Chapter Text
Garrus decided early on into his service abroad the Normandy, that Commander Shepard was a living, breathing conundrum. An elite soldier, unquestionable leader, and master strategist— but merciful, and compassionate too. Never unwilling to help both crew, and strangers alike; Garrus could never quite wrap his mind around the little human, the first of her kind to raise to Spectre status. It only validated his decision to resign from C-Sec, and learn everything that he could while assisting with the capture of Saren Arterius.
His mandible shot out in disgust at the thought of the deranged rogue Spectre that Shepard was now tasked with hunting down. It was difficult to fathom what could drive the Council’s top agent into the kind of madness that he was currently drowning in. The only thing that Garrus’ investigation turned up about him was that he had a long history of violence, but beyond that, every other detail was classified, or completely omitted from mission reports.
Yet, another reason he was grateful for the opportunity to travel with Shepard.
No regulations, no red tape, and no bullshit.
Only results.
The M35 Mako’s diagnostic screen flickered suddenly, the maintenance scan Garrus set to run finally finishing up. He winced at the report. Shepard drove the vehicle hard, and although it could withstand almost anything, that didn’t mean that basic upkeep could be ignored. It needed its oil changed after each ground drop, and it would be worth checking the coolant too. And the turreted machine guns probably need cleaning, the tire pressure hadn’t been looked at in a while and…
“Goddammit,” Garrus muttered, hunched over the terminal. There was a lot to do before landing on Virmire.
“Yeah, I really put that thing through its paces.” Came an amused voice from behind.
He straightened up, turning to find the Commander standing with a hand in her pocket and a thermos of coffee in the other. The corner of her mouth was turned up, and overall demeanor seemed relaxed. Garrus silently applauded her ability to manage stress. It wouldn’t be long before a confrontation with Saren was inevitable, and Garrus was starting to have doubts. Not in Shepard, but with the Council. In his opinion, they’d been mishandling everything to do with Saren from the start. What would stop them from doing for the same once he was apprehended?
“Commander,” he greeted. She must have heard the tension in his voice. The small, beguiled smile disappeared, replaced with a look of worry. It was an expression that didn’t suit her. He tried again, evenly asking, “What can I do for you?”
She wasn’t convinced. “Something bothering you?” she asked.
Shepard was right to point.
He liked that about the Commander.
However, he hesitated for a moment, weighing whether she was being sincere or not. There wasn’t a mission that Shepard did not bring him along for, and idle chit-chat in the Mako was the norm. But, he didn’t know if they were so friendly now that he could vent to Shepard freely. He risked it, anyway. “It’s Saren,” Garrus started. “He’s always one step ahead of us, and he’s got those damn geth…”
Shepard nodded in understanding, and offered, “We’re getting close, Garrus.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” he confessed. “But the idea of him getting away with everything he’s done…" and Garrus trailed off, feeling the familiar brush of anger that he experienced so often in C-Sec. He’d seen too many criminals walk due to a mix of police corruption, political influence, or simple botched investigations.
Garrus thought about reapplying for Spectre training.
His father would be pissed, but that wouldn’t be anything new.
“I understand your concern, but we will find him,” she said with earnest. “As for you— “ she tipped her chin at him, “Just be ready to go when we do.”
It was a nice acknowledgment of his skillset.
She wasn’t going to do this without him.
“Yes, ma’am, you can count on me.” He meant it. He’d watch her back for as long as she needed him too. “Thanks for hearing me out. I appreciate it.”
“Any time,” she replied.
With the discussion over, Garrus expected her to leave him to his work. Instead, she sipped her coffee, not moving. She looked up at him over the lid, as if awaiting another conservation cue.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Garrus obliged. “Can I ask you something, Commander?”
The smile tugged at her mouth again, before eagerly replying with, “Sure, what is it?”
“Are you…” Shepard shifted forward, just a few inches closer to him. “Worried that the Council might be protecting Saren?”
Her face fell, the second time in the short span of their exchange.
He elaborated, “They were really dragging their heels before. What if we find him, bring him back to the Citadel, and they refuse to act?” He just couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that was picking at the back of his neck. Even with Shepard’s leadership, the outcome was uncertain.
“I get the impression this isn’t a question,” she said, leaning back unto the Mako. “Speak your mind, Garrus.”
It was the opening he needed. “Well, maybe we shouldn’t give them the chance. He’s too dangerous to be kept alive. When we find him, I say we stop him permanently.” Would it be considered insubordination abroad an Alliance vessel to suggest something like this? It wasn’t technically murder, after all.
Shepard’s expression turned thoughtful. She’d withdrawn her hand out of its pocket and was now drumming her fingertips across the metal body the Mako.
“If Saren doesn’t listen to reason…” she said, “If he forces my hand, I’ll kill him in a heartbeat. But only, if it’s absolutely necessary.”
That wasn’t the answer he was looking for. Saren needed a bullet through the head, not a chance to escape or plan a counterattack. “But what’s the point in keeping him alive?” He popped open the side hatch. He was right, the coolant levels were low.
Shepard stepped out his way. “We know more about Saren’s plan than anyone, but what do we really know?” she asked, handing him the canister of fluid. “If we just kill him, we lose our chance at ever finding out.”
Garrus just couldn’t share her perspective but doubted he could sway her.
“I see your point,” he lied. Regardless of their differences in opinion, she was his superior officer and would do as she ordered. Still, the argumentative side of his nature just couldn’t be put to rest without asking, “But do you really think there’s more to know? The man’s a raving lunatic.”
In the past, this was about the point that Executor Pallin would’ve presented Garrus with two options: either submit a letter of resignation or shut his mouth. Shepard’s reaction wasn’t nearly as dramatic. She simply said, with contemplation, “Maybe, maybe not…”
Garrus peered up from his work, waiting for her to finish her thought.
She continued, “Call it intuition, or experience but… I feel like there’s a whole lot more to this then just what we’ve seen.”
“We’ve seen some pretty bad shit, Commander,” he said firmly. Noveria, Feros, and whatever awaited them on Virmire…
“I know.” She surprised him by agreeing. Maybe he’d won Shepard over after all. His victory was short-lived, however. “Garrus, if we stoop to the levels of Saren… if we compromise our own integrity just to get the job done fast, and not right, what are we really accomplishing in the long run? The universe isn’t black and white.”
Two years later after her death, Garrus could still hear her words echoing in his head.
+++
Garrus hated Illium.
It was a broken kaleidoscope of lavish architecture, abusive labor practices, and cults of personalities.
He could see through it all; knew what was hiding behind the gleaming skyscrapers in the clouds, trading floors overlooking courtyards, and especially in the inviting smiles of the asari shareholders. Though far from lawless, he simply couldn’t abide by a planet where the destructive competition wasn’t just the norm but was recklessly encouraged. There was something different about the sort of criminals that resided on Illium. Mostly, because they would never be convicted of any of the crimes that were perfectly legal in this glamorous world. Power and credits were placed above all else, nothing else mattered.
It left him feeling disgusted.
Yes, Garrus hated Illium, and the feeling was probably mutual. He’d received a mix of suspicious and oddly lustful glances since docking, and even more so as he hurried through the Nos Astra Exchange. He wore his Spectre-grade, blue-lit hardsuit well. The shield generator on his back keeping both his M-96 Mattock and M-97 Viper in position, ready to use at a moment’s notice. With his height, arsenal, and armor, Garrus struck an impressive silhouette among the asari, and volus in the commercial district.
He doubted he’d be spending enough time on the commerce planet to warrant the use of any of the weapons. Garrus had absolutely zero intention of lingering after meeting with Liara, whom he hoped was better in person then she was over their last text exchange. After years of using text to communicate with his sister, Garrus was a bit of an expert at deciphering the hidden meanings found in a few lines of words. His work at C-Sec only provided additional expertise. Witness statements could be a convoluted mess to the untrained eye.
Whatever was going on with Liara not only left her distraught, but paranoid. She insisted on meeting him in person. He’d not seen her, or any of the old squad in two years. Councilor David Anderson arranged a small private service for Commander Shepard when her death was confirmed. He distinctly remembered the way Liara wrung her petite blue hands together, tears gathering in her eyes as she tried to keep her emotions in check. They eventually won out, and she’d pressed her face into his cowl, weeping openly.
It had shocked him.
Not her disposition— all of them were running the gambit between grief and anger. Personally, never before had Garrus felt the dangerous mix of quiet rage, and deep emptiness— like he’d nothing else lose anymore.
No, what surprised him was that Liara choice him to clutch to while she sobbed.
Often, his only interactions with Liara on the Normandy were indifferent at best, cold at worse. He’d caught her frigid glance more than once, especially when he and Shepard were together. Garrus respected Liara; she was an intelligent, talented biotic. But she was young (by asari standards), and Garrus found it easy to ignore her, deeming her too childish to pay any attention too.
But, he couldn’t ignore her sorrow. He’d sympathetically wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let her cry.
Perhaps, she and Shepard had been lovers, for Liara mourned like someone with a broken heart.
The thought sat strangely with Garrus, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Even now, as he rounded the stairs up to Liara’s office, it wasn’t an idea he liked. It just didn’t… fit. But what did he really know about Shepard’s taste in romantic, or sexual partners? Though they'd shared many private conversations, none delved too deeply into that topic.
And it wasn't as if he could ask her now.
The familiar pang of sorrow, and fury twisted his insides.
There were endless reasons to enjoy his Spectre status, but the most welcomed was how busy he was kept. It gave him little time to dwell. If he wasn’t on a mission, he was at the shooting range or processing intel at the Spectre Office on the Citadel.
Approaching the top of the stairs, he checked in with an asari sitting at a desk lit with terminals. She watched him with heavily-lidded eyes, and Garrus instantly felt suspicious of her nature. He made a mental note of her name—Nyxeris— and entered through the automated doors.
Liara’s office had a remarkable view of the Nos Astra Exchange floor. It was befitting of her position. It shocked him to learn that she’d left the world of archaeology behind, instead of pursuing a career as an information broker. She’d amassed an impressive number of networks, contacts, and was regarded as very well-respected.
But, even with her back turned to him, Garrus knew that she wasn’t admiring the cityscape in front of her. Liara’s posture was too stiff, and she spun around immediately as he approached her desk, with a quality that spoke of fight-or-flight. Upon seeing him, she exhaled a small, though relieved, breath. “Garrus,” she said. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
Something in Liara had matured considerably since their last meeting. Maybe it was her attire, a long form-fitting dress that hugged her body, or the way she carried herself— back straight, shoulders back, with a hip pushed out. She clearly wasn’t a demure little waif anymore and held herself in a confident, womanly manner.
Garrus could tell Liara was being genuine. “How could I ignore the message of an old friend?” They’d all fought along aside Shepard, were forever connected through her. They were family forged in the fires of battle. Deep down, he felt obligated to answer Liara's summons and would have done so for any of the old crew.
Every one of them knew what resided out there in dark space. They all knew the truth.
“That’s very kind of you. I wish this were under more pleasant circumstances. And, I know how busy you are, doing what you do now." She paused, saying it with a touch of criticism, “You’ve been making quite the reputation for yourself.” Liara sat across from him, inviting Garrus to do that same with a gesture from her hand.
He kept standing and crossed his arms.
“The same could be said for you,” Garrus quipped. “The work is I do is classified.”
“But the aftermath is not,” stated Liara. “Shepard would never have approved of your methods.”
Liara was probably correct in that assessment, and she wasn’t wrong about his notoriety either. However, she simply wasn’t in a position to be judgmental. Garrus was quickly becoming a decorated agent of the Citadel Council, who proved to get the job done, no matter how risky. His ideology was brutal, but there could be no mercy for the merciless. There were monsters to prepare for, and monsters that needed more immediate attention.
“She wouldn’t want innocent people hurt,” he argued, before callously adding. “Shepard is dead. So, I guess we can't really ask her, can we?”
And if Shepard were alive, she would know how to make the tough decisions that kept the universe stable.
It hurt to say, self-inflicted cruelty brought on by resentfulness towards Liara’s ignorant scrutiny.
The asari winced but wouldn’t be rebutted so easily. “Shepard was the one who put your name forward to Special Tactics and Reconnaissance.” She said it like it was somehow meant to dictate how he worked.
That wasn’t information that Garrus ever shared with Liara, or anyone else. But, with her business being secrets, he wasn’t exactly surprised that Liara knew. While Shepard never confirmed it, Garrus was certain that she played a hand in his recruitment. Right before going to Ilos, he mentioned to her that he was going to back to C-Sec, and reapplying for Spectre training. A pleased little smile blossomed on the Commander’s lips, and she praised him. After the chaos that Sovereign inflicted on the Citadel, he was contacted on a recommendation.
“I don’t need to defend anything to you, Liara,” Garrus said, effectively ending the exchange. She scowled up at him, before lowering her eyes, conceding. He’d not come to Illium to be lectured. “So, did you ask me here just to waste my time, or—?”
Liara shook her head, two quick jerks side to side, before interpreting him. “I… may have done something.” And then she glanced around her office.
It shut him up immediately.
A feeling of dread settled in his chest, and only grew when Liara rose, then walked over to where he stood. She motioned him down while rising on to the tips of her toes. He’d seen this before, with particularly scared victims of crime. Despite their early differences, Garrus didn’t want Liara to feel that way. He tilted his head, allowing better access for her to whisper up to him.
“Garrus, I need your help,” she pleaded in a hushed voice.
“Do we need to talk somewhere else?” he quietly asked, immediately sensing danger. Whether apparent, or invisible he’d yet to determine, but all the signs were there.
She once again shook her head. “No. I’ve turned this place inside out a dozen times.” Still, she nervously looked over her shoulder, past the glass windows to the rising spires on the horizon.
Liara was frightened.
“What’s going on?” Garrus asked.
“As you know, after the attack on the Citadel, I returned to Thessia to take care of my mother’s estate.” She hesitated, weighing her words. “But... that’s not all I did.”
She swallowed back a lump in her throat, eyes shining with resolve.
“I contacted an agent of the Shadow Broker, looking for any information on Shepard’s whereabouts after the destruction of Normandy. I learned that her body had been recovered and was in status. And that Cerberus had an enthusiastic interest in obtaining her… remains. And through great danger, I helped them do it.”
For a stunned moment, Garrus could only stare at Liara, shocked by her admission. He almost didn’t recognize her; so full of determination and vigor.
And pride.
She was proud of what she’d done.
Did Liara not recall the all disturbing experiments and traumatized survivors that were encountered during the many field missions on isolated, remote worlds? The science labs that stunk of disinfectant, blood, and pain? The twisted, broken bodies of both human, and non-human alike?
Garrus could only grit out, “Cerberus? Why?”
“I just couldn’t let her go…” She craned her neck, tall enough to whisper against his ear canal, “They said they could resurrect her. Bring Shepard back.”
He gawked down at her, not sure if he was hearing her properly. Did his translator just malfunction? What she uttered was impossible. There was no technology that could bring the dead back to life. Liara immersed herself in education and academia. Surely, she knew this.
Had she not outgrown her naivety?
Was heart-ache to blame for her disillusionment?
Did witnessing her mother’s death, unhinge Liara in some unseen way?
It didn’t matter where her headspace was; what she was saying bordered on sacrilege.
She ignored his silence and incredulous stare. “That was almost two years ago. And now, I just received an anonymous message about the project.”
“Project?” he echoed dryly.
“The Lazarus Project,” Liara clarified. “The facility where it was being conducted has been compromised.”
The Lazarus Project meant nothing to Garrus. All he knew was that Liara just confessed to somehow aiding Cerberus, a well-known terrorist-group, in acquiring Shepard’s remains. And no doubt, they desecrated what was left of the Commander in some twisted, sick way.
The thought infuriated him.
It wasn’t what Shepard—his friend— deserved after everything she’d given.
What the hell was Liara thinking?
“What you’ve done is reprehensible,” Garrus managed to grit out, before turning to leave. He needed to vacate the room before he snapped but Liara grabbed his arm.
“There’s so much you don’t understand!” she exclaimed.
Frustration mounting, he snarled, “Shepard is gone. You could have at least put her body in the hands of her mother, or—" He wavered, not daring to give voice to the strange idea that briefly crossed his mind. He was growing more outraged by the minute and not thinking straight. “But instead you gave her to Cerberus!”
She disregarded his anger, and spoke in a surprisingly rational voice, “Would you have done anything differently, if given the opportunity, Garrus?”
Immediately, Garrus felt like he took a shot to the gut.
Despite all the faults he could find in both what Liara disclosed to him, and his personal feelings towards her, there was a hard truth to her rhetorical question.
“You know that war is coming,” she said. “I have no love for Cerberus. I did… do love Shepard.” She paused, confirming his early presumptions. Sorrow fleetingly passed upon her features. “But this isn’t about that,” Liara insisted. “Cerberus knows about the Reapers, just like we do. They were pouring resources into funding this project, hoping to gain an edge against the oncoming threat. But now…” Her fingers gripped his arm tighter. He couldn’t feel it through the armor but could see her hand squeeze.
She was desperate, alone, and terrified. Not unlike the moment that he, Shepard, and Wrex found her suspended in an energy field on Therum.
Garrus couldn’t believe he was really considering this.
“What if you're wrong?” he asked.
Her discouraged expression perked up at his challenge. “Excuse me?”
He wouldn’t let Liara go unchecked so easily, goading her on, “What if I get to this facility, and there’s nothing to be found but a bunch of Cerberus agents who spent the last two years laughing at you?"
"I'm not paid to be wrong.” Something about her self-assurance struck a chord with him. He wasn’t entirely convinced that what she claimed was possible, but what if…
What if Shepard were alive?
He owed nothing to Liara.
But Shepard.
He at least owed her this.
“Who’s your contact?” he finally asked.
She looked up at him, hopeful. “The message I received was skewed, and distorted. The only thing that wasn’t was a set of coordinates. But, I think it’s the same operative I initially met a few years ago. A woman named Miranda Lawson.”
Miranda Lawson.
It wasn’t a name that passed through any of C-Sec, or Special Tactics and Reconnaissance watch lists.
He nodded, “I’ll check it out.”
Liara’s hand slid off his arm. She looked visibly relieved, as she uploaded the location to his omni-tool. “Garrus, I wouldn’t ask this of you unless I thought it was necessary. You’re a Spectre, you can go where you want, do what you want. Disappear, if need be. Your resources are infinite now. It wouldn’t at all be suspicious if you were to investigate this.” She walked away, looking back outside with attentive eyes. “And, you’re the only person I can trust. And before you ask, I can’t go with you. I have… dealings I must attend on Illium.”
His eyes drifted to her desk, illuminated with bright screens streaming through quick lines of data. There was little else on it save for a plain, black shadow box.
In it was something he recognized.
Where did she get those?
“That’s fine,” Garrus replied. “I prefer working alone.”
He turned to leave, but Liara called out to him before he reached the door. “There’s one more thing.”
He paused, hearing the warning in her voice.
“The Council,” she cautioned. “It’s in our best interest to keep them out of this.”
He stormed out, without allowing her to elaborate.
Liara wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know. Garrus never forgot how they treated Shepard during the investigation into Saren, or how they downplayed her warnings about the Reapers upon death.
What Shepard put into motion, the Council now impeded at every turn.
Somehow, he left Illium feeling more agitated than when he arrived. Only recently did Garrus feel like he’d established a new sense of normal, a routine existence that sustained him. His life was both violent, and isolated. But through him, justice was unimpaired and served swiftly. He resented the Council for their bureaucracy, but his work in their name was fulfilling in a way that he’d not experienced since serving in the military. The absolute authority granted to him was a substantial responsibility and one that he was happy to bare.
It was also dangerously intoxicating.
Sometimes, after a particularly messy assignment, he let his mind drift to Shepard. He’d now held the position of Specter longer than she, so unfairly cut short in her career. If she were alive, would they've partnered together, or perhaps, would Shepard have mentored him during his training process?
An uncomfortable ache always gripped his heart during these short-lived flights of fancy, and Garrus knew to quash them before they became too distracting.
It was that distressed, tight sensation that hung to him now, aboard the shuttle that couldn’t depart off-world quickly enough. That, and ever-present anger, now directly aimed at Liara, who dared to inspire him to feel hope.
End Chapter One