TITLE: My Immortal

CHAPTER: Three

"These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase."

Evanescence, My Immortal

Admiral Hackett recruited him. Admiral Hackett gave him work and something to think about besides the loss of Commander Shepard. Garrus spent his days traveling from place to place, several times to the outer planets, working for Admiral Hackett. He listened to problems and marshaled resources. He compiled census data on orphans, displaced families, and attempted to reunite veterans with their loved ones. It was good work. Was it interesting work? No. Well, yes, perhaps it was gratifying to help people find their families. Did it keep him busy? Yes. Should he be doing this same work on Palaven? Probably.

Did it fill the empty place in his heart where she lived? No. It's the same gut feeling that kept him from putting Shepard's nameplate on the Normandy's memorial wall and prevented him from leaving the Sol System. He stayed with it and gradually absorbed the fact that almost everyone he met had lost a loved one. He knew their grief and understood. That understanding didn't stop him from looking for Shepard in the gaunt cheeks and frightened eyes of every orphan and grieving features of the ones left behind.

He thought of the children. Their children. Biology, be damned. If they were the first to create a turian human child, then that's what they would do. Because he'd asked and she said yes. The shy smile and the way her eyes darted away at his question.

Kiss the girl like you mean it.

Yes, Shepard. I meant it. I meant every word I said to you and I would give anything to put our child in your arms.

Millions of turians lost their lives in the war with the Reapers. An entire generation lost. His father will insist his only son pick a mate. Garrus knows he is many years past the time when a turian male expects to mate. If he goes home, then he's ready to face his role in turian society. His gizzard cramped with the thought. She won't have pink and white curves, curious hair between her legs one shade lighter than her red hair, sensitive nipples on soft round breasts or tease him with her lips and tongue. No turian woman would ever behave the way Shepard took for granted in private. Her lack of turian inhibition was just one of the many things he loved about her.

He shook his head and pulled his thoughts to the present.

This morning he realized he'd come full circle back to Great Britain. Just now he stood on an area of land known as Glastonbury Abbey, located on the southwest coast of England. The area had a long history of romance, magic, and epic battles. After the Battle for Earth, the entire area became a hospital and R & R center for the Alliance military and associated civilians.

Garrus stood with the medical director on a breeze swept expanse of lawn discussing medical supply requisitions. A skirt of grass sloped gently toward the shore with a simple wooden railing directing the casual hiker away from the steep path that led down to the sea.

Although he typically found the islands too wet and cold. He finally learned to appreciate the beauty of Great Britain. In fact, since the war, Garrus learned to appreciate the variety of colorful landscapes Earth had to offer. Garrus raised his face to the warm summer breeze.

He didn't think he would miss it. Maybe he'll miss it a little. The first thing he will do when he arrives on Palaven is stand in the sun until his plates are finally warm again. Then his father will take him by the arm and force him back into society. His father would not miss the opportunity to show off his son the war hero.

After years of working with humans and other races, it was time to go home. This was his last job. From here Garrus would turn the work over to his staff and return to Palaven. Admiral Hackett tried to talk him out of leaving. Finally, the Admiral understood and wished the turian well. The two men shook hands and Garrus looked into Hackett's eyes and thanked him. They didn't need to express the thought they'd probably saved each other's lives or going crazy from grief at the loss of Shepard.

And Garrus wanted to see his father and sister. His father had practically ordered him to return home, reminding of the work that waited for him on Palaven. It was time to let go, time to pull a life together from the pieces of the war. Time to go home. Garrus shook off the anxiety and turned his attention back to the director.

As the doctor droned on, something on the lawn pulled his attention away again. Garrus' gaze followed the path to the water's edge and noticed a darting movement among the resting patients and visitors. A few of them complained about the intrusion of the small figure wrapped in blankets and large straw hat in a wheelchair.

The center housed refugees from the war. No species was turned away. Asari, humans, turians and even one or two krogans dotted the long porch and the spacious lawn. Garrus missed the Normandy's crew and thought of them every day. A unique and once in a lifetime experience full of memories, courage and comradery and a Commander with red hair, fiery temper and courage to match.

While he watched the chair and passenger seemed to disappear over the edge. Garrus watched, torn between alerting the doctor or checking on the patient himself. The physician spoke to one of the nearby medical technicians.

"She's on the move again, Mister Snyder. Better go get her."

"She just wants to listen to the birds, Doc."

"That the wheelchair is not an all-terrain vehicle," the doctor snapped. "We don't want another scene with her crawling around in the sand looking for nests. Grab some help and get down there."

When the med-tech shrugged his shoulders and walked slowly away, the turian's impatience grew. The patient might be injured, and no one seemed to be in much of a hurry to assist. He decided since he's closest to the patient he will head down. As Garrus turned away, the doctor made a call.

"Meet me in the exam room one. Yes, it's Jane Doe again. Nothing's changed. No. I don't know when we can treat her. We can't even I.D. her, much less repair the extensive damage to her synthetics. No word on her eyes. We don't even have the resources to regrow the tissue. The burns and broken bones we fixed. I don't even know if there's anyone left alive who knows how. She's more restive and angry every day. Unless we receive better drugs or the kind of doctor, she needs we may have to confine her. Look, just meet me there."

The sound of the man's voice faded as Garrus hurried down the slope of grass. Seabirds screeched and cartwheeled over the breaking waves. Sun glinted off the wet rocks, blinding him for a moment. Just below the edge, he heard the whine of an electric chair accompanied by the sound of an angry voice. Garrus heard the voice growling, "Goddamn thing doesn't drive any better than the Mako!"

When the occupant threw their weight to the left to straighten the chair, Garrus' breath caught.

Spirits!

He really didn't know how to swim. Garrus stretched his long legs and caught up with the chair just as it bounced back against the white-painted rocks guarding the edge of the path. The chair tilted sharply to the right threatening to dump its passenger again. The wind sent the straw hat flying. Garrus watched it sail away.

A flash of red against the blues and grays caught his eye. He shouted a warning, but the wind and water drowned out his words. The chair rocked again, bumping over the uneven terrain. One wrong move and the chair and its occupant would follow the hat into the churning sea below.

The chair is pointed directly at the edge of a drop-off now. The passenger is about to resume the headlong journey to the shoreline. Garrus hurried down the path, his eyes on the wild red hair billowing in the wind. His feet move without conscious thought. Garrus positioned himself on the narrow path attempting to block the patient from rolling forward.

Then turning slowly, he does not allow himself a moment of hope. He was, after all, simply here to provide aid to a patient.

The chair rolled to a stop in front of him and bumped into his legs.

"Who's there? Get outta my way!"

Dropping to knees that could no longer hold him upright Garrus stared reached a shaking hand to push the red hair back from the woman's face.

The frail patient almost hidden inside blankets slapped his hands away. "I said, move, mister!"

She cried out when a finger contacted a sharp talon. Her hand jerked back, but her head came up, blind eyes searching. Then one by one, fingertips crept back as she silently began to explore.

It wasn't possible. He knew what she had to survive to be alive.

He's seeing her. She's here. Alive He's looking into the beautiful and fierce face of his beloved Shepard. His heart didn't see the scars or the blind eyes. He stayed on his knees and bowed his head, but he couldn't stop the trembling.

Her fingers traveled up his arm, examining the three-fingered hand, the smooth leather skin of his arm and the delicate texture of a wool sleeve. Unsteady hands followed the outline of his shoulders and continued up his neck, lingering over the carapace. Then her left hand began a path of its own discovery.

"Let me go," she whispered from trembling lips. "I can't... not anymore... there's nothing left. Please let me go."

Garrus held his breath, forced himself to stay still. Until all the grief and guilt came boiling from his heart. A keening cry rose in his throat as he bowed his head. His brow plates against her forehead.

"That's one wish I cannot grant you. I'm sorry."

His movement caused her hand slid up to his mandibles, where she began to trace the outline of familiar shapes. As if she were counting each scar, recalling their texture and accompanying memories.

"I...I remember they drove you wild once..." he said, his voice choked.

The patient said a word he thought he'd never hear again. Perhaps it's the magic of Glastonbury at work? Perhaps, just now, The Lady of the Lake is smiling? The woman whispered his name, and her breath is warm and alive against his mandibles. The voice is fragile, a fraction of its normal tone, but he knew the sound of his mate's voice. He heard the grief and pain laced through her words.

"Please... let me go. There's nothing left of me. Pretend you never saw..."

"Te amo, te amo, te amo." Garrus rumbled against her cheek, reaching for her, slipping his hands under her and pulling her forward.

Empty, the much-abused wheelchair took its last ride. Bouncing over the rocks and landing in a tide pool after its occupant flung herself at the turian. Sobs wracked the thin body.

"You found me."

Garrus held her close, banishing the demons, soothing the hurt and protecting his mate as he always had and always would.

My Immortal: you tube: watch?v=5anLPw0Efmo

The Bridge. Yeah, you go look it up. It's in the Kama Sutra. Easy Google search. When it comes up on your screen, the visualization will smack you in the face, and you'll be giggling about it from now until Christmas. (giggling madly)

Miranda Lawson's Lab: I love watching these TED videos. So interesting. Apparently, we could re-grow a "Shepard" now. (graphic, but fascinating images) blog . ted 2012 / 09 / 13 /10-talks-on-the-future-of-stem-cell-medicine

"Move. Fight. Live." HALO Spartans