," he said, eyebrows lifting. "Well then. Three stairs down."
She tapped out a message to Miranda. Talking felt like too much.
Changed my mind. Staying out for a while. -S
Acknowledged. Vakarian just returned. -ML
The venue three stairs down turned out to be a movie theater. She bought a ticket for the one with the longest runtime. Settled into her seat.
Her omni-tool pinged again.
Shepard, is everything okay? -ML
She didn't bother responding.
Beautiful holographic actors punched and argued and wept their way through the beats of their plotline. Shepard didn't take much of it in.
Why had it gone like this? Why couldn't he understand?
Lying to him was— well, she regretted it. But it seemed like he would have forgiven her for that much. Dying to save him. Walking into Harbinger's hands. Why had that been the breaking point?
She didn't know all that much about turian cultural values. Just the standard stuff from xenoanthro courses during officer training: Unit loyalty, above all else. Steadiness. Discipline. Accountability. Honor. Self-sacrifice.
She'd royally fucked up on five out of six.
So... that wasn't great. But he hadn't just expressed a general disgust with her actions. He acted like he'd been specifically, personally, betrayed.
Was this an Omega thing? He'd said something about dying alone. Dying without meaning. Worse than an unmarked grave.
She scrubbed her hands over face. Thanked every god and goddess she could think of that she'd never killed herself to spite him, like she'd been tempted to on Pragia.
It horrified her, now, to think she could have been capable of that kind of cruelty. Now that she was actually thinking about someone other than her own damn self. Now that she could see more of the universe than just the three feet in front of her own face—
Other people don't seem quite real to you anymore, do they?
Fucking hell. He'd been right. He was right.
But what was she supposed to do about it?
Her reality was the only reality. She was the player, and this was her game.
If only she didn't have to play it all alone.