Shakarian Compendium

Archangel

Garrus had killed more mercenaries than he could keep tally of over the past few hours. Male, female, human, turian, salarian, krogan, it didn't matter. So why the sight of this fully armoured, humanoid female gave him pause, he couldn't say.

This war he'd waged against the scum of Omega was swiftly coming to an end. He couldn't recall the last time he'd eaten or slept and the maddening fatigue was settling in fast. He sure as hell wasn't going down easy though.

The mercenary clans were gathering that was clear, no doubt pushing for one final assault. That he'd been able to piss them off enough for them to band together like this was impressive. His crude fortifications had held out so far, but sooner or later they were bound to get wise to the undeniable weakness of his position and simply bash their way in. Until that happened, he held this vantage point, guarding the only clear route to him that he'd shrewdly left available, the bridge. A narrow expanse littered with debris and bodies from previously failed attempts to cross. He'd been tracking a few 'sniper fodder' scouts when this woman in question had filled his scope. There were no identification marks on her armour, nothing to align her with any clan. She was just another hired gun, same as any of the others they kept pushing mercilessly over the bridge, except she wasn't. Her weapon wasn't even drawn.

What the hell is she doing?

Unless the mercenary recruits weren't being given the full lowdown on the situation, an entirely plausible explanation, she'd just deliberately waltzed out into death-valley. Everything about her screamed, 'shoot me, or you'll regret it', too, but his finger remained frozen on the trigger.

He followed her adjusting the magnification of his scope, feeling something akin to awe as she surveyed the building he was bunkered down in without a trace of fear, scanning the windows till she unknowingly looked straight at him. Her dark blue eyes glinted through the visor of her helmet, burning with a fiery life he could never mistake nor forget.

It couldn't be.

"Shepard?" he asked aloud, pulling away from the scope to blink furiously before finding her again. Memories of two years ago flooded back to him as he searched for some concrete comparison. Recalling the way she'd moved, the way she'd fought and for a morbid moment he considered the possibility that he was dead already. How else could he be seeing the ghost of the first human Spectre, his Commander; his friend? Even if by some miracle it was her, how could he be certain she was there to help him? She couldn't know who he was.

She'd have shot you already, his subconscious rebuked, and though he wanted to believe it, after everything he couldn't leave it to chance. There was only one way to know for sure.

A few rapid adjustments to the rifle round and he took aim, finding her armour's shield generator on her right shoulder. Knowing it would recalibrate instantaneously he pulled the trigger, unable to stop a rebellious smile as he watched her dive for cover.

"What now?" he murmured to himself, waiting for her response, "you know you've got my attention." A few seconds passed, but there was no return fire, and no signal to the other two who were obviously with her though she'd left them back in cover.

So Shepard, Garrus mused, no longer unsure. Time to get a move on, Commander, you're seriously late, and just as if she'd heard him she re-emerged, pulling her hand cannon from her hip and laid waste to the mercenaries ahead of her position.

Shepard hadn't moved in hours. Dimly aware that her tightly folded arms ached, her own bone-deep weariness meant nothing as she watched Doctor Chakwas and her medical assistant work frantically to keep Garrus alive.

Shepard glimpsed her haunted reflection in the glass of the med-bay windows, her near crippling guilt reminding her this was a balance for survival she might have shifted in his favour had she acted when the chance presented itself. The memory of a sparking welder consumed her again briefly. It had been a fatal weapon of opportunity, something to use against the poor bastard whose job it was to fix the mercenary's gunship, but Shepard had chosen to walk away, deeming it somehow beneath her to stab anyone in the back, merc or no - now her friend had paid the price.

Hindsight's a bitch. If only I'd known who Archangel really was… though Shepard couldn't fool herself into believing she'd have acted any differently. She just wasn't 'built' that way. Morality's a bitch, too, she decided, shaking her head; silently despairing. She'd never forgive herself if Garrus died.

The med-pod he lay in shielded most of his alien body from view, though she'd seen enough before the surgical screen covered him to know he was a gory mess. Shepard had found him in a broken heap after the gunship finally went down. Blood pooling beneath him, torn up so badly she'd been beyond amazed when his eyes flickered open in response to her desperate calls. She couldn't quite feel the embarrassment equated to such an unusual, emotional response yet - not after watching him splutter a reply - probably telling her to stop yelling at him - before he'd chocked on a mouthful of his own blood.

That fabled switch in her mind had activated then, the one that tuned out the panic and fear, and allowed her to think fast. Looking back, she could only recollect a blur of orders and movement. Then she was here, frozen. Fixed like a piece of the Normandy's hull plating, or a conduit cell that the world moved around and summarily ignored - till it broke down. Well, she was yet to break, and the worry that any of the crew might witness such an event was over as the mess hall now stood empty behind her, silent and dark, but for the illumination from the med-bay windows.

"Come on, Vakarian. Give me something here," she whispered, willing the plea into an order.

"Tough son of a bitch."

The unexpected comment had Shepard glancing to find Jacob beside her. She had no idea how long he'd been there. He might have materialised in that second or been with her the whole time, right then she didn't care.

"Toughest," she amended, resuming her intense vigil.

Jacob didn't say anything else, but now Shepard knew he was there it was hard to ignore him. "What is it Mr Taylor?" she asked, not looking up.

"I'm here to relieve you, Commander."

That got her attention. "Relieve me?" she snapped, though her irritation softened in the same breath. She was too tired to stay annoyed and Jacob appeared genuinely concerned. "Thank you Mr Taylor, that won't be necessary."

"I have to disagree. You need down time, Commander. You haven't eaten or slept in over twenty-six hours."

Twenty-six hours? "If I needed a list of medical suggestions I'd ask Doctor Chakwas. Right now she's got more pressing concerns." Shepard gestured sharply in the direction of the on-going operation hoping Jacob would leave it there. He wasn't to be deterred.

"If you'd choose to call simple necessities 'medical suggestions', Commander-"

Shepard cut him off. "Jacob, I'm not leaving here till I know… one way or another."

The incandescent light of the med-bay filled with sudden flashes of red as the monitors on Garrus's med-pod began bleeping furiously. This was it. Everything that had held Shepard's steely resolve together began to crumble and she reached forward, pressing her hand futilely against the glass. She was going to lose him. She was going to lose Garrus, her only ray of hope in the midst of all this chaos she'd been awakened to.

Garrus's mandibles flared as he roared suddenly, the cry one of anger and pain. He started convulsing, violently lashing out as Doctor Chakwas and her assistant struggled to restrain him.

"God damn it," Shepard cursed, making a run for the med-bay door, Jacob in hot pursuit. "What happened?" she demanded, rushing to Chakwas's side and helping to pin down her delusional friend – no easy task. Turian's were by default, strong, and Garrus was no exception. He was much stronger than her even in a severely injured state. Thankfully, Jacob grabbed his other side.

"It's the adrenaline," Chakwas explained, shaken. She looked exhausted. "We need to sedate him or he'll tear through everything we've repaired."

"Do it," Shepard ordered, "we've got a hold of him." Though she concurred with the brief look of 'I'm not so sure about that' passing over Jacob's face. "Easy, Garrus, easy," she soothed, watching as Chakwas was handed a syringe with a needle long enough to skewer her head. She tried to hide her panic stricken awe as she watched it sink almost fully into Garrus's neck. All at once his muscles relaxed beneath her continued grip and his weight fell back onto the med-pod.

A collective sigh of relief ran through them as they listened to the monitors resume a steady rhythm again. Shepard stared breathlessly into Garrus's face realising only then that his eyes were still slightly open. "Garrus?" she whispered.

Chakwas began taking further readings. "There's no way he could be conscious after that," she claimed, though her astonishment said otherwise. "That dose would have put down an adult Elcor."

"Like I said, tough son of a bitch," Jacob added with a faint grin.

"Garrus?" Shepard repeated, unable to look away from his mangled face. She couldn't contain her smile when he responded, though it was less than a whisper. At least she wasn't shouting at him this time.

"Where…" was the only word she could make out, but she understood.

"You're on the new Normandy," she explained. "You're safe."

Garrus was glad when Jacob Taylor saw fit to give them a moment alone. Genuine as he seemed, he was still a Cerberus agent and Garrus wanted to know what the hell was going on.

"Cerberus, really?" he asked, turning to Shepard as the briefing room doors closed.

She didn't answer, remaining thoughtful as she stared at the holograph schematic of this new Normandy hovering above the conference table. The low light threw an array of fresh scars on her face into sharp relief. From what Dr Chakwas had been willing to tell him, Cerberus had been responsible for bringing Shepard back. They'd resurrected or 'rebuilt' her from preserved parts. He hadn't wanted to believe it at first. The circumstance was beyond surreal, and more than a little disturbing after everything he'd seen of the organisation. The end result, however, he couldn't deny, was miraculous.

"You remember the experiments we uncovered, right?" Still, she said nothing. "Toombs?" He realised this was hitting below the belt, but he had to get a response. He needed to see that same spark he'd recognised on Omega just to be sure this was the same woman he remembered.

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes fighting down whatever emotion this particular question had arisen in her.

"I know what they are, Garrus," she answered finally, "and what they've done. I don't trust them if that's what you're wondering. 'Cerberus' describes them too well, and I fully expect them to betray me at some point. I do trust you though," she added, looking up at him, "implicitly."

There was the fire.

Charming as she could be with words, she had never been one to voice an opinion needlessly, often keeping her own council. She was, however, a woman of action who led by example. A paragon of moral fibre Garrus could never hope to understand or achieve. She would never say, 'I need you', but she'd never have to, her eyes said it all, and such honesty was impossible to doubt.

"Just like old times," he said. Shepard smiled, though it was a half-hearted effort. She was clearly shattered. "You realise this plan has me walking right into hell along with you?"

"I couldn't think of better to watch my back."

"I'll make myself at home then. See if I can't be of use in the forward batteries; do something to improve your firepower."

"That'd be much appreciated," she replied. The silence that followed was a little awkward, but realising he was simply waiting on a dismissal he wouldn't receive, Garrus turned to leave. "It's good to see you," Shepard added.

"You too," he said, looking back over his shoulder at her, "though you knew that already."

"Don't die on me again," she ordered lightly, though there was an unmistakeable edge to her voice. She really meant it.

"Come on, Commander. I waited two years for you to come back from the dead. The least you can do is wait forty eight hours."

"I'm serious," she smiled.

There was a long pause before Garrus was able to say, "Me, too," the truth of the answer weighing heavily on him. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed her. "Get some sleep, Shepard. You look like I feel."