thearchangel: (The confusion and the aftermath)
Garrus Vakarian ([personal profile] thearchangel) wrote2012-04-12 12:07 am

18 - [commentlog] | Dreams

[He doesn't dream. Typically, Garrus is just too dead tired to do anything like dream. He sleeps -- he wakes up. There's nothing memorable in between. It's not unpleasant. He doesn't regret it. It's just how things are.]

[Which makes it all the more strange that, tonight, the dream is so vivid, he could swear he is actually there. That it isn't a dream at all.]

[-- that one thing you wanted to do before you died, Shepard?"

She's there and her voice is warm. Affectionate. It's good to hear. They're moving -- the Presidium flashes past the windows of a car. The presidium... and his face. His scars have healed, the angry, dark red faded to motled pink and grey. When he looks at them now, the anger, the disgust and the bitterness are as mellowed as the marks themselves.]

[They're talking. They're... flirting. It's natural, it's easy. Surprisingly easy.]

[And then they're parked. Up high on the Presidium. Where he'd always promised himself he'd go, someday, somehow. There they are. No one else is near. No one but the sound of simulated wind, the whir of passing traffic. She looks more tired than he remembers. Then again, there's good reason for that. They both know it.]

[It's amazing up here -- beautiful, she thinks. Everything and everyone else a million miles away. They're alone. For the first time in ages, they're truly alone with one another. He looks over...]

["The worst part of the galaxy going to hell would've been never getting to see you again."]

[The words that pass between them then are a promise -- a stammering, awkward, heartfelt and honest pledge. And it's the kiss, the should-have-been-impossible "thing you do for someone you love", that seals it.

[He jerks awake when the last bottle explodes over the Presidium, and she leans against him, taking in the sight of it all.]

[The walls of the Keep greet him when he wakes up, not the Presidium. There's a bed under his bony ass, not armor. It's dark. Quiet. And his heart is racing.]

[What... was that? Any of that?]

- - -

[Later in the night, he's put his armor back on, and taken up a vantage point in the chapel, the higher the better, staring down solemnly at the floors below. A bottle is in one hand.]

[While the other traces the harsh, brutal outlines of broken cartilage across the side of his face.]

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