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The door slides open in the same way all the embassy offices open to visitors and occupants alike. The man behind the door is standing with his back to Garrus as he looks out into the Presidium over the balcony railing. He squares his shoulders and stands a little straighter before turning around, as if anticipating a fight. And the set of his jaw when Garrus sees his face confirms his initial thoughts, because he can visibly see Anderson relax at his presence.
“Councilor,” Garrus says as he steps into the office, without waiting for an invitation.
“Garrus Vakarian,” Anderson says as he relaxes and a wide smile spreads across his face. “Hell of an operation you run shutting down that smuggling ring in Kithoi Ward.” Anderson makes his way over toward the table at the corner of the balcony instead of moving toward the desk. He extends a welcoming arm before adding, “Join me?”
“Thank you,” Garrus says as he walks toward the table, glancing around the office on his way over. “It’s too bad Pallin doesn’t agree with your assessment of the operation,” he adds as he sits down uncharacteristically heavy, unable to hide his exhaustion and frustration.
“The Executor still giving you trouble, then?” Anderson asks with levity. “It’s clear to see that some things never change. Glad to see you’re still as defiant as ever. If he’d backed you a year ago, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
Garrus laughs at that, the sound catching him off guard because he can’t actually remember the last time he was able to laugh about something work related.
“I wish I had something dextro to offer you, but I don’t get many Turian visitors. Hell, other than Udina, I don’t get visitors at all,” he adds. It’s not bitter from what Garrus knows of humans, but it certainly doesn’t sound like being named to the Council has done Anderson any favors.
“Thanks, but I had a drink at the Embassy Bar after I left Pallin’s office.” They sit in the silence for a bit. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not exactly companionable either. Garrus and Anderson had only interacted a few times during the chase for Saren, but there was no one in the galaxy Shepard respected more than the man before him today. In fact, it is her trust that brought Garrus to this moment.
Anderson doesn’t rush it, doesn’t fill the silence with words to avoid the discomfort. Finally, Garrus sighs before saying, “I’m leaving the Citadel.” Anderson doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t move at all. So Garrus continues, “I don’t know how you put up with the red tape and bureaucratic bullshit.” It comes out angrier than he’d meant it to, but now that he’s said it out loud, he doesn’t want to stop. “Having to know which hands to shake and which to grease, begging for resources, and even worse, being told not to follow a thread because of who the higher ups already know it connects to. I just can’t do this anymore, Anderson.”
“What’s the alternative?”
The question makes Garrus focus on Anderson once more. Three words, that’s it. No judgement, no disappointment, no attempt to pacify. Garrus understands what he’s really asking, which is 'What would Shepard do?' But the only answer he has is one he can’t reply with because the confidence required isn’t there. Truthfully, Garrus wanted to stay on the Normandy. But Shepard didn't ask. And he knew she didn't ask because he'd told her about his selection for SPECTRE training.
So instead, he says the honest thing, “Omega.”
“Tough rock,” Anderson replies, without hesitation. Then follows up with, “And you think there’s a significant difference between Omega and The Citadel?”
Again, there’s no judgement in his question. And really, Garrus doesn’t know how he’s able to communicate so much with giving so little. Suddenly, he understands Shepard a little more, and the thought has him huffing out a laugh before he can stop it. “Other than the plant life, there’s no difference at all,” Garrus answers.
“It’s the kind of place where you’ll still need to know whose hand to grease and whose to shake, Garrus.”
He knows that, he does. “Less paperwork, though,” Garrus adds with a smirk.
It’s Anderson’s turn to laugh now. It’s jovial and warm, and makes Garrus feel more comfortable than he’s felt since he’d heard the news about Shepard.
The silence is back between them, though less uncomfortable this time. After a beat too long, and glad that Anderson doesn’t rush the conversation, Garrus leans back in his chair and drops the façade completely.
“I miss her.”
He wants to say more, because he feels more. It’s been bubbling under the surface since he found out about her death. The anger, the sadness, but most deeply of all the regret. Or maybe it was fear that kept him quiet. Because what would make him think he had a chance first, with a human, and second with her. While he’s done well to keep the lid on the vault, he felt it crack the second he crossed the threshold into Anderson’s office.
“And I know I have no right to say that,” Garrus continues as he leans forward and rests his forearms on the tabletop. “She took a chance on an inexperienced C-SEC agent, and I really can’t quite figure out why.”
Anderson matches Garrus’s posture and leans forward as well. “She may have come off as impulsive, but she never moved without reason. You weren’t a random diversity hire if that’s what you’re thinking.” The Councilor abruptly stands and walks over to his desk. He rifles through a pile of datapads before he brings one back over. A few keystrokes tapped on the screen, and he places the datapad between Garrus’s arms.
“What is this?” he asks, picking it up.
“Who do you think was second in command on the Normandy?” Anderson asks, as he sits himself back across from Garrus.
“Kaidan,” he replies without even thinking about it.
“Why do you say that?”
“Chain of command,” Garrus replies matter of fact. “Pressley was technically the highest ranking, and was in charge when Shepard wasn’t aboard. But the navigator didn’t have any say at all in mission operations or personnel choices.”
“It was you.”
Garrus jerks his head up to look Anderson in his eyes. Stern yet warm is the only thing he finds staring back. He looks down at the datapad now in his hand and scrolls through operational updates between Shepard and Anderson. Even with the cursory glances as he flicks through, he sees his name appear several times. He looks back at Anderson, this time his gaze begging for clarification.
“As you’re well aware, Shepard is unconventional – the only person suited for an unconventional mission. She is walking in uncharted territory and has no choice but to make it up as she goes along. But she also knows that she needs to rely on assets that have the experience she lacks,” Anderson finally leans back again and looks out into the Presidium to collect himself.
After a few minutes of Garrus silently scrolling and Anderson’s lengthy pause, he speaks again. “She specifically mentions that she likes that you are argumentative.” Is that a smile on his face?
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment to me,” Garrus replies.
A laugh this time, “She didn’t need a ‘yes-man,’ she needed good intel, context, and people to point out her blind spots,” Anderson said, the ghost of a smile still on his face. “Shepard liked you because she could trust you. And in her case, that’s not something she gives to just anyone.”
Garrus sets the datapad back on the table as he tries to organize his thoughts with this new information. His shoulders slump when he is hit with a conclusion, “Then I can’t imagine how disappointed she is in me right now.”
“Why Omega?” Anderson asks, out of the blue. Garrus just stares at Anderson, not sure how honest he is willing to be.
“Because no one cares about the innocent people just trying to make a way for themselves. Regular folks who get caught in the crossfire of gang activity that has nothing to do with them. People being taken advantage of simply because they’re poor. It’s lawless and atrocious,” he practically hisses.
“That's the polished answer. Surely, the one you'd give Pallin if he'd asked. But I don't want the polished answer, Garrus. I want to know why you'd rather fight there than fight here.”
The frustration of his time post-Saren on the Citadel, the heated conversations with Pallin, all of it hits him at once. “I’m really angry and sad and I don’t have anywhere to direct it,” he finishes, realizing his heart rate has increased. He gives himself a moment to regain his composure. “See, this is what I mean. What could she possibly see in someone as pathetic as me?” he practically whispers.
He doesn’t wait for Anderson to speak as he unceremoniously pushes up to standing and begins walking toward the door.
“She wouldn’t want you to be reckless, Garrus,” Anderson says to his back. He stops, but doesn’t turn around. “I saw you two together. I watched both of you make decisions with everyone’s best interest in mind. I understand what you’re not saying because I remember the look on your face when we pulled you and Wrex from the rubble in the Tower after Sovereign was destroyed.”
He sounds closer, but Garrus still doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He’s never voiced his true feelings out loud to anyone, even if he comes close today.
“She chose you, Garrus. As talented as that crew was, you were her right hand. And if you go kicking hornet’s nests on Omega, you damn well better do so as a man who was chosen to be the right hand of the greatest soldier this galaxy ever had. And when you can’t trust your own judgement, trust hers.” He feels Anderson’s reassuring hand on his shoulder and finally turns to meet his eyes.
Garrus turns to face him fully and extends his hand. Anderson clasps it and gives it one hell of a firm shake. “It is good to see you, son. Don’t be a stranger,” Anderson adds with one more shake before releasing his hand. Garrus doesn’t miss the moniker, and he also doesn’t acknowledge the comfort it brings.
Worried his voice would betray him, Garrus simply gives a single nod. He turns and makes his way out of the office. Once the door slides closed behind him, he stops, closes his eyes, and takes what feels like the first deep breath he’s had in months. His feet begin moving before he is truly ready, but he is moving forward. And that is a small victory he will accept.