AN: Kink meme fill, as per usual. Stumbled across this prompt and decided what the hell. I probably should be working on other stuff, but I've hit a brick wall with one of the stories I'm working on and Infinite Regress is going slowly as I think it through.

Control is the ending I shy away from the most. I go back and forth between Destruction and Synthesis, but Control is almost guaranteed to be the one I would never pick. But it was a fun little project to think through the aftermath of that decision.

Probably a two- or three-shot. Rating subject to change as I figure out where this is going.

Don't Follow

His dreams are fuzzy and broken. Shouts and bullets and the smell of burnt armor that reminds him too much of Omega, all of that tumbling together so that he doesn't know what's real and what's his mind playing tricks on him. And a pain that starts on the surface and is slowly burrowing its way deeper and deeper so that even this restless sleep can't help him escape it.

When he finally breaks free, he wakes with a start. Gasping for air and pulling at bandages he barely notices, he tries to force his way off the bed. He's dizzy and his mind can't focus on anything, but something in the back of his mind keeps nagging him that this is bad this is really really bad.

Soft hands reach his shoulders. Warm and familiar in their shape, his body calms for a second before he hears the sympathetic voice that comes with them.

"Garrus."

Not her voice.

He turns to see his terror reflected in eyes that aren't hers either, but by now he knows. His gut clenches because oh Spirits does he know. "Shepard?" he chokes.

The good doctor's face gives it away. Surprising really. He'd always thought she had a good poker face.

Strange how that thought floats through his mind as he falls to the ground. He didn't have the strength to be up in the first place, but at least until he knew - absolutely knew - he'd had the will. Now... no, not now. Not anymore.

In his ears all he can hear is a strangled keening sound he hasn't heard since he was a child, both familiar and completely foreign to him. Before he passes out, he prays begs pleads that he just won't wake up. Not without her.

Please, not without her.

Hackett sends the word, officially, a week later. Somewhere in some data file, Jane Shepard passes away as a single letter changes her from MIA to KIA. The crew had held out hope. Hell, Garrus had let himself hope in that small dark, greedy corner of his mind. But really, he'd known all along.

He's proud of himself as he puts her name alongside the others. As they stand there, he manages to walk without stumbling. Somehow his hands don't shake. He walks away, not meeting anyone's eyes, and all he can think is that he's proud that he didn't vomit. Even though they might want to, they know better than to follow.

Time, they all whisper. He just needs some time.

They're still groundside on some backwater planet. He's vaguely aware that they probably couldn't have crashed anywhere more beautiful. The air smells clean and untouched. But it's too green. Too much like her eyes and it kills him a little more each time he catches himself wondering what she'd think if she could just be here and-

And he knows that time isn't the issue.

Sleep is torture.

Every night he dreams of her. Alive and happy and most importantly, with him. But then she's whispering that she loves him as she pulls out of his reach. Always out of his reach... Explosions take her further away, fire consumes her and she's lost, lost forever...

Every night he wakes up drenched in sweat and wishing turians didn't dream.

The radio was the first thing they repaired. So they knew – at least, they'd been warned - ahead of time.

Didn't make them any more ready for what greeted them as they finally broke orbit.

A Sovereign-class Reaper appears before them, soon blocking anything else from view. Joker's hands twitch slightly, and it's obvious he's fighting the impulse to get them the fuck out of there. Someone behind them - he's not sure who - gasps. Most of them are fidgeting nervously or frozen still, waiting with bated breathe.

Garrus finds he's not as worried as he might have been. Later he'll wonder why - does he trust Shepard's sacrifice that much, or does he just not care anymore? - but at the time he just stares back at it as it watches them. It looms over them, as imposing as ever. That single eye watching, boring into him.

No, that would be silly. Not him. The ship.

He can't turn away, feels some sort of pull compelling him to just keep looking. Like there are answers in that unblinking gaze...

Part of him wonders if this is what indoctrination feels like, and he instantly looks down, hoping to break whatever connection that thing might have been trying to form. The comm crackles with Reaper chatter before it pulls away as unceremoniously as it appeared. They all watch it retreat, not quite sure how to feel about a Reaper - a Reaper of all things - just letting them go.

"What the hell was that? Trying to give me a heart attack," Joker mutters, making a point of flying off in the opposite direction, even if it means taking the long way.

The Reapers are rebuilding the Relays. As shell-shocked as he is by everything that's happened, even this manages to leave an impression. He finds it strange when he finds out the Reapers' greatest efforts seem to be in the Sol System. Guess she left an impression, too.

The crew meets with Hackett for debriefing. There's no need, not really. The only one who would know anything about what happened on the Citadel, the only one in the whole universe who has the missing puzzle pieces, is never coming back.

She might have gotten a kick out of that, if she'd known.

His talk with Hackett is brief and to the point. They share notes, both trying to ignore the gaping hole in their lives. Everyone else could celebrate, but they had actually known Shepard, and not just as a legend. She was flesh and blood. And family. She was family.

Garrus is turian military, so he doesn't have to be here at all. It stings to reopen wounds not yet closed (never closed never healed just always there festering and slowly killing him bit by bit), but this meeting has a purpose. A goal.

"I want to see it."

Hackett chews on the idea for a second. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

His throat is dry and he can't swallow. Words escape him briefly as he wonders what'll he do if he can't get permission.

Steal the Normandy and go anyway. Her voice is light and airy. Beautiful, but already fading in his memory. Just like her face, the way she felt, her body folded next to his...

"I've been there. It's not pretty." His eyes glaze over slightly as he walks that path on the Citadel again. "I wish I hadn't gone," he finally admits, eyes turning back to his. For the admiral to be overwhelmed like that… well, what chance did he stand?

It was never going to be pretty. He was always going to wish he'd never gone. But he was always going to go. "I need to see it." He doesn't want to beg. Can't beg for this, no matter how much he needs it.

"Stubborn," Hackett mutters before reaching towards a data pad. "I'll give you full access. Word of advice: Don't linger."

Garrus isn't listening as he shifts to get up. Linger is all he can do.

He doesn't tell the crew. This is something he has to do alone.

Work on the Citadel is going faster than planned, but still only a few parts are breathable. Word is this part's only functioning because of Hackett. No doubt a memorial will be set up. More meaningless words that could never equal everything she's done for this galaxy.

His steps carry him past the guards and towards the broken machinery. It worries him that he might not know the right spot. That Jane Shepard disappeared without a trace more than died. They said there wasn't a body...

It hits him suddenly when he's finally, truly alone. That this place reeks of Jane. Not in any sort of tangible way, but it's here. She's here.

There's a slight twitch in his mandibles, the closest thing to a smile since...

He's still not sure where to go, but something guides him to the left. A familiar pulling sensation builds in his gut, centering in his left side. He stumbles, suddenly unsteady on his feet. Limping more than walking, he follows the feeling, a feeling that has settled into a dull ache, a pain radiating outward but always centered just under his ribs like a bullet to the gut.

Blind to where he's going, the feeling is suddenly gone as he stops abruptly in front of a control panel that looks as broken as he feels. He stares for a moment before he looks down and cold realization hits him.

This is it.

This is the spot where his future died.

Talk of beaches, retirement and children that had mostly been bravado but that in his heart he'd always believed. And it all died right here, marked only by a splatter of blood.

He chokes back whatever sound is building in his throat and, for the first time in his life, walks away from Jane Shepard.

The pull of the Earth's orbit grabs hold of him and won't let go. She might not have been born here, but this is her world. A little piece of her he's too stubborn to abandon. Not when he's lost everything else.

James is the only one who will put up with him. The others see his moping as a constant reminder of the friend they've lost. And, for some of them, a guilty reminder of what they still have.

They find work rebuilding. There seems to be an excess of soldiers at the moment. No one misses a few more guns, but they appreciate a few more hammers.

He told her once he was no good with a hammer. Now, as he rebuilds her world, he tries to prove himself wrong.

Strange as it is to see Reapers rebuilding what they helped destroy, it's even stranger to see the husks do it. Both he and James stop short as they see a brute clearing slabs of debris bigger than a shuttle away from the new builds.

"Never going to get used to that," James mutters as they get back to work. "I've served a couple tours but that pretty much takes the cake."

Four years ago, Garrus would have been inclined to agree. But Shepard was always good at upping the stakes.

Garrus doesn't keep track of the days. Doesn't need to, doesn't want to. It's all the same. Hours of clearing out buildings and putting up walls blur together.

Usually it's just the two of them. Even complete strangers pick up within a half day's work that Garrus is "a bit of a downer." It suits him just fine. Vega knows not to pry and neither do the walls.

It's not until they start helping a group of men clear out an old hospital that it's finally brought to their attention.

"They sure like to stare at you two."

James throws another cinder block before answering. "Who?" They both look around. There's no one there but the seven of them.

"Them." He gestures towards the husks skirting the perimeter they've been working in. Just like everyone else, they've been hauling the charred ruins out. As usual, they've kept their distance. Hell, after the first few days, Garrus didn't even notice the poor bastards anymore.

Now they see them, though. See as they keep turning to watch and stare. But only at him and Vega. The other men may as well not even be there.

"Give me the creeps," says the same guy before turning his back on the lost creatures. Out of mind, out of sight it would seem.

"Yeah," James says for lack of anything else. "Me too."

At night, when he's in the mood to torture himself, he falls asleep thinking about her. It scares him that her memory is fading so fast so soon. The lines of her face less defined, her eyes not as bright, her voice not as full. He's not ready to let her go, but it seems his mind won't let him keep her.

His hands burn as she pulls away, her last words to him burned forever in his brain, and he's masochistic enough to be glad for it. So many perfect moments slip by forgotten, but at least this tortuous one is left him.

Night after night he watches her leave him, helpless to stop her. And every morning he wakes up a little emptier, a little more alone.

It's a pattern he knows well by the time his dreams start shifting. It's a subtle thing at first. Her face no longer strong and determined as she leaves, but twisted and agonized. Not as confident as she pulls away.

The day he first sees the husks watching him with an empty intensity that chills him, that night he barely sleeps. Every time he closes his eyes, she's pulled from his arms screaming his name and fighting against a horde of husks. They swarm around her, swallowing her from view as she pleads for him and he fights and spirits does he fight and fight but just can't get to her-

He shoots up like a bolt, his own scream nearly breaking free.

"Scars, you alright?"

James' bulky form on the next bunk is barely visible, shrouded in the pre-dawn gloom that he hopes hides how fucking shaken up he is right now. It takes him a minute to figure out that fuck it was just another dream. He barely manages to nod, for once trying to force his mind to just not think of Shepard.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit."

He's not quite sure where his voice comes from, but somehow it finds him and answers. "Always the charmer, Vega."

"Don't I know it." James rolls over, facing the wall. He muffles a yawn just before adding, "Try to get some sleep."

"Yeah. Sleep."

Garrus stares at the crumbling ceiling for hours scared to even blink.

It's a solid three days before he even tries to sleep again. He doesn't notice he's running low on stims until he's a bone-deep tired that not even chemicals can fix. Against his will, he passes out as soon as he hits the mattress.

Relief washes over him when he finds himself walking through the rubble of this city he's never bothered to learn the name of. He misses Shepard deeply. He'd give anything to see her just for a moment (he's afraid to find out just how true that statement really is). Just... not like that. Not dying in front of him. He'd rather endure her leaving him a thousand times over...

He walks alone through the abandoned city of his dreams. More and more he finds that he feels nothing. Awake and at work, at best he feels useful. But even that is meaningless. He was useful in the war, too. Apparently not useful enough. Now, in this dream world, he still feels nothing.

There's a weird sort of peace in that.

He wanders, adrift, for a while. The little part of him that's aware enough to know he's dreaming wonders when he'll wake up. The same part of him wonders if he cares either way.

Lost in thought (or rather, in his efforts to not think), he doesn't notice them. Not until he can suddenly feel dozens of eyes fixed on him. He looks around and he stops dead. A chill goes through him as he meets the eyes of countless husks, all around him, watching unblinkingly.

But the worst part, the thing that will haunt his days, is their eyes. Not the dull blue of the indoctrinated, no. They're the bright green of an emerald, beautiful in the intensity of their color and the feeling behind it.

They're the green of Jane Shepard's eyes.

This time, he does wake up screaming.