Chapter Text
“Garrus, I want you sniping from that vantage point,” Shepard ordered, pointing at a balcony overlooking the courtyard. “James, you’re with me.”
“Finally, some action!” the marine smirked, cocking his gun.
Garrus tilted his head at Shepard, a silent question. You’re not sniping too? She shook her head imperceptibly and reached for her shotgun, and Garrus read her reply through her movements. No, I want to get my hands dirty this time. He could understand that. As satisfying as perfect headshots were, sometimes you needed things to be up close and personal, even when it came to Reapers. Maybe even especially when it came to Reapers.
With a nod, Garrus turned and climbed the ladder behind them, while Shepard and Vega took cover, readying their weapons. On the balcony, Garrus loaded his Widow and waited. For a moment everything was silent. Then, Garrus saw the first wave of Cannibals rounding the corner. “We’ve got company,” he said casually over the comms, taking down the first Cannibal and already aiming at the second.
“Alright, bring it on!” Vega shouted, and Garrus lost himself to the familiar rhythm of a firefight. Aim, shoot, reload, repeat. Don’t hit Shepard or Vega, who were dancing around the Reapers and shooting them with incendiary ammo at point blank range. Don’t let the cannibals…cannibalize. Just keep going. Just keep shooting. Just keep shooting.
Garrus didn’t know how long the fight went on, but when all the gunfire had died down there were dozens of corpses littering the ground – Cannibals, Marauders, even a couple Brutes.
“Alright, I think that’s all-” Shepard began to say, but Garrus saw a Cannibal stirring on the ground, and he quickly lined up a shot, getting it right through the heart.
“You were saying?” he drawled. Not a moment too soon, too. That was his last bullet.
He heard Shepard laugh, and he smiled to himself. This is what they did best. They worked so well together, always had. And no matter what else was going on the galaxy, in some ways…Garrus was the happiest he’d been in a long time. Maybe not happy, he amended, thinking of Palaven. Content. Fulfilled. On the Normandy he felt needed and useful and appreciated, all because of Shepard.
“Okay, now I think that’s all of them. Let’s grab the data and get out of here.” She moved to a console and began typing, and Vega walked through the mass of bodies, pausing to kick one every few feet.
“You got that Brute pretty good, James,” Shepard said from the console just as Vega passed one of the Brutes they’d taken down.
“No biggie,” he said, but Garrus could see a little swagger added to his step.
“Yeah, except it is a biggie,” she said, and Garrus could hear her smile. “See, that was my kill, and I was just about to go for the kill shot when all of the sudden, my lieutenant took his attention away from the Ravager I’d ordered him to take down? And he went for the Brute instead? Even though it was my kill?”
“Oh, geez Lola, it’s not that I thought you couldn’t handle it-”
“It isn’t?” Shepard said in mock surprise. “Because if you doubt me, I can introduce you to all the actual Reapers I’ve killed.”
“No I just – well, you already got the first one, and I thought it was only fair if I-”
“You thought?” Garrus could tell she was keeping in a laugh. “Is it your job to think, Lieutenant? Or is it mine?”
“It’s yours,” he mumbled, looking down at the Brute in question.
“Speak up, soldier!” she commanded in her best Commander voice.
“It’s your job to think, ma’am!” Vega said, snapping to attention.
She finally let out the laugh. “Alright James, you’re off the hook. But next time you steal one of my kills, you owe me a drink.”
“If that’s alright with Vakarian, ma’am,” he replied, and it was Garrus’s turn to laugh.
“You’re lucky she’s only asking for a drink,” he said. “Back on the SR-1, if I stole her kills, she made me give her my copies of Fornax. Then again, maybe that was just her way of flirting with me.”
Vega doubled over with laughter, and Shepard shot him a glare over her shoulder that told him he’d pay for that one later. He smirked, and they held eye contact for a few moments, Shepard at the console, Garrus still on the balcony, until she finally rolled her eyes and smiled again.
She turned back to the console. “Cortez,” she said, “we’re almost done here, prepare for extraction.”
“Aye aye Commander, ETA 5 minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” she said, and then turned to Vega. “James, quit your victory lap and head to the LZ. I just need another minute here and we’ll be all set.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, and he jogged away. Garrus stayed on the balcony a moment longer, watching Shepard work.
“So,” she said, and by the tone of her voice Garrus knew she was speaking on their private comm channel. “Busy later?”
“I might be, who wants to know?” he said lightly.
“Oh, I don’t actually care,” she laughed. “I’m just making small talk, Vakarian.”
“Somehow I’m not buying that, Shepard,” he said, pitching his voice a tone lower, the way she liked.
“What, you think I actually want to spend time with you?” she asked, but Garrus's visor was picking up her elevated body temperature.
“You’ve been known to in the past,” he said nonchalantly, and then added, “But as it so happens, I do actually have some calibrations planned…”
She opened her mouth to respond, but was drowned out by a sound that made Garrus’s blood run cold. He’d never forget that high-pitched scream as long as he lived.
“Banshee!” he yelled, as Shepard yelled, “Fuck!” at the same time. It took less than a second for Garrus to reach for his sniper and position it against the balcony railing.
“I still need 30 seconds for the download!” she yelled, looking back and forth between her omnitool and the corner where all the Reapers had come from.
“I’ll cover you!” Garrus shouted back, and then the Banshee came into view, glowing and sparking, jumping through space and still making that terrible noise.
“I’m overloading its barrier!” he yelled, and an instant later the Banshee’s barrier was down. “Just gotta line up a shot now,” he said, trying to sound calmer.
He looked through the scope on his sniper, trying to find the right shot. The thing kept jumping around, never staying in one place - there was a reason he always used his assault rifle on them, but from this distance that would be impossible.
Finally it stilled for a moment, and Garrus pulled the trigger – but nothing happened. “Fuck! Shepard, I’m out of ammo up here. I’m coming down!” he shouted, trying not to let her hear the fear in his voice as he stowed his sniper and ran for the ladder.
“Vega, get over here!” Shepard yelled, but there was no reply.
“Private channel!” Garrus tried to tell her, but he didn’t think she heard him over the Banshee’s screams.
He slid down the ladder and vaulted over the low wall. He was reaching for his assault rifle when he heard her scream. Garrus’s heart stopped. He turned the corner and saw the Banshee had lifted Shepard off the ground, her shotgun lying on the floor. She scrambled for her pistol, but it was no use. Before Garrus could lift his assault rifle, the Banshee impaled her with its long sharp fingers, right through the stomach – Shepard stopped screaming. She fell to the floor. She didn’t get up.
Garrus didn’t think. He raised his rifle and poured every single bullet into the Banshee, round after round, until it stopped screaming too. Then he dropped his gun and ran to Shepard’s side.
No. Fuck. No no no no. Shepard, no. No!
She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t even breathing. And there was so much blood, pooled around the wound in her stomach…
“Get up Shepard!” he yelled, but there was so much blood, and she really wasn’t breathing, his visor showed no life signs –
Garrus’s head snapped around at the sound of footsteps, rifle raised, but it was just Vega running around the corner. “Thought I heard a Banshee, didn’t want you two having all the fun without – holy shit. Shit shit shit. She’s not…?”
“We need to get her to the Normandy.” Garrus heard himself say the words, but he didn’t quite understand their meaning. He didn’t move.
Vega stepped toward him, but then saw the extent of Shepard’s stomach wound. Blood was still pouring out of it. “Oh fuck,” he said, and he turned and threw up. Still Garrus didn’t move.
Cortez’s voice crackled through the comms. “Commander, where are you guys? I’m reading more Reaper troops inbound, if we wanna leave we gotta do it now.”
“Garrus. We’ve gotta go,” Vega said, and Garrus barely even registered the use of his first name.
“I’m not….I’m not leaving her,” he said, unable to tear his eyes away from the blood soaking her undersuit, staining her skin.
“No, of course not, we’re bringing her with us. Can you carry her?” Vega’s voice was unsteady, like he might throw up again, but he continued. “We need to get her on the shuttle so we can…apply medigel.
Medigel won’t fix this, Garrus thought, but he didn’t say anything. He gingerly scooped up Shepard’s limp body, accidentally smearing her blood down the front of his armor, and stood up. Vega reached down and grabbed her shotgun, abandoned on the floor.
“Esteban, we’re on our way,” Vega said, and Garrus felt his feet move, one in front of the other, as more of her blood ran down his chest. She had stopped bleeding.
They made it to the shuttle and Cortez took off. Garrus laid Shepard on the floor with her head in his lap, trying to keep it steady against the jolting of the shuttle. Vega kneeled next to her with medigel, but a moment later he lowered his hands.
“She’s…fuck. This can’t be happening,” he whispered. “I should have stayed, I should have come sooner, this can’t be happening.”
Garrus didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
This was happening.
Commander Shepard was dead.