The answer to life is cycles. Life grows, increases in complexity, gains consciousness, then begins to question its existence. Reasoning and intelligence leads to curiosity if it is indeed alone in the universe. It finds others like it and it learns. Cultures mingle. Then the Reapers come and reduce complexity to simplicity. Life begins again.

That was the cycle of things for millennia upon millennia, beyond the reaches of time. So long ago that there was no record of when it began. So thorough there was no record of it ever happening. There was no warning, just destruction. It had always been that way.

Now, the Reapers were gone, their existence wiped out from the universe. Huge catastrophic losses left entire species nearly extinct. But the Reaper threat had been destroyed. The cycle was broken. Perhaps through this act, though, the handful of space-faring races had adopted the mantle of their former oppressors. Maybe the title "Reaper" was merely that; a title worn by the currently dominant species in the universe. Maybe there were consequences far beyond the scope of their understanding. Some nuances about power and balance in the galaxy that only the immortal Reapers had known. Maybe it was too far for them to have reached, the results too complex to comprehend.

No. The devastation had been too great. The casualties numbered too high; trillions of innocent lives didn't deserve to die. Not like that. It was cruel to think otherwise. There was no way to deny it. Defeating the Reapers had preserved life in the universe, flawed and imperfect as it was.

But why…why?

Of all the people who had to die…why did it have to be Shepard?

Garrus had been there from the beginning. He had seen incredible and horrific things that would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. He'd accepted the mantle of a leader for the sake of his own people because of what he'd witnessed. Because he believed they had a chance. Because Shepard was there; because she knew what had to be done.

It wasn't fair. The pain burned so deep, all feeling was gone. His body had became a shell, a robot acting out the motions of life. His heart was now her corpse, weighing down his chest. The devastation of his people, the near destruction of and subsequent exile from his home planet hurt like hell, but the loss of her consumed him.

There were times he wished he hadn't survived, that his last moments had been with her. Even now, he couldn't deny the dark thoughts that crossed his mind. Something always held him back, kept the barrel of the gun pointed forwards rather than backwards. Perhaps it was fear or cowardice. A remaining sense of responsibility to look after his people. But most likely it was the one thing Shepard had left behind: the desire to improve the universe around him. Her duty had always been survival not just of her own species, but of all species. He couldn't leave all of this reconstruction unfinished. Not when he could contribute, help rebuild. When his skills were no longer needed, then he could find peace.

Peace without Shepard. He never thought it would be possible. It never occurred to him that she wasn't invincible, that she was as mortal as any of them. Well, it had crossed his mind, but he'd never really believed it. Anyone who met Shepard immediately knew fragility was not a word you could use to describe her. In only a few years, she'd defeated a rogue Spectre, killed several Reapers, destroyed a Collector's Base, united a fragmented galaxy, and managed to succeed against insurmountable odds more than once. She had been indestructible.

Nothing less than the collective forces of the Reapers could have defeated her.

It had been so fast. She was as she had always been, guns blazing as she plowed through her enemies. He was by her side, watching her flank. It seemed like they could have gone like that forever. They got separated, and one moment stole her from him forever. Now, the guns were silent. No enemies came rushing at them. His rifle lay silent, likely not to be used again. It was more than an absence of the noise of battle. Quiet permeated his life which was filled with meetings and menial labor as his people pulled their lives back together again, trying to find their place on this foreign planet. The silence spoke of regrets, of words that never formed. Things that could never be, no matter how he wished they could have.

He'd never told her how much she'd changed him. Or how much he really cared for her. The feelings were there, but the words had seemed so inadequate. But now, he could speak only to empty air. All the chances he'd had were gone. The regret added to the weight already carried in his chest. The weight and the pain that nothing could dull. She never knew how his entire world revolved around her. Without her guidance, he was left only with the faded memory of her. But even that small shadow of her still managed to reach him, guide him. It was so strong it kept him moving forward. He was healing the galaxy for her so that when they met in the afterlife—if they met in the afterlife—he could show Shepard her legacy. Her legacy. That was all that remained. But it was a hell of a legacy. Everyone knew her name. Everyone knew that they existed because of her. Turians, asari, salarians, krogan...every species now could determine its own fate, progress beyond the boundaries the Reapers had sought to impose on them. If it had been anyone else, nothing would have remained. Because of her, life was able to thrive. To survive. No being could ask for a better tribute.

He'd been able to move on, for the most part. He'd met a turian commander from one of the ships that had been stranded when the Mass Relays had been destroyed. She wasn't Shepard, but their relationship allowed him to forget. Their children were named after their heroes, companions they'd lost during the war. People they'd left back on Palaven. His children played through the streets of a reconstructed Earth, along with the offspring of every race that had remained behind. Turian, krogan, salarian, asari, quarian, and human children played together equally, completely ignorant of the past that had divided their parents. Meanwhile the adults combined their science in a long-term attempt to reestablish contact with the rest of the galaxy. Garrus never participated; his part had already been played. He kept his attention closer to home, for that was what Earth was to him now.

His time here was limited. The end grew closer. He felt it pawing at the corner of his mind every day. Every day brought him closer to her. Then they would be reunited and gaze at the galaxy they had created. Life would go on. And when generations upon generations of survivors had at last forgotten the last whisper of her name, she would turn away and find a new adventure.

And he would be there by her side. Forever.