The sky above the Citadel was bathed in a hue of violet, a color Garrus had never before witnessed in all his time there. It left him momentarily pondering the physics behind such an atmospheric phenomenon on this massive space station. However, he quickly dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. After all, he was a marine, not a scholar delving into the mysteries of celestial mechanics. Matters of sky, stars, and gravity were far beyond his pay grade. Give him a gun to calibrate or a chakram launcher to dissect, and he'd do it without batting an eye.
In that moment, amidst the contemplation of his limited understanding of life's intricacies, Garrus couldn't help but reflect on the countless brushes with death he'd encountered during his military service and while aiding Shepard in her missions. If he hadn't survived the onslaught of mercenaries on Omega or escaped the falling wreckage on Earth, he wouldn't be standing there, gazing at the unfamiliar sky and pondering existential questions he'd never before considered. With tears in his eyes, he realised he was only alive thanks to her.
As he stood lost in thought, Garrus became aware of a wisp of smoke curling before him. Glancing down, he realized his cigarette, lit upon his arrival at the spot where he and Shepard had once practiced marksmanship and made their love known, had dwindled to a mere ash. "Never did like smoking" he muttered to himself before flicking it away, the image of his own body tumbling down following the discarded butt.
Returning his gaze upward, he noticed the swift transition from day to night, a reminder of how time slipped away unnoticed during his moments of introspection. His days had become a monotonous cycle of smoking, brooding, and self-loathing.
Seeking solace, he retreated to his vehicle, a sleek, matte black skycar he affectionately dubbed "the Arrow." It was his refuge from the relentless barrage of memories and regrets that haunted him. Yet, even in the speeding rush of flight, he found himself dangerously pushing limits, perhaps seeking a form of self-punishment he couldn't bring himself to embrace fully.
The night sky stretched above, devoid of the usual traffic that would impede his flight, offering a rare moment of freedom amidst the turmoil of the Citadel. Yet, instead of finding solace in its beauty, Garrus found himself resenting the place more with each passing day, its resemblance to Omega serving as a painful reminder of his failures. C-sec was too busy rebuilding what was left after the war, letting criminals run around the space station and do as they please. If he wasn't such a mess, Garrus thought to himself, maybe he would put on his Archangel suit and take care of them himself. But those days were long gone, now replaced by solitude and never-ending anger.
Amidst the chaos of post-war reconstruction, there was only one place he held dear—the Anderson Memorial Hospital. Passing by, he couldn't help but cast a longing glance at its towering windows, hoping against hope for a glimpse of her. Of course, there was no one there, and he sighed heavily, leaving a trail of smoke as the Arrow headed straight.
As Garrus parked his car in the Citadel's bustling docking bays, he couldn't help but notice the exodus of weary space marines from their ships, signaling the end of another working day. A few of them cast wary glances in his direction, but none bothered to offer the customary salute. He didn't mind; in fact, he preferred it that way. Ever since the war had ended, he found himself recoiling from the hollow gestures of respect. There was nothing to salute, not anymore. After all, he had failed in his most important mission—to save her. Now, he bore the weight of that failure, each salute a painful reminder of his shortcomings, each nod of acknowledgment a stab at his wounded pride. Sometimes, he wished he had died alongside her, sparing himself this constant agony.
As he made his way down the dimly lit corridor toward the Normandy, the ship's familiar silhouette greeting him like a beacon amidst the darkness, Garrus couldn't shake the memories that flooded his mind. He closed his eyes, attempting to summon the camaraderie, the sense of purpose that once filled these halls. But try as he might, those feelings remained elusive, locked away in a corner of his heart where pain had taken root. The thought of stepping aboard the ship, once a symbol of hope and unity, now filled him with a profound sense of loss.
He didn't need to open his eyes to sense someone's gaze upon him. Instinctively reaching for his weapon, he realized it was a friend, not a foe, standing before him.
Joker, wearing his SR2 cap and holding a bottle in his hand, looked at him with wide eyes. "Hey, Garrus," he greeted tentatively. Garrus felt a pang of discomfort at the pity in Joker's voice, something he neither wanted nor needed.
Taking a deep breath, Garrus holstered his weapon and managed a strained nod. "Joker," he replied, his voice emotionless.
"I thought I'd come by, and you know… check on the ship, see how the old lady is doing."
Joker shifted uneasily, his attempt at small talk falling flat in the heavy silence between them. "I brought some Turian whisky" he offered awkwardly, gesturing to the bottle in his hand.
"This ship is as much yours as it is mine," he said as he passed the awkwardly standing pilot in the doorway. "Come in."
Garrus didn't need Joker to say a word for him to sense the enormous relief emanating from the pilot. Coming to visit must have been a nerve-wracking decision for him, but Garrus wasn't surprised. Since the war's end, he'd become a recluse, drowning in self-blame and alcohol-fueled introspection.
Footsteps echoed behind him as he entered the Normandy. It didn't take long for Joker to follow suit, and oddly enough, Garrus found comfort in the sound. It reminded him of the camaraderie he desperately craved since returning to the Citadel.
Leading the way, Garrus activated the emergency lights inside the ship, heading toward the cockpit. He turned around to face Joker, who stood awkwardly at the other end of the corridor.
"I believe this is your spot" He mumbled, his voice still emotionless. Even still, seeing Joker's face light up was like seeing a child in a candy shop - No matter if you hate children or not, it's still going to bring a small, unnoticeable smirk to your face.
"Hell yeah, it is!" Joker finally exclaimed, making his way towards the seat. That's what Garrus wanted to hear; the good old pilot being himself, instead of a pitiful, uncomfortable mess. He sat in EDI's seat, looking at Joker touching all the Normandy's buttons like it was a person he hadn't seen in ages.
"I missed you, baby" Joker whispered to himself, a smile slowly appearing on his face. It wasn't the usual, sly grin as he used to have back in the old days, Garrus noticed. It was rather filled with longing and sadness. Something that he knew very well himself.
"Did you…" Vakarian tried to awkwardly start the conversation. He didn't know how to word it, though, and hoped that Jeff would be able to respond comfortably without despising him for it.
"We're working on it." He nodded, even though it didn't seem too convincing. "I know she's… somewhere out there. We just need to find a way to bring her back the same way she was before she-" He took a moment to think his next words "She was destroyed by Shepard."
A heavy silence fell between both men, looking down and thinking with a heavy heart about the events from a few months before.
"She did what she had to do," Joker managed to utter, his voice strained as if fighting back a deluge of tears. "I wish she was here with us. Both of them."
"Yeah," Garrus nodded in response, though he wished he could infuse his agreement with more reassurance. But he feared his words might come off as callous, a jerk even, despite his genuine sorrow.
Joker looked away, hastily wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Then, as if recalling something hidden behind the cockpit, he reached out.
"Is it still there?" he asked, his upper body obscured from Garrus's view as he rummaged for something.
"What?" Garrus questioned, surprised by the sudden shift in focus.
"This!" Joker exclaimed triumphantly, revealing two crystal glasses. "I kept them here for occasions like this one," he explained, pouring the whisky into each glass.
"A special occasion?" Garrus raised an eyebrow in surprise, intrigued by the unexpected gesture.
"I just wanted to check in on you, Garrus," Joker muttered, raising his glass. "I know things haven't always been easy between us, especially after we came back after the war ended… but we have to keep living, for their sake."
A heavy silence enveloped them once more, Joker's words hanging in the air like a heavy shroud. Painful yet poignant, Garrus knew their truth all too well. Even so, accepting Shepard's absence remained an ongoing struggle.
"To the ones we've lost," Joker proposed, their glasses clinking together in a somber toast. Garrus took a sip of his favorite whisky, savoring the familiar burn that brought a fleeting sense of comfort amidst the lingering ache of loss.
Vakarian couldn't help but notice how Joker's demeanor shifted, shedding the earlier awkwardness like a heavy cloak to reveal a sense of belonging. It was as if, in the confines of the Normandy, Joker had found a place he could truly call home.
"Do you ever take this bad girl for a ride?" Joker sighed, his gaze sweeping over the familiar surroundings. "You know... keep her oiled and-"
"Joker," Garrus interjected, a hint of discomfort in his voice, "let's not… I merely come here to sleep."
"At least you moved to her quarters, right?" Joker pressed.
Garrus glanced behind them, the dimly lit corridor a stark reminder of the ship's emptiness. "I can't," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't tell me you're bunking in the main battery?" Joker exclaimed with a hint of amusement. "There's no need to calibrate it if the ship is-"
"There's always need for calibrations, Joker," Garrus murmured, a faint echo of his former self returning to his tone.
"Well. If you say so." Joker shrugged playfully, taking another sip of his drink. "Have you… you know. Heard from any of the old squad? Do they ever come around?"
"Nope."
"So you really were alone all this time?" The pilot's eyes widened in shock. "I know we went through some shit, but… I don't think that's good for you, bud."
Garrus looked down, trying to avoid his gaze. "I don't think I'm able to see them again. I need to stay alone for a while."
"But you've been alone for a while, Garrus" Joker responded dryly. "Isn't it time to at least try and get back to work? Anything must be better than staying in here and-"
"Can we cut the bullshit?" The Turian cut him off, irritation clear in his voice. "Why are you here, Joker?"
The pilot stared at him with his mouth slightly open. He could see that he was trying to find the right words to say.
"I was sent here by Hackett." Jokers face turned serious as his gaze dropped to the two glasses on the cockpit. "He's worried about you, Garrus. We all are."
Garrus let out a snort, his frustration evident as he turned his face away. It was just as he expected—everyone saw him as a pity case, the last thing he needed amidst his turmoil.
"Figures," he muttered under his breath, a bitter edge to his tone.
"I'm serious, Garrus," Joker persisted, his voice carrying a rare note of seriousness that caught the Turian's attention. "How long are you planning to hide from the world inside the Normandy? Are you going to drown yourself in whisky or what?"
Those words stung, striking deep into Garrus's core. He remained silent, unable to refute Joker's painfully accurate assessment. As much as he hated to admit it, the pilot was right.
"Do you think she would want you to be like this?" Joker's question cut like a knife, pushing Garrus to the brink. His talons clenched around his glass, the fragile vessel nearly shattering under the pressure of his grip.
"Don't you dare—" Garrus hissed, his voice a low growl.
"I can't stand to see you like this, man," Joker continued, shaking his head in disapproval. "I lost someone too, but am I sitting around moping all day? No. I try to keep myself busy, helping pilots out there fight against the last remnants of the Reapers. It doesn't change what happened, but at least it keeps me sane. Maybe you should try it too."
Even though Joker was right, Garrus couldn't bring himself to agree with him. To agree it would mean to let go, and he wasn't able to do that yet.
"Listen" Joker finally spoke, letting out a heavy sigh. "He left me a dossier to give you. Look through it, see what you think, and if you wanna try then head to the embassies tomorrow morning, all right?" He placed a PDA on the cockpit, next to the glasses. "Thanks for having me." He got up from his seat, even though his touch lingered a bit longer than he should on the leather seat. As he made his way towards the exit, Joker turned around one last time.
"Just promise you will look at it, okay?"
And with that, Joker left Garrus to grapple once again with his inner demons.
The Turian finished his drink, a flicker of disgust flashing across his eyes as he stared at the dimly lit PDA before him. Despite his reluctance, an unexplainable urge nagged at him to take a quick glance and see what all the fuss was about.
"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath, snatching up the dossier and striding purposefully toward the main battery.
That night, sleep eluded Garrus, his mind restless as he tossed and turned, waking up drenched in sweat, haunted by memories that refused to let him rest.
As he gave up his inner turmoil and decided to go and see Hackett the next day, sleep finally hit him like a train.