Torin: A turian male of the age of majority. Equivalent of man.

Coillas (Coillasi - plural) - The chains that hold turian bonding robes closed. After the ceremonies, they are wrapped and fastened around the wrists of both bond-mates.

Disignatus - Minister or official who conducts traditional ceremonies.

Garrus stared into the mirror and reached up to smooth the front panel of his suit. Leaning toward the reflective surface, he frowned as he stared into his own eyes, no longer recognizing the torin who stared back. His talons touched the gold embroidery on the panels of his family's bonding robe, tracing the tiny scenes that represented how his grandparents and parents had come together.

A tiny reaper had been stitched just below the sleek arc of the ship that had been his home so long before. How he and his first wife had come together.

His first wife.

A slow, ancient dagger pressed between his plates, burying itself between ribs to pierce his heart.

His first wife.

Eyes returning to stare into their own reflections, he wondered what she would think of him after more than a decade. What would she think of his new life? Of him taking another bond-mate?

It was his duty. A primarch needed to project a certain image. Of course, he'd never have asked Elina had he not loved her. Clever, kind, fierce, gentle … his mandibles fluttered in a smile. Someone so remarkable deserved nothing less than a mate who adored her. Who would dedicate himself to her happiness and that of their children.

The dagger eased back, as had the pain as the cycles rolled past. Pieces of him fell back into place, or he rebuilt them using new materials. Bit by bit, Garrus Vakarian pulled through the Reaper War as surely as his people and his planet had. His body eased out of bed every morning a little less wooden, smiles broke across his face less like shattered glass, and laughter rumbled from his throat without feeling like a garrotte.

Due in large part to Elina over the past three cycles. She'd cut away the ruins, the chains dragging from him with their impossible weight. Only one piece remained out of place. Talons returned to caress the embroidery, following the lines of the little ship. Her ship.

Behind him, the air shifted, a familiar spectre forming from the ether. She'd appeared to him a thousand times over the cycles. Usually not quite so vivid or solid. He turned, fully expecting her to vanish. His heart already slowed, already pressed against his keel in the sick, aching way that drew his hand up to his chest as though, if he didn't hold the fickle organ in, it would punch straight through.

But there she stood. Still. Hair a flaming red riot of curls, eyes as green as the pines of her homeworld and as piercing as death, lips curved in a smile. Spirits, that smile. It never failed to make everything all right, even when she'd turned to flash it in the moment before Harbinger … . He closed his eyes and shook his head. Not the time. It was most definitely not the time.

When he opened his eyes again, she remained there, standing before him, and instead of vanishing into vapour as she had every other time, she stepped forward, her hands reaching up to press against either side of his keel. Those tiny, nimble hands with their impossible digits smoothed the panels of his bonding robe. She stared at his chest for a moment, then looked up and gave him a starched nod of approval before taking his hands in hers.

That night ... spirits, how they'd trembled in his. He grinned, warmth spreading through him. Who was he kidding? His trembled just as hard. Nervous, the both of them jumped every time an explosion went off or a singularity detonated on the battlefield.

But then he'd looked into her eyes, and she'd smiled, her lips trembling as hard as her hands. Even though they'd been together for years by that point, the woman before him forming the air that he breathed, the love he felt in that moment … for that moment he'd been sure it would kill him.

Anderson had cleared his throat, earning a laugh and nod from each of them. Ready? Damn straight they were ready.

Garrus made his promises, thinking as he did how inadequately each of them described the depth of what he felt. How could words frame his wishes for their future, or capture the desperate fear that ran like an undertow beneath the waves?

But then her lips pressed against his mouth, soft and wet, hungry and loving. He would never kiss Elina. Turians really didn't have the mouths for it. Still, Shepard always said that she couldn't imagine kissing another mouth for the rest of her days. She tasted of peppermint and the clear high streams in Palaven's mountains, mineral and … huge clear skies … and connection.

And then he'd wrapped his coillasi around her wrists, and she'd wrapped hers around his.

Torin and wife. Bond-mates. He'd held her for long minutes, the world around them exploding, his gut turning to water as every fear that whispered through his head and every nightmare that woke him screaming at night took up position along with the squad.

The spectre's thumbs brushed over the chains of shell still wrapped around his wrists. Carved already linked, the chains couldn't be broken, not meant to be removed … ever. One finger pressed under his chin, lifting his eyes to meet hers, and she smiled. She knew. He nodded. Of course she did.

Elina had never even suggested that he remove them. A sign of how extraordinary she was, he supposed.

Time to go. That night the words rolled like thunder. The thunder that had stolen her from his reaching arms. She promised that they'd go to the end together.

The spectre wrapped both arms around one of his, tugging him toward the door.

Time to go again. Time for her to leave him all over again. He stopped, pulling back against her grip. No. How could she want him to promise himself to another mate? How could he do it? Duty or not? Love … did he love Elina?

Those impossible lips smiled again, and a cool hand reached up to press against his cheek, just resting there until his old friends, sorrow and anger, faded.

Yes, he loved Elina. He wanted to spend what time remained to him taking care of her, being taken care of. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life mourning.

His first love nodded and led him through the door and down the long hall to where his family and friends … most of them her family and friends … waited. She led him past their grinning faces, pointing to where Joker and Tali stood, hands clasped … where Kaidan and his wife stood surrounded by their children. The ghost looked up from them to stare into his eyes as if trying to burn her wishes onto his soul.

She wanted that for him. Of course she did. He'd never known anyone less selfish … except for that last moment where she'd made him leave her because she wanted him to live. Maybe she'd always intended it to end that way or maybe she'd decided right then, but either way, she'd wrapped her promise of a life together around his wrist and then left him to go on alone.

Stopping before the designatus, she placed his hand in Elina's. After staring at that connection for a moment, she looked up. Those remarkable eyes watched his wife to be as his heart roared inside his chest ... ten impossible beats ... before turning to him. The love he saw there remained undimmed by the turning of more than ten cycles, and he knew as certainly as those heartbeats that it would remain undimmed until he drew his last breath. On that day, when he stepped through the veil, she'd be waiting, drinks in hand, soft, hungry kisses eager to press against his mouth.

And he could wait. He nodded as he met those pine-green eyes. He could wait, do his duty to his people … love his wife and whatever children she blessed him with.

Shepard smiled and leaned up to press a kiss to his mandible, her lips just a sigh of breeze.

"Live well," she whispered. "I'll be waiting."

She stepped back, her fingers drifting up to caress Elina's cheek, then she was gone.

He stared at the spot where she'd been the moment before. Elina squeezed his talons, a silent question, then her thumb drifted over the coillasi wrapped around his wrist. Turning to meet his bond-mate's questioning gaze, Garrus smiled.

"Do you, Garrus Vakarian, promise … ?" Anderson's voice echoed forward through the cycles.

Always. Always. He tucked the promise deep inside his heart and sealed it away. Shards of gleaming crystal as unbreakable as the chains on his wrists, sealed away until he joined her once more. More than once, he'd wondered how it worked in that universe after death, when one's love died, and another came along. Would he have to split himself in two? Would he be with both? He almost chuckled at the thought of what Shepard would have to say about that.

In that moment, as Elina's mandibles lowered and fluttered in a gentle smile, the answer settled warm and soft within him, glowing like the sun. He sent a silent thank you after the spectre of his first wife.

Some loves were meant forever.

And some were meant for life.