Title: For the Pilot

Author: StargazerNataku
Rating: PG (language)
Genre: Drama
Characters: Garrus Vakarian, Fem!Shep, Original Characters
Summary: Garrus wasn't her. He would never, ever be her. But he could, at least, try to make a difference as she had always done.

Warnings: Rating is for language. One or two uses of the F word, nothing horrendous.

"No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother. Not for millions, not for glory, not for fame. For one person."

- Sebastian, Babylon 5:"Comes the Inquisitor"

Garrus heard the thudding of Purgatory's music the instant he stepped out of the elevator. The balcony outside the bar was still littered here and there with rubble from the Battle of the Citadel months previously, but a path had been cleared and he was able to make his way through the mess to reach the doors into the dim darkness within. He ignored the dancers and walked straight to the bar tucked away in the corner. The turian bartender, used to seeing Garrus after his shift, put down his usual in front of him as he took his seat and walked off without a word.

Garrus finished his brandy in one shot and sighed as his omni-tool pinged with an incoming message. He activated it and opened his extranet box; a new message from Tali blinked at the top of the list, joining multiple unread messages from herself, Liara and Kaidan. There was even one or two from Wrex. He pondered the most recent briefly before he turned his omni-tool off without responding. "You know," the bartender said as he brought Garrus' second drink, having noticed his first was almost empty. "Whoever it is that keeps messaging you isn't going to stop until you answer. You do the same thing every day."

"They'll get the point eventually," Garrus replied, layering his voice with undertones that would make it very clear the subject was to be dropped.

"Your life, pal," the bartender said, moving back towards his other customers.

Garrus downed half the drink in one swallow. It had been a long day, full of red tape, and he wanted nothing more than to drink himself into a pleasant sort of oblivion, where dreams could take him back to a universe where the entire crew of the Normandy was alive and there wasn't a gaping hole where their commander should be. A place where his best friend in the galaxy was still within his reach.

It was far preferable to the reality in which Shepard was dead. Spaced above a third rate planet by an unknown enemy for the sake of her helmsman.

While he hadn't been there above Alchera, he knew exactly what likely happened without having to ask. Shepard would have trusted Liara, Tali, Kaidan, and Wrex to clear the lower levels while she cleared the bridge. It was, he reflected, the farthest from the majority of the Normandy's escape pods. Joker, with his condition, would have moved slower than the rest of the crew. He would have been the most likely to refuse to leave his post for anyone but her. And Shepard did not leave people behind. Not if she could help it.

It was obvious to anyone that met her even briefly that to Shepard, life had been beautiful, that her companions and those she served were worth any sacrifice. She had understood all too well the fragility of existence. After all, no one went through something like Mindoir without scars. Sixteen years old, untrained, surviving everyone you ever loved who you could do nothing to save? He didn't know the details, Garrus was sure no one except Shepard ever had, but you didn't have to in order to understand events like that changed a being. The pressure from them either crushed the soul it acted on into oblivion or sometimes, less often, made a diamond.

Shepard had been the rarer sort. Garrus had never seen her falter, never seen her hesitate in doing whatever was necessary to protect others. And still people foolishly wondered why Shepard's crew had been so openly dedicated to their commander. Turians were just as dedicated, they argued, they would follow their commander into hell and back without question, but Garrus knew they were taught their place from childhood and no good turian would ever disobey a direct order, no matter how bad. Shepard had been different. She wouldn't order anyone to do anything she wasn't willing to do herself. When you walked into hell it was right beside her, and you knew if you didn't make it back it was for a damned good reason. You never questioned her loyalty, and once she had it she never questioned yours.

How could he not want to follow a woman like that? First to Therum, then Feros, Noveria…

Virmire.

He had been standing by her side when they received word that Williams and Alenko were both pinned down under fire and needed backup. He had watched Shepard set her jaw as she made the choice. Kaidan was with the bomb and the bomb needed to go off. All the same…

"I'm coming for you, Ash, just hold on."

"I think we both know that's not gonna happen, Commander."

Ash had been right. They had raced back to where Kaidan was prepping the bomb, and they had left Williams to die. It was the ruthless calculus of war. Lose one life, or a ship's worth. A galaxy's worth.

"Sometimes soldiers die, Shepard," Garrus had said quietly to her as they removed their armor in the safety of the Normandy. "Not even you can avoid that."

"I don't have to like it," she responded, then was silent for some time before speaking again, almost to herself. "No, I really don't have to fucking like it." Then she had slammed the door to her locker closed and stalked off to mourn in private.

That day above Virmire they had both been right. Sometimes soldiers died...and they did not have to like it. Not that he would ever have a chance to tell her that. That chance had been lost above Alchera, silenced by the cold black emptiness of space.

He needed another drink.

As Garrus waited for the bartender to look his way, the loud voice of a turian who slid into the seat just around the corner of the bar from him caught his attention. "For the pilot?" The turian made a disbelieving noise with his subvocals.

"Shepard was human, you know how wrong their priorities are," his batarian companion said. Garrus snorted in indignation, waving the bartender over. Before the drink could arrive, however, the turian sitting beside him began ranting about how stupid it was for a seasoned commander and war hero to die for a cripple who didn't have the sense to abandon ship.

"You know," Garrus interrupted, abruptly tired of listening to the man talk. "You really shouldn't talk about things you don't know anything about."

"And you know any better?" The other turian snarled.

"I do, as a matter of fact," he said. "Hard to serve with someone and not understand what they're like."

The noise the other made was derisive. "Like the great commander Shepard would have taken a washed-up excuse for a turian like you. Or maybe she would have. A cripple for a pilot, a krogan, a quarian? Dregs of the galaxy. You would fit right in."

It was odd, he thought as he got to his feet, that it wasn't the insult to himself that really got to him, but rather it was for Joker and Wrex and Tali. And, if he were to admit it, for Shepard.

They were the reason why the punch he landed squarely on the other man's mandible-which gave with a sickening crack-was so damned satisfying. The turian went down hard and did not get up, both hands to his damaged face as he writhed on the floor in agony. His friend rose as well and Garrus watched him think over his options. "I wouldn't," Garrus suggested.

The batarian stared at him in indecision for several beats before he helped his friend to his feet and dragged him out of the bar. Garrus sat back down and waved for the bartender who brought him another drink quickly. Good, he thought. He'd have time to finish it.

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*

He had not waited long before an exasperated voice from behind him got his attention. "Again, Vakarian?" Garrus finished the drink-his second since knocking out the other patron-and got to his feet as he turned to face his boss.

"I'd tell you he deserved it, but I don't think that's going to make much difference."

The human sighed, pinching the top of his nose between his eyes. Shepard had done that often-to ward off headaches, she had said. He had wondered if it actually worked with human physiology or if it was just a strange habit of the species that had more psychological and communicative benefits than physical. He had asked Shepard once and she had done it again without saying anything so he had dropped the subject without receiving an answer. He probably should have asked Dr. Chakwas. "Can you please come with me willingly so we can get this sorted out?"

"Sure, Captain," Garrus agreed, and waited while Sterling gave orders to the two officers accompanying him, who Garrus knew would question the witnesses. Finally, without another word to Garrus, the man turned around and headed for the door. Garrus followed.

As the door to the Captain's office slid closed behind him, Garrus took his place standing before the man's desk and waited as Sterling sat down and just watched him for a moment. "Third time this month, Vakarian. What the hell is wrong with you?" Garrus did not have a good answer to that, so he kept his mouth shut. "You did some real damage this time, too."

"He'll live."

"Not the point, officer. This can't keep happening. Tell me, did you intend to crack his mandible, or was that a...well, it can't be considered an accident. Perhaps a mistake?"

"No mistake," he answered honestly. Shepard had taught him that move. It was only fitting he'd used it in defense of her crew.

"On purpose then. Jesus Christ," Sterling said to that, rubbing his forehead again. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

"Nothing, sir." He opened his omni-tool and tapped a few buttons. The computer in front of his superior officer pinged. "My resignation. Will that be enough?"

"Your...that wasn't what I was asking for. You're a hell of a good officer when you're not assaulting citizens off duty. Best detective I have, actually. But you've been off the last month. What the hell's going on? I'd like to try to fix it before we go nuclear on your career."

"There's nothing to be fixed," Garrus replied.

"Vakarian…"

"Look, I appreciate it. But I'm done. You have my resignation, you can take my last paycheck to pay for that asshole's medical bills, and I leave the station. If he gives you trouble, just tell him I ran out on you. People will believe it."

The human stared at him for several heartbeats before he sighed and shook his head. "No talking you out of it, I can see that. Fine, if that's what you want to do, I'll allow it for old time's sake. But next time, I'm going to have to arrest you."

"There won't be a next time," Garrus assured him. "For what it's worth, thank you."

"Just don't do something stupid to get yourself killed, all right? Call it a personal favor."

"Yes, sir." Not that he'd make any promises, he told himself as he turned and left the office. He went immediately to his apartment, bare of anything except personal essentials and a lockbox. He threw the essentials and the few changes of clothes he owned into a bag and opened the lockbox using the biometric system Tali had designed.

Inside was the HMWSR Master X sniper rifle Shepard had acquired for him. He ran his hand over it lovingly, remembering the grin on her face when she'd given him the weapon. He had been dumbfounded, but she had simply laughed and brushed it off like giving him a weapon only sold to the elite of the galaxy was no big deal.

"Someone's gotta get some good use out of those," she'd said. "And I couldn't think of anyone else whose skills were worthy of her."

"You?" he had managed when he'd gotten over his surprise.

She shrugged. "I like what I have. It's what I graduated N7 with; it's good enough for me. Besides, I want the man at my six to have the best. It's better for my long-term health."

She'd walked away without another word.

Before he took the weapon out of the box, he used his omni-tool to call up the docking bay schedule and booked passage off the Citadel. Then he reverently took the weapon out of the box and laid it down on the desk in his small bedroom, opened the drawer to get out his cleaning kit, and set to work.

When every piece was spotless and put back together, he took out a metal bit and turned the weapon so the stock was towards him. Carefully, he started to etch letters into it, carefully placed so he could see them clearly with the rifle at firing position.

S-H-E-P-A-R-D.

Satisfied, he returned the weapon to its carrier and closed the box, watching the locks seal themselves.

He wasn't her. He would never, ever be her. But he could, at least, try to make a difference as she had always done.

Omega was as good a place as any to start.