Farewell
Zakera Ward, One Week after Sovereign's Destruction
The studio apartment wasn't the one he'd left behind; that one, as well as his storage unit in Tayseri Ward, was buried under one of Sovereign's massive "legs" following the Reaper's destruction by Systems Alliance guns. It was hard to complain too loudly about his circumstances; unlike many he wasn't being forced to cohabitate with as many shellshocked and homeless refugees as possible, which was a good thing. There was barely room enough in this apartment for him, a couch, and a kitchenette.
Garrus hobbled over to the couch that also doubled as his bed and sank into it with a sigh, letting the crutch fall where it would. He leaned over to refold the extra blanket he'd placed on the coffee table, then leaned back and propped his bad foot up on it. His armor had taken the brunt of the impact, but the break had still been a bad one: both metatarsals and his ankle. At least the dislocated shoulder was healing nicely. He winced as he reached over for the bottle of painkillers he'd been given after getting patched up and told to get the hell out; space was among the many resources at a premium in the Citadel's medbays at present.
The persistent dull ache from his broken foot and ankle had been ratcheting up all "afternoon" as his first dose of the day faded. Now that he was back home, it was time to do something about that. He cracked open the bottle and dumped a couple of tablets on the coffee table, then poured himself a glass from the bottle of turian brandy he'd hobbled to his kitchenette to fetch. Garrus popped the pills and knocked back a shot of brandy to wash them down, enjoying the burning sensation as the liquor worked its way down his throat. Closing his eyes, he leaned back on the couch; the pile of datapads with his application to return to C-Sec and the other one to join the next Spectre candidacy course could wait.
The apartment's door chime woke him from a light doze about half an hour later. Garrus triggered his omnitool and activated the link he'd programmed between his tool and the door intercom. "This is Vakarian. Who is it?"
"It's me," said a thoroughly unexpected voice. "This a bad time, Garrus, or can I come in?" she asked.
"Commander?" asked Garrus, mandibles twitching in surprise. "Sure, just let me trigger the door for you," he said, calling up another of the remote-access keys he'd programmed into his omnitool since moving in. "Should be open."
She was wearing an Alliance commander's dress uniform and swept her officer's cap off in the automatic manner of any soldier as she entered. "You'll forgive me if I don't stand up," said Garrus. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Shepard chuckled. "It's fine, Garrus. Not like I'm your C.O.," she said. "Mind if I sit down?" she asked, gesturing at the emptier of the two chairs that filled out the apartment's furnishings and served to cramp the already limited space in the combined living room/dining room area. "Just came from the memorial service for the ships we lost in the battle and I'm sick of standing."
"Sorry about the mess, Commander," he said, gesturing for her to take a seat. "I heard about the service they had planned. I'm sorry I couldn't attend. C-Sec is so short-handed right now that Executor Pallin is willing to overlook my…less than professional departure from the job to join you if it means he's got another warm body in a uniform at headquarters to help push paper. I'm still applying for reenlistment through normal channels, but for right now it appears my resignation was…creatively misfiled." He shook his head, mandibles spreading in the Turian version of a smile. "Who'd have thought Pallin had renegade bone in his body, eh?"
Shepard chuckled as she sat down. "That does seem rather out of character for him, but given what's happened you can hardly blame him for a little creative misfiling." Reaching up, she brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes with one hand as she rested her dress uniform's cap on one knee. "How's the foot?"
"Hurts, but it'll heal," he replied. "And you? Ribs and arm still mending properly?"
"Yeah. Glad they didn't make me stand for the service, that's for damn sure," she replied. "Finally getting used to trying to do anything with this cast on," Shepard said, holding up her left hand. Only fingers and thumb emerged from the end of the cast, the better to keep her wrist immobile. "I just wanted to stop by to let you know that they've completed repairs on the Normandy."
"Joker must be pleased," said Garrus. "I suppose that means you'll be shipping out again, to frag some more Geth."
Shepard nodded. "Yes, we're departing tomorrow. Can't say where, obviously. " She grinned and shook her head. "I never thought I'd find myself saying this, but it will be strange leaving with just a human crew on board."
Garrus' mandibles parted again in a turian smile. "The Normandy's a fine ship, commander. I'm sorry to leave her…but I'm not sorry to have access to good food again," he replied. The complaint about bad dextro-rations was an old one, and a running joke to the rest of the crew by now. It was hard to find anything other than bare-bones nutrient pastes and emergency rations in human space. Shepard had looked, he knew. "Good luck out there, commander."
"I don't need luck. I've got ammo, the Normandy, and a hell of a crew," she retorted, and the two shared a laugh at the joke. "I wanted to thank you for your help, Garrus," she continued, her mood sobering almost immediately. "I realized at the memorial service that I never thanked you properly for putting your ass on the line—helping me hunt down Saren and stop Sovereign—for some human you'd never seen before in your life. The crews and fighter pilots we lost…they were soldiers in the chain of command, following orders. But you? You followed me because your gut told you it was the right thing to do. I'm not sure if that makes you brave, crazy, or a little of both, but I do know this…" She paused and rose to her feet, replacing her cap. Coming to attention, she offered him a salute. "You've earned my gratitude and my trust. It was an honor, Garrus. If there's anything I can do to return the favor someday, well, consider this Spectre in your debt."
The turian was more than a little taken aback by Shepard's words. It took him a few moments to figure out how to respond to that. The most obvious part was to return the salute, as silly as it must have looked with him sitting there on his couch, one foot propped up on the coffee table. "I…thank you, Shepard," he says after the silence had stretched to the point of awkwardness between them. "I'm not sure what else I can say, except that it was an honor to serve under you and learn from your example."
She smiled at him and turned to leave. "I should get back to the ship."
"Of course, commander, I understand," Garrus replied. He fumbled for his crutch and rose. "I can see you out, at least," he said as he fought back a wince; lowering his foot that quickly always sent an unpleasant pulse of pain up his leg. "Stop in when you have some shore leave, commander. My door is always open for you or anyone else from the Normandy." He paused as they reached the door, mandibles twitching nervously as he debated saying what was on his mind or not. Shepard noticed that.
"Something else on your mind, Garrus?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Just…stay safe out there, Commander," he said awkwardly after a few seconds' further deliberation. "I…" have never been happier to see anyone than I was when I saw you emerge from what was left of the Council Chamber "…I'll be burying a lot of friends from C-Sec in the wake of this mess. I'd prefer it if you didn't join them, commander."
She replied by reaching up to place a small hand on Garrus' shoulder. "I'm sorry, Garrus," she said quietly. She was a soldier; she understood.
Zakera Ward, C-Sec Precinct, One Month after Sovereign's Destruction
Garrus had settled into something resembling a routine since his readmission to C-Sec a week earlier. Apparently between the "creative misfiling" of his resignation and saving the Citadel, even Executor Pallin thought it was worth fast-tracking his readmission to the ranks of C-Sec. He was still waiting to hear back on whether or not he had been accepted to the Spectre candidacy program, but he was fairly certain he would be admitted. They had wanted to recruit him years ago, and he had only grown more skilled in the intervening years, after all.
It was a struggle to live up to the promise he'd made Shepard—that he would look for the best way to solve a problem, rather than simply the quickest path to his desired outcome. The bureaucracy had its place (well, at least some of it)—he was willing to admit that now—but old habits were hard to break.
His omnitool beeped at him urgently, interrupting his scan through a highlight reel of surveillance footage seized from an illegal biotech lab two nights ago. Pausing the feed, he tapped a key on his omni's haptic interface and did a double-take as Captain Anderson appeared on his screen. The older human did not appear happy; Garrus had gotten much better at reading human expressions during his time on the Normandy, not that he'd been bad at it before. "Captain Anderson. Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.
"Officer Vakarian. I…I'm afraid I have bad news…"
Author's Note: Herpadederp. x.x Just realized I have one man as humanity's councilor in this chapter and the other option in a later chapter. Gotta be consistent. Sorry for the screw up!