Disclaimer: Mass Effect is the property of Bioware, Microsoft Game Studios, and Electronic Arts. I am none of these, and as such make no money from this venture.

Once in time to hold her twice
That maiden carved of glass
To push hot blood to her heart of ice
And reach through feeble paradise
As the ashes fall en masse
Her voice a whisper where she spoke
A murderer made of brass
Formless in the heady smoke
His star burns bright at last

When he first heard the news that Shepard had died, the galaxy froze solid. It stretched out until, spun of shimmering, delicate glass, it shattered. He felt each tiny shard as they pierced his heart, melting in and through the organ until he could no longer tell flesh from ragged splinter and he could never hope to hold it all together again.

Spectre training was a joke after that. He tried to find it in him to care, but everything seemed so meaningless. Empty. He still went through the motions, but that jagged hole in his chest consumed him and he let it. Oh, did he let it. The blood dripped from his fringe and the grit filled his eyes until he wasn't sure what kept his limbs moving and his joints from locking up with rust.

He applied for leave to see his ailing mother, though he was under no delusions the brass was unaware of his true reasons. He could smell his father's touch in the granted request and even the overwhelming, acrid stench of the ships in their docks could do nothing to drown it out. He couldn't find it in him to care. That none of those imperfect, gaudy girls resting in their bays could hold a candle to the beautiful curves of the Normandy - Spirits preserve each scattered, haunted piece - only hollowed him out further. Resolutely he pushed it aside, painting his face one last time with love for the only one left in the unfeeling galaxy to return his regard.

His mother understood him without words, only beckoning him closer to her side. Silently she reached into him, grabbed hold of the shape of his pain, and moulded it into something workable. Something that could - not beat exactly - but keep enough time for one last march. She peeled him apart with looks and rebuilt him with sighs until the skeleton he relied upon moved once more like a well-oiled automaton.

"I wish you could have met her."

She smiled softly, twining the last brassy strands of his veins through his fingers. He stroked her cheek gently with the backs of his talons before bending to touch his mandible to hers.

"My son," she murmured, stopping him from pulling away with the faintest of breaths. "The stars may have died, but there is still fire inside us. If we allow it to burn," she trailed off with a rasping cough and he retreated for the last time, closing his eyes tightly against the scorched earth of her sickness.

"I'll see you in the ashes and smoke, mother."

Turning away sharply, he stalked from the room, ignoring the questions stared after him. Plates set in harsh lines, full of tectonic purpose, he left his childhood home without glancing back. His father may disapprove and his sister might never forgive him, but he couldn't find it in him to do more than note these things peripherally.

He'd never been a good turian before, so why start now?

When he finally stepped from the shuttle onto the last gritty beach he would ever see, the glass of his heart met the ash on his tongue and he breathed in the smoke like a drug. Shepard may have ended in the cold embrace of the Void but Garrus would end in the fiery grasp of Omega. Separate yet together, as they'd always been and ever would be again.