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This is a cross post of a fanfic series I'm writing at archiveofourown.org. It's something of a time travel fix it of the Canon storyline, albeit from a different perspective. With the story involving soulmate elements throughout it.
If you want to follow the story on archiveofourown.org, here's a link to my page of fanfics: https://archiveofourown.org/s/S.....ightclaw/works
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“Garrus.”
Garrus' eyes swivel over, hand on his rifle pausing in its motions. Whether he had been checking it over for any damage or defects that could lead to a potentially fatal problem in the midst of a fight, was hard to say. But his eyes narrowed, not the most friendly expression in them, from what he could tell, “What do you want? Don't you know we're in the final stretch?”, comes a stern reply.
He could feel himself swallowing under the sharp, crystal blue eyed gaze that almost always feels as though it's piercing through him. Yet, all he could do was push on anyways. “Of course. I just figured...well, thought I'd say, anyways. Not that you may care one way or another. But if things go pear shaped, and I'm up there in that bar, and you're not. I'll be looking down. You'll never be alone.”.
Once the words are said, he could see the confusion filling in Garrus' expression. Before the rugged Turian could think to formulate a response, whether to question or...well, he does his best not to dwell on what could be Garrus' response. They're interrupted by the bark of a rough voice calling for everyone to get moving. It's time.
It's dark. It's always been dark when things are closest to the final light of the approaching dawn. Or that's how it feels for him, anyways. Even though he's running pell mell down a muddy hill, rain pouring down harshly, as though the sky itself were crying from the harsh reverberating BRRRR that seemed to pierce through his very soul.
There's a flicker of red. He reaches over, grasping the commanders' shoulder and harshly yanking him off to the side, bare moments before a gleaming red beam pierces through where the commander had been previously. He barely pays attention to the surprise on their face, then the confusion that fills it. The expression hardly there for a second before it's wiped away by focus, determination; an iron will to see this through, no matter what.
As they run, mud squelching under boots, he always seems to have some idea of where Garrus is. Dodging as needed whenever a red beam stabs at the stream of soldiers and vehicles approaching what could only be considered Death personified. No, not even Death. It feels more like Extinction. The simple end of everything. An existence so far beyond comprehension, existing past anything that could be remotely enumerated. And here they are, running down towards it. As though ants streaming along an ant hill, attempting to attack a being that's just swatting them like the insects they are.
He sees a red flash of light gleaming once more. It's time, isn't it? Like before, he's moving even before the flash has finished being recognized. Muscle memory, he'd been told once upon a time. The body reacting faster than the brain can process its visual cues, much less begin to start sending along a signal telling the fleshy vessel of his being what to do.
His shoulder rams hard into an armored torso, harshly shoving the other being out of the way as a gleaming beam arcs down from the sky, as though the heavens themselves were piercing through. He knows there's nothing even remotely Heavenly about this. Not when there's a sudden harsh pain, followed near instantly by a heady numbness. The wet squelch of mud as he hits the ground.
Despite how hard he hit, there's no shock, horror, not even fear. All he feels is a simple acceptance that sinks into the very marrow of his being. Or maybe it's always been there? Something he's always known would happen.
He's barely processed hitting the ground when he is being turned over, his view being filled with that of vivid sky blue eyes. He blinks once, twice. The third time, he realizes that Garrus' mouth and mandibles are moving. That he's trying to say something, his expression all shock and horror. All that Josh can comprehend is a simple...nothingness. He tried reaching his arm up, but it refuses to move. Or maybe it's gone? That's fine though, he'll reach with his spare arm, even as his vision is starting to grow dark. Blindly feeling, until there's a soft warmth beneath his fingers. A heat that feels as though it's cour through his veins, until it's pooling in the center of his being. “It's alright...I'll save you a seat at the bar. Until then...I'll be..looking...d..”.
Josh jerks awake, limbs foundering momentarily until he pushes himself up onto his hands. Chest heaving as he breaths hard. Wide eyes roaming the room, before eventually letting himself fall back onto the bed with a muffled thump.
“That dream again..?”, he murmurs to himself, willing his racing heart to finally settle back down. Josh raises his hand, staring at the back of it, tracing along the soft ridges denoting veins underneath his skin. Eventually turning it over, gazing across the lines and ridges earned from a life time, or two, maybe. Thinking back to his dream, he can't help but how the heat seemed to reach through his fingers, down the arm, right into the marrow of his being. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he drops and scrubs the hand across his face, letting out a decidedly exhausted groan.
“Whatever, I can't lay around forever. I probably need to get ready for work.”, he mutters, eyes straying over to take a look at the time. A few minutes before when his alarm was supposed to go off. It's a simple matter to reach over and turn it off prematurely, swinging his way out of bed afterwards and strolling into his bathroom.
Moving through the doorway, Josh finds himself squinting as the lights turn on automatically, grumbling to himself about not being a morning person, and how could this shit still be going on? Oh well, there's nothing he can do about it anyways. Not even a hot shower is enough to help settle the discomfort that's still pervading his mind. It had felt like such a vivid dream, almost like a memory, even. With a heavy breath, he just scrubs harder at himself, as though trying to wash his discomfort all away.
Stepping out of the shower, he's grateful for how it automatically turns itself off, with some part of himself marveling at how far automation had come. Or maybe that's just him. He's still adjusting, if he's honest with himself. There's been so many changes, how could he possibly acclimate when there's always something new, different, that he'd never expected. How can he expect something if it's beyond his imagination? Past anything he's experienced while growing up? Letting himself get stuck in his head won't get him anywhere. Definitely not to work, which he's still needing to finish getting ready for. That thought alone spurs him to swipe his towel across himself even more, wiping to get stray drops of water cleared away.
Once dry, Josh finds himself in front of the bathroom mirror, stroking a straight toothed comb through a soft brown hair. Working the strands back so they're curving and backwards, as was his preferred style. Roaming eyes dropping down to stare into the brown orbs before him, taking the moment to draw in his moderately pale complexion. Noting the dark circles under his eyes, feeling a lingering tiredness tugging at his consciousness. As though it could pull him back to the soft, warm comfort of bed in the hopes of more rest. Much as he'd love to just curl up and cocoon himself under the covers, ignore anything and everything in the world, he knows he's got to head off to work. Need to earn credits to pay for his existence after all, and maybe the occasional comfort.
Before he can head out though, his eyes drift to the navy blue lines stretching across his cheeks, arcing over the bridge of his nose. Thick bars of blue streaking down along the side of his head, reaching to where his jaw hinges, with two bars arching away from from the very end of the bar. Heaving a slow, heavy breath, he scoops out some..well, they called it..what was the word...raxin? Whatever, an odd name, honestly. But it feels like a fairly thick, clear gel, scooping a chunk of it out of his tin with the middle and forefinger. Huffing out a slow breath as he smears the cool substance across his soul mark. Carefully smearing it until it's covering the thick blue bars, watching how the thin layer of gel almost seems to..he'd almost call it shimmer. But it's something he doesn't really have any words for. The end result feels reminiscent of mascara, though that seems to have died off usage-wise at some point. Having been replaced with Raxin. Still, it does the needed effect. Even tracing his now clean hand over it, it's almost as though it were never there. Simply looking like clear skin, with no trace of the blue bars from before.
It's interesting stuff, honestly. Before, if one wanted to cover anything up, it'd usually be a relatively involved process with mascara and its accouterments. Now, raxin is quick and easy to apply. Once it's set, it is near impossible to remove, unless one utilizes a substance simply known as anti-raxin. Seriously, they couldn't come up with a better name?
Ordinarily, he wouldn't really care about leaving his soul mark in full view. How else is one supposed to find the one they're destined for, after all? But the folks at the Alliance had made it particularly clear during his orientation to the...well, changes, that he was to expect, that turians seemed to have a stick up their ass about humans bearing facial markings similar to theirs. Something about how their marks are sacred, denoting the hard work and sacrifice of their ancestors, showing the colonies they had descended from. Having a stick deep enough up their ass that it'd almost kicked off some war with humans and turians once again. Covering them up with Raxin seems a small price to pay for helping keep the peace. Or at least to ensure he doesn't offend one and get a beating, anyways.
Josh's omni-tool beeps, a simple alert letting him know he should be getting on his way, if he wants to reach the shop in a timely manner. One last, quick look across his face confirms that he's gotten all the blue covered up. Tugging his clothes on, he grabs his thermos of black tea and heads out the door, tapping at his omni-tool to lock the door behind himself. Taking a few deep breaths to steady his still unsettled nerves as he makes his way out into the thoroughfare, heading off in the direct of his employ. He's got a long day of work ahead of himself, after all.
Next Chapter
If you want to follow the story on archiveofourown.org, here's a link to my page of fanfics: https://archiveofourown.org/s/S.....ightclaw/works
Next Chapter
Chapter 1: Dreams“Garrus.”
Garrus' eyes swivel over, hand on his rifle pausing in its motions. Whether he had been checking it over for any damage or defects that could lead to a potentially fatal problem in the midst of a fight, was hard to say. But his eyes narrowed, not the most friendly expression in them, from what he could tell, “What do you want? Don't you know we're in the final stretch?”, comes a stern reply.
He could feel himself swallowing under the sharp, crystal blue eyed gaze that almost always feels as though it's piercing through him. Yet, all he could do was push on anyways. “Of course. I just figured...well, thought I'd say, anyways. Not that you may care one way or another. But if things go pear shaped, and I'm up there in that bar, and you're not. I'll be looking down. You'll never be alone.”.
Once the words are said, he could see the confusion filling in Garrus' expression. Before the rugged Turian could think to formulate a response, whether to question or...well, he does his best not to dwell on what could be Garrus' response. They're interrupted by the bark of a rough voice calling for everyone to get moving. It's time.
It's dark. It's always been dark when things are closest to the final light of the approaching dawn. Or that's how it feels for him, anyways. Even though he's running pell mell down a muddy hill, rain pouring down harshly, as though the sky itself were crying from the harsh reverberating BRRRR that seemed to pierce through his very soul.
There's a flicker of red. He reaches over, grasping the commanders' shoulder and harshly yanking him off to the side, bare moments before a gleaming red beam pierces through where the commander had been previously. He barely pays attention to the surprise on their face, then the confusion that fills it. The expression hardly there for a second before it's wiped away by focus, determination; an iron will to see this through, no matter what.
As they run, mud squelching under boots, he always seems to have some idea of where Garrus is. Dodging as needed whenever a red beam stabs at the stream of soldiers and vehicles approaching what could only be considered Death personified. No, not even Death. It feels more like Extinction. The simple end of everything. An existence so far beyond comprehension, existing past anything that could be remotely enumerated. And here they are, running down towards it. As though ants streaming along an ant hill, attempting to attack a being that's just swatting them like the insects they are.
He sees a red flash of light gleaming once more. It's time, isn't it? Like before, he's moving even before the flash has finished being recognized. Muscle memory, he'd been told once upon a time. The body reacting faster than the brain can process its visual cues, much less begin to start sending along a signal telling the fleshy vessel of his being what to do.
His shoulder rams hard into an armored torso, harshly shoving the other being out of the way as a gleaming beam arcs down from the sky, as though the heavens themselves were piercing through. He knows there's nothing even remotely Heavenly about this. Not when there's a sudden harsh pain, followed near instantly by a heady numbness. The wet squelch of mud as he hits the ground.
Despite how hard he hit, there's no shock, horror, not even fear. All he feels is a simple acceptance that sinks into the very marrow of his being. Or maybe it's always been there? Something he's always known would happen.
He's barely processed hitting the ground when he is being turned over, his view being filled with that of vivid sky blue eyes. He blinks once, twice. The third time, he realizes that Garrus' mouth and mandibles are moving. That he's trying to say something, his expression all shock and horror. All that Josh can comprehend is a simple...nothingness. He tried reaching his arm up, but it refuses to move. Or maybe it's gone? That's fine though, he'll reach with his spare arm, even as his vision is starting to grow dark. Blindly feeling, until there's a soft warmth beneath his fingers. A heat that feels as though it's cour through his veins, until it's pooling in the center of his being. “It's alright...I'll save you a seat at the bar. Until then...I'll be..looking...d..”.
Josh jerks awake, limbs foundering momentarily until he pushes himself up onto his hands. Chest heaving as he breaths hard. Wide eyes roaming the room, before eventually letting himself fall back onto the bed with a muffled thump.
“That dream again..?”, he murmurs to himself, willing his racing heart to finally settle back down. Josh raises his hand, staring at the back of it, tracing along the soft ridges denoting veins underneath his skin. Eventually turning it over, gazing across the lines and ridges earned from a life time, or two, maybe. Thinking back to his dream, he can't help but how the heat seemed to reach through his fingers, down the arm, right into the marrow of his being. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he drops and scrubs the hand across his face, letting out a decidedly exhausted groan.
“Whatever, I can't lay around forever. I probably need to get ready for work.”, he mutters, eyes straying over to take a look at the time. A few minutes before when his alarm was supposed to go off. It's a simple matter to reach over and turn it off prematurely, swinging his way out of bed afterwards and strolling into his bathroom.
Moving through the doorway, Josh finds himself squinting as the lights turn on automatically, grumbling to himself about not being a morning person, and how could this shit still be going on? Oh well, there's nothing he can do about it anyways. Not even a hot shower is enough to help settle the discomfort that's still pervading his mind. It had felt like such a vivid dream, almost like a memory, even. With a heavy breath, he just scrubs harder at himself, as though trying to wash his discomfort all away.
Stepping out of the shower, he's grateful for how it automatically turns itself off, with some part of himself marveling at how far automation had come. Or maybe that's just him. He's still adjusting, if he's honest with himself. There's been so many changes, how could he possibly acclimate when there's always something new, different, that he'd never expected. How can he expect something if it's beyond his imagination? Past anything he's experienced while growing up? Letting himself get stuck in his head won't get him anywhere. Definitely not to work, which he's still needing to finish getting ready for. That thought alone spurs him to swipe his towel across himself even more, wiping to get stray drops of water cleared away.
Once dry, Josh finds himself in front of the bathroom mirror, stroking a straight toothed comb through a soft brown hair. Working the strands back so they're curving and backwards, as was his preferred style. Roaming eyes dropping down to stare into the brown orbs before him, taking the moment to draw in his moderately pale complexion. Noting the dark circles under his eyes, feeling a lingering tiredness tugging at his consciousness. As though it could pull him back to the soft, warm comfort of bed in the hopes of more rest. Much as he'd love to just curl up and cocoon himself under the covers, ignore anything and everything in the world, he knows he's got to head off to work. Need to earn credits to pay for his existence after all, and maybe the occasional comfort.
Before he can head out though, his eyes drift to the navy blue lines stretching across his cheeks, arcing over the bridge of his nose. Thick bars of blue streaking down along the side of his head, reaching to where his jaw hinges, with two bars arching away from from the very end of the bar. Heaving a slow, heavy breath, he scoops out some..well, they called it..what was the word...raxin? Whatever, an odd name, honestly. But it feels like a fairly thick, clear gel, scooping a chunk of it out of his tin with the middle and forefinger. Huffing out a slow breath as he smears the cool substance across his soul mark. Carefully smearing it until it's covering the thick blue bars, watching how the thin layer of gel almost seems to..he'd almost call it shimmer. But it's something he doesn't really have any words for. The end result feels reminiscent of mascara, though that seems to have died off usage-wise at some point. Having been replaced with Raxin. Still, it does the needed effect. Even tracing his now clean hand over it, it's almost as though it were never there. Simply looking like clear skin, with no trace of the blue bars from before.
It's interesting stuff, honestly. Before, if one wanted to cover anything up, it'd usually be a relatively involved process with mascara and its accouterments. Now, raxin is quick and easy to apply. Once it's set, it is near impossible to remove, unless one utilizes a substance simply known as anti-raxin. Seriously, they couldn't come up with a better name?
Ordinarily, he wouldn't really care about leaving his soul mark in full view. How else is one supposed to find the one they're destined for, after all? But the folks at the Alliance had made it particularly clear during his orientation to the...well, changes, that he was to expect, that turians seemed to have a stick up their ass about humans bearing facial markings similar to theirs. Something about how their marks are sacred, denoting the hard work and sacrifice of their ancestors, showing the colonies they had descended from. Having a stick deep enough up their ass that it'd almost kicked off some war with humans and turians once again. Covering them up with Raxin seems a small price to pay for helping keep the peace. Or at least to ensure he doesn't offend one and get a beating, anyways.
Josh's omni-tool beeps, a simple alert letting him know he should be getting on his way, if he wants to reach the shop in a timely manner. One last, quick look across his face confirms that he's gotten all the blue covered up. Tugging his clothes on, he grabs his thermos of black tea and heads out the door, tapping at his omni-tool to lock the door behind himself. Taking a few deep breaths to steady his still unsettled nerves as he makes his way out into the thoroughfare, heading off in the direct of his employ. He's got a long day of work ahead of himself, after all.
Next Chapter
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