[Singularity] Paranoia, Paranoia
[[Takes place after this and before this. Warning for swearing, violence, thoughts of suicide.]]
It was dark here. That was good. The light seemed to hurt his eyes, drive needlepoints into his skull and add to the already throbbing headache that had expanded from the dull little ache to a constant, beating throb that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt sick, nauseous - whatever had been down there, in that zone, he'd breathed it in and it felt like there was a slick sort of covering on his lungs.
But maybe that was Garrus hallucinating again.
He'd fled from Shepard and Alenko and found a building to hole up in, finding his arms shaking almost uncontrollably. How the Hell was he supposed to hit anything? So he curled up in a corner, trying to breathe, trying to calm himself down. He should've killed her, a part of him said. No, said the last, struggling piece of his rationality, she's Shepard. She's not a threat.
Honestly, he wasn't sure he could've brought himself to do it. If she really was fake - like Shepard, the dead Shepard, said - he had still gone through hell and high water with her. She was his friend. But he didn't want to be betrayed again. Not after Omega. Not after-
“Garrus.”
He knew that voice. It was familiar. How many times had he heard it exchange a joke with Erash? Or call out targets? He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't going to look. He couldn't look. He was supposed to be dead.
“Garrus.”
Louder this time, closer. Garrus knew that he was supposed to be dead, he'd killed him himself.
“Garrus.”
His eyes finally snapped open.
There he was, standing just out of arm's reach. A turian - in armor, not the civilian clothes he'd died in - familiar face markings, looking a bit awkward, a bit out of place. Just seeing him intensified the feelings of confusion, anger, hate that rolled over Garrus like a wave.
“What do you want?” His answer was practically a scream, part rage, part despair and confusion. “You're dead! I already killed you for what you on Omega! What the Hell do you want from me?”
Garrus doesn't know when he started aiming a pistol at Sidonis. He does know that his hand is shaking so badly that he's unsure of a hit, even at this range. He tries to will himself into holding the gun steady and the shaking eases. Sidonis is still there. He hasn't vanished yet. Still look as real and as solid as he was all those months ago.
He shouldn't be real, though. Garrus killed him. Put a bullet through his skull on the Citadel. He'd finally let out all of the anger and hatred and violence and it hadn't done a damn thing to soothe his troubled conscience. So why was Sidonis here?
“I just want to talk, Garrus. I know... I know I let you down. I let the whole team down. And I'm sorry.” Sidonis shifted, watching Garrus calmly, despite the gun pointed at him. Maybe he knew something Garrus didn't.
He felt angry. Resentful. Sidonis couldn't just apologize like that. He shook his head and tried to clear away the sudden feeling of vertigo and dizziness.
“You thank that's it? You think you can just apologize after what you pulled on me? On all of us? Eleven good men and women are dead! I had to carry their bodies inside on my own! I had to watch more than one of them die in my arms, Sidonis! You can't... you can't...!”
He swayed and fell back against the wall. His vision went white for a moment and he tried to breathe.
Convergence. Someone, somewhere was murmuring something about convergence. What was convergence?
“You're right, Garrus. I can't just apologize - but you already took care of me. Remember that?” Sidonis is next to him now, looking down at Garrus. When did he move? Garrus isn't sure. He isn't sure of anything. How much time has passed since he left Shepard and Alenko? Minutes? Hours? Days? Everything is running together, he's starting to itch underneath his plating and his headache keeps getting worse, focusing into a point of pressure at the front of his skull that pounds and pounds and never stops.
“Of course... Of course I do.”
Like it was yesterday. It was an easy shot. Not that it ended up bringing him much peace of mind - he just felt empty. Like he'd checked a tick-mark off of a list. It had to have been worth it, though. For the sake of everyone else-
“They're all here with me, you know. They want to support you. They want to help you.”
Garrus blinks. He couldn't have heard that right (and in the back of his head, he's screaming at himself that this isn't real, stop indulging it, stop-). “Who...?”
“Everyone,” Sidonis nods - and for the first time Garrus notices the room is full. There's almost a dozen of them and Garrus knows them all by face and name. Butler (human, ex-Alliance, handy with a machine gun and other heavy weaponry), Vortash (batarian explosives export, didn't trust him at first - turned out to be solid and dependable; ironic), Melanis (turian, ex-Blue Sun; wanted to turn over a new leaf) and all the rest. They're all there, all watching him - and at the back is Shepard. Shepard from two years ago. The Shepard who's been dogging him all along.
Garrus feels vulnerable and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. They're not real, they're not real, they're not real. They can't be real. This can't-
His train of thought derails when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Then another. His eyes snap open with a harsh intake of breath - they're all around him. The closest (Butler) has a hand on his shoulder. The salarian on his left gives him a reassuring pat. And he feels it, even through the armor. The impact, the slight pressure.
But it isn't real. It can't be real.
“We don't blame you, Garrus.”
“But we do want you to make things right.”
“Stop doing this to yourself. Just rest. You don't have to hold us on your shoulders anymore.”
And then there's Shepard, leaning forward through all the rest, that pale, almost too-soft human hand sliding over his unscarred cheek. “It's OK, Garrus. You can let go.”
And something in his mind snaps. He knows what he has to do.
It was dark here. That was good. The light seemed to hurt his eyes, drive needlepoints into his skull and add to the already throbbing headache that had expanded from the dull little ache to a constant, beating throb that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt sick, nauseous - whatever had been down there, in that zone, he'd breathed it in and it felt like there was a slick sort of covering on his lungs.
But maybe that was Garrus hallucinating again.
He'd fled from Shepard and Alenko and found a building to hole up in, finding his arms shaking almost uncontrollably. How the Hell was he supposed to hit anything? So he curled up in a corner, trying to breathe, trying to calm himself down. He should've killed her, a part of him said. No, said the last, struggling piece of his rationality, she's Shepard. She's not a threat.
Honestly, he wasn't sure he could've brought himself to do it. If she really was fake - like Shepard, the dead Shepard, said - he had still gone through hell and high water with her. She was his friend. But he didn't want to be betrayed again. Not after Omega. Not after-
“Garrus.”
He knew that voice. It was familiar. How many times had he heard it exchange a joke with Erash? Or call out targets? He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't going to look. He couldn't look. He was supposed to be dead.
“Garrus.”
Louder this time, closer. Garrus knew that he was supposed to be dead, he'd killed him himself.
“Garrus.”
His eyes finally snapped open.
There he was, standing just out of arm's reach. A turian - in armor, not the civilian clothes he'd died in - familiar face markings, looking a bit awkward, a bit out of place. Just seeing him intensified the feelings of confusion, anger, hate that rolled over Garrus like a wave.
“What do you want?” His answer was practically a scream, part rage, part despair and confusion. “You're dead! I already killed you for what you on Omega! What the Hell do you want from me?”
Garrus doesn't know when he started aiming a pistol at Sidonis. He does know that his hand is shaking so badly that he's unsure of a hit, even at this range. He tries to will himself into holding the gun steady and the shaking eases. Sidonis is still there. He hasn't vanished yet. Still look as real and as solid as he was all those months ago.
He shouldn't be real, though. Garrus killed him. Put a bullet through his skull on the Citadel. He'd finally let out all of the anger and hatred and violence and it hadn't done a damn thing to soothe his troubled conscience. So why was Sidonis here?
“I just want to talk, Garrus. I know... I know I let you down. I let the whole team down. And I'm sorry.” Sidonis shifted, watching Garrus calmly, despite the gun pointed at him. Maybe he knew something Garrus didn't.
He felt angry. Resentful. Sidonis couldn't just apologize like that. He shook his head and tried to clear away the sudden feeling of vertigo and dizziness.
“You thank that's it? You think you can just apologize after what you pulled on me? On all of us? Eleven good men and women are dead! I had to carry their bodies inside on my own! I had to watch more than one of them die in my arms, Sidonis! You can't... you can't...!”
He swayed and fell back against the wall. His vision went white for a moment and he tried to breathe.
Convergence. Someone, somewhere was murmuring something about convergence. What was convergence?
“You're right, Garrus. I can't just apologize - but you already took care of me. Remember that?” Sidonis is next to him now, looking down at Garrus. When did he move? Garrus isn't sure. He isn't sure of anything. How much time has passed since he left Shepard and Alenko? Minutes? Hours? Days? Everything is running together, he's starting to itch underneath his plating and his headache keeps getting worse, focusing into a point of pressure at the front of his skull that pounds and pounds and never stops.
“Of course... Of course I do.”
Like it was yesterday. It was an easy shot. Not that it ended up bringing him much peace of mind - he just felt empty. Like he'd checked a tick-mark off of a list. It had to have been worth it, though. For the sake of everyone else-
“They're all here with me, you know. They want to support you. They want to help you.”
Garrus blinks. He couldn't have heard that right (and in the back of his head, he's screaming at himself that this isn't real, stop indulging it, stop-). “Who...?”
“Everyone,” Sidonis nods - and for the first time Garrus notices the room is full. There's almost a dozen of them and Garrus knows them all by face and name. Butler (human, ex-Alliance, handy with a machine gun and other heavy weaponry), Vortash (batarian explosives export, didn't trust him at first - turned out to be solid and dependable; ironic), Melanis (turian, ex-Blue Sun; wanted to turn over a new leaf) and all the rest. They're all there, all watching him - and at the back is Shepard. Shepard from two years ago. The Shepard who's been dogging him all along.
Garrus feels vulnerable and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. They're not real, they're not real, they're not real. They can't be real. This can't-
His train of thought derails when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Then another. His eyes snap open with a harsh intake of breath - they're all around him. The closest (Butler) has a hand on his shoulder. The salarian on his left gives him a reassuring pat. And he feels it, even through the armor. The impact, the slight pressure.
But it isn't real. It can't be real.
“We don't blame you, Garrus.”
“But we do want you to make things right.”
“Stop doing this to yourself. Just rest. You don't have to hold us on your shoulders anymore.”
And then there's Shepard, leaning forward through all the rest, that pale, almost too-soft human hand sliding over his unscarred cheek. “It's OK, Garrus. You can let go.”
And something in his mind snaps. He knows what he has to do.