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Shepard found herself in Normandy's kitchen, nursing a glass of whiskey at the bar. She swished it around, her gaze trained on the liquid but her thoughts elsewhere.
The clock ticked above her, it was a little past 0200 but her eyes didn’t falter; sleep didn’t tempt her. She hardly felt tired anymore since her resurrection. Largely due to the restlessness her mental state caused, but she also found she could no longer find comfortability. Her skin didn’t feel like her own. Her scars were still raised and unhealed. She felt like a robotic Frankenstein.
“Shepard?” The familiar voice behind her spoke. “Are you okay?”
It was Garrus. Albeit annoyed that anyone was awake to see her like this, he was the one person she didn’t mind… as much.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” His voice rang deep through her mild intoxication. She forced herself to look up at him, to meet his eyes.
“I could say the same to you.” He looked at her suspiciously, cautiously.
She chuckled, “Yeah, I suppose.”
He took a seat next to her, his body facing hers. His gaze also trained on the glass in her hand. He had been worried about her ever since he rejoined the Normandy , about her new relationship with Cerberus. Not because he didn’t trust her. No, he didn’t trust them. Didn’t trust them not to hurt her.
He had been especially worried about her since she had departed (and returned, for that matter) for her adventure on Alchera. He had offered to go with her, but she turned him down: "This is something I need to do alone." She had said, her voice firm but her hand on his arm gentle.
Finding her at Normandy’s bar late at night had given him some peace of mind, in a strange way. It had been what she did on the SR-1, usually after particularly difficult missions.
Seeing her at the bar again tonight, with the same routine… he knew the Shepard sitting next to him was the same Shepard he met all that time ago.
The two sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, only the hum of the Normandy’s engines piercing through the quiet. Garrus thinking of what to say, Shepard not having much of anything to say; too focused on the glass in front of her and the images of Alchera fresh in her mind.
After a while, she abruptly sighed, “People like us don’t sleep much.” She spoke so quietly, she wasn’t sure if Garrus had heard her.
His silence for the few moments afterwards didn’t help. She thought about repeating herself, but his deep voice cut the silence before she had the chance.
“I know visiting Alchera couldn’t have been easy, Shepard. I’m here if you want to talk.”
She thought he was going to stand and walk away, leaving her to her thoughts. But he just adjusted in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. “Or we can just sit here in silence.” Once the words left his mouth, he realized his tone might have given the impression that he was teasing; but that wasn’t his intention.
“Do you remember the Mako?” Her question confused him, seemingly coming out of nowhere. It certainly wasn’t what he had expected.
“Of course I remember the Mako, Shepard. I remember you almost getting us killed on numerous occasions while driving it, too.” This time the teasing was intentional, he accompanied it by giving her a flick of his mandible.
She had asked him before what that meant, "It’s the Turian version of a smirk."
“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad of a driver.” The two exchanged looks, and a couple of laughs. Then Shepard continued, her expression darkening, “Everything else was wreckage, almost unrecognizable.”
“But not the Mako.” Garrus finished the thought for her.
“But not the fucking Mako.” She sighed, downing the last remnants of whiskey before pouring herself another glass.
“Easy there, Shepard.”
She ignored him, pouring even more of the amber-colored liquid into her glass.
After taking a long swig and a deep exhale, she continued, “I placed the monument Hackett sent next to the Mako. Only seemed fitting.”
He nodded. He’d only started doing that recently, picking up on human body language. She wondered if it was because of all the time they were spending together. On nights when she couldn’t sleep (which, to be fair, were most of them), Garrus would keep her company. Most of the time they sat in a comfortable silence.
“I found Pressly’s journal at… what was the CIC.” She closed her eyes, remembering the sight and the XO’s words, “At first, he wasn’t too fond of you… Or Tali, or Wrex.”
“I didn’t know the navigator was, uh…”
“Xenophobic? Yeah. I put him in his place pretty early on.”
“I’m sure you did.” He smiled, chuckling a bit.
“Finding and defeating Saren was bigger than any of us, there was no room to hold those kinds of views.”
“Even so, you’re the most open-minded human I’ve ever met. Not many human soldiers would put aliens aboard an Alliance ship, no matter the stakes.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Another drink of whiskey, the liquid pierced her throat. “But hey, remember that the original Normandy was built by Humans and Turians.”
“Was it now?” She gave him two hums in response, and he continued, “Hard to imagine Turian engineers listening to Human input, honestly.”
“Pretty sure there were some fist fights after the work was done.”
“Ah, makes sense. Our cultures have never been known for… understanding each other.”
That's an understatement.
“You saying you don’t understand me, Vakarian?”
“Not many people do, Shepard. I think I come closer than most, though.”
She raised her glass up in acknowledgment and agreement, and that reminded him.
Garrus stood and walked in two long strides over to a cabinet. He slid a bottle of water over to her, “Come on, Shepard. Drink.”
“I am drinking.” She jested, flashing him a mischievous smirk.
He responded by giving her a stern look and she rolled her eyes, but obeyed the order regardless.
Most people couldn’t get away with how he looked at her. Garrus was much different than most people, though. Especially to her.
He sat back down next to her, moving his chair closer to hers. The silence stretched on for a few more minutes, and right as he thought about adding in some friendly banter or suggesting she go to bed, she spoke.
“Garrus…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her tone revealed her pain, “Holding those dog tags in my hands…” She trailed off.
“It wasn’t your fault, Shepard.” He hoped the sincerity was evident in his voice.
“They counted on me— and I couldn’t save them.” She sighed deeply, holding her head in her hands. Haunted by the screams of her crew as her ship burned.
She then remembered floating in space, suffocating. Suddenly the air felt tight; and she lifted her hand to her chest to feel her heartbeat. To remind her she was in fact alive, even if it was some new version of herself that she didn’t recognize.
“You can’t save everyone. You’re just one person.”
Due to her lack of a response, he continued, “You know, Yeoman Chambers has a word for what you’re experiencing.”
“Don’t start with that shrink shit.” She warned, but he didn’t waver.
“Survivor’s guilt.”
His words hung in the air, and she nodded.
“I’ve always been the last one standing. Mindoir…” Her chest felt heavy as she remembered her family and friends from her colony, from the life she felt so detached from. She felt as if it happened to someone else entirely. She sighed heavily, “—And Akuze. Like I’m destined to witness the wreckage of war as everyone around me lies dead.”
“Like it’s some sort of sick fate.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.
Garrus felt a sense of camaraderie in her words. Likening them to his own experiences, and his squad on Omega; the betrayal by the hand of Sidonis.
Her next words pulled him out of his own grim thoughts, “Promise me I won’t be the last one standing after the collectors?”
His heart skipped a bit at the earnest look in her eyes, and the tears that threatened to spill from them. She looked at him like…
Like more than how he was used to his best friend Commander Shepard looking at him.
Before his mind registered what he had done, he found his three-fingered hand reaching out for hers. Placing it atop her soft skin, holding her soft hand in his.
“Shepard…” His breath nearly hitched in his throat, “I promise, for however long we have left, you won’t be alone. Not against the Collectors, the Reapers, or whoever else comes after.”
She chuckled, soft yet bright, and his chest filled with warmth at the sound, “You think we’ll find worse than the Reapers?”
“I like to expect the unexpected.” He smiled at her, and she placed her second hand on his, squeezing it firmly with the utmost affection.
The two sat together for the next couple hours, both in long stretches of silence and deep conversation. Shepard voiced her darkest thoughts, largely uncensored due to the liquor she had consumed.
Garrus, he just listened. Provided words of reassurances when appropriate, but largely, he just listened. He knew it was rare for her to open up like this. He also knew she might regret it in the morning, when she sobered up. For now, though, she needed this; and he provided his full attention.
Throughout the conversation her posture started to slump, her eyes started to droop. Until her head rested on her forearms on the countertop. Inevitably, sleep overtook her, but not before she all but whispered, “I’m glad you’re here, Garrus…”
“Me too, Shepard.”
He waited a few minutes until he knew for sure she was asleep. After a few laps of hesitation, he picked up the Commander and carried her to the elevator, and then to her cabin.
He’d only gone up to the loft of the SR-2 a few times, most notably when Shepard invited him for drinks after picking him up on Omega. He smiled at her most recent additions to her model ship collection, especially the Turian cruiser. She had shown it to him upon its purchase, beaming with pride.
Her happiness was a sight to see, a rare and cherished one.
After making his way over to the bed, he placed her down gently and draped a blanket over her. Gently tucking her in, and walking back towards the elevator.
I’ll always be here with you , he thought.
He turned around before leaving her to rest, “Goodnight, Shep.”