Who: Cindy Cendrillon, Garrus Vakarian What: Cindy's house is rigged to blow, Phase One of 'Let's Kill Garrus' When: Today! Where: Cindy's humble abode (now in fiery ruins), Huntington Beach. Rating/Warnings: High, Explosions, Violence, a Big Mac, Feels. Status: Complete!
An empty driveway with an equally empty house. That meant Garrus beat Cindy home, and he could rush in and shave that hedgehog for a beard he’d grown yet again before those eyes of hers twinkled with quietly amused judgment.
Time for the leisurely things had been limited, though he’d try to squeeze in routines of normalcy - otherwise he’d been driven insane. A lot of time was spent weeding through the throngs of unimportant weapons and muscles, picking out the faces and names of people that could be important. His excursion with Shepard shed some light and raised more questions, and his adventure with Neal and the beer (still worth it) had been the one serious attempt at him. The one and only thus far.
If all he had to deal with was vehicular violence, then it would put him at ease a lot quicker.
Everything seemed normal at first - the inside was a sight he liked coming to. Cozy with varying smells of coffee, brewed teas, whatever candle Cindy had burned for whatever reason. His condo was simple and functional, as Garrus was used to the bachelor life of not needing much or needing to stock up for things to cook. Cindy’s place looked like a home, felt like a home, was a home, even if they weren’t ‘officially’ shacked up.
But maybe that was something to think about, after all the dust from this bullshit settled.
Kitchen was the first stop as he began unbuttoning the cuffs of his wrinkled shirt, spotted with some dirt, and he rolled his sleeves to his elbows. Some trash from the other night littered the counter, dishes in the sink needed to be scraped from old food, so he’d take it upon himself to tidy up real quick before her car rolled up. Trash lid was flipped open, and that’s when he smelled and saw something odd.
Who the fuck got McDonald’s?
He would have almost laughed about it if he wasn’t so goddamn confused, because Cindy sure as hell didn’t eat it. Garrus didn’t, either. Not that he hadn’t before, but being around his girlfriend changed his diet to something a bit healthier, less processed and less...greasy.
Smelled good, though. He’d give it that.
He plucked it from the trash, disposed the rest of the crap he had in his hand, and gave the entire bag one suspicious look over of what the fuck. If there was anything ever out of place around here, it was this, and one might call Garrus paranoid about even contemplating the potential of someone having broken in, but times like these, paranoia could literally save your ass from an embarrassing eulogy. Nothing looked moved, nothing looked broken, so if someone had gotten it, it would have been a damn well-done case of infiltration.
Which meant someone knew what they were doing.
His hand went to holster of his gun, dancing around the idea that someone might still be inside, until he heard something. Ding. Ding. Ding.
Like a timer.
It was the kitchen window he dove out of, when Cindy’s house exploded.
From Cindy’s vantage point, the explosion was a myriad of colors - red, orange, even white that singed and burned her eyes; it was a chaotic, echoing heartbeat and a static throb in her head. But there wasn’t enough time to think of anything else, just how the hell had that happened which was like a star burning the last of its gases before flickering out. Then she, carrying takeout from the new sushi place she wanted to try, was practically hurled into another dimension - the blast wrenching her in and back, way far back, head over feet, scattered food and a bottle of plum wine, flames licking at her clothing.
But she was hardy enough to withstand even that blast, just now covered in dirt and debris and pain radiating all throughout her body. “Garrus!” she called for him, managing to stand, somehow, wavering - but her voice was already choked up with tears and grief, because he’d been in there, hadn’t he? That was her worst fear, that he made it home in time to be blown up - her house, it was devastating to lose it and she’d properly process that later, but she could always get another house. Garrus was irreplaceable. He was her first thought and her concern and everything, he was everything, she couldn’t lose him.
“Garrus! Where - “ She saw his silhouette dimly through the haze which covered her vision, running at him.
Heat, was the thing he felt the most - like his flesh was set ablaze but in actuality, it wasn’t. It still stung like it was, like flames were licking away at his skin and bone, but it was all due to his proximity to the house on fire. Surrounding grass and other foliage caught it too, flames starting to eat away the green, and Garrus was face-first into the ground, covered in glass, in burns, in ash.
But judging from the cough that rattled his throat, he was alive. Alive, but feeling like he’d just been dragged through hell with sharp needles digging into him.
He didn’t hear much. Some things sounded like a faint buzz, and echo, and his ears rung painfully. A hand went up to one and he felt a warm moisture, the presence of blood. Garrus didn’t even have to open his eyes to know what it was, but the sound had been loud and maybe something ruptured, who the fuck knew. Eyes began to open, but the smoke singed them, so he shut them again and blindly made an attempt to...sort of get up, sort of crawl away from that entire fucking mess and maybe, just maybe, get somewhere a little less hot.
“Garrus! Oh my god - “ Cindy didn’t consider herself much of a crier. Not at all, in fact. She didn’t get teary over puppies, sappy movies, or those commercials encouraging you to donate fifty cents a day to save a rare breed of monkeys. But wetness was streaming down her cheeks now, through the dirt and grime, as she finally found Garrus half-dead on the lawn and she crouched to help him, arms flung around him as part of mad grief and also desire to drag him away from the wreckage. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, come on, I’ve got you...”
If only her powers of invulnerability lent her anything else, like super strength. But all it meant instead was that she had been burned and would live to see another day; she could walk through the fires that still flickered in remnants of her bombed house, but she couldn’t lift him with one hand and teleport to -
Or maybe she could. Still wearing the red boots (nowadays, she usually tended to wear the things when she wasn’t letting Veronica borrow them), she concentrated with effort that stung and bit at her, and with that she was able to grab hold of him and take him with her when she literally flew back, a burst of motion that meant she was there one second and on a neighboring lawn the next.
She’d break into this house for medical supplies if she had to. And a fucking cell phone; hers was completely ruined, naturally.
If there was one thing he was able to succinctly hear, it was her. Part of him thought it was his goddamn mind playing tricks. Auditory hallucinations? Possible - he’d been teetering on the edge of consciousness and any longer trapped in the haze of smoke, he would have passed out from the tainted air in his lungs. Maybe his brain was trolling him, but no fucks were given - it was the right voice he wanted to hear at that moment.
There was heat, a touch of skin, and then suddenly there wasn’t heat - he couldn’t even hear the sound of fire crackling even if it was taking place at the cottage next to him. But once fresh air was finally more readily available, he inhaled in one desperate gasp - a sharp breath that burned his lungs and caught him in a frenzy of raspy coughs. Skin was covered in some burns, spots of soot, cuts from embedded glass glimmering in his skin.
“Hey,” Garrus forced, his voice hoarse and feeling like sandpaper against his throat. Then his eyes opened and squinted and he could see her, finally. A glimpse of blonde and blue and that’s when he knew that his mind wasn’t fucking with him. It was her. “You--” Another cough, this time into his fist. “Have the best timing.”
Cindy exhaled with relief, because at least he’d opened those bluejay eyes of his and Garrus was talking. Along with making dry quips, usual sense of humor intact - that was a good sign. “Stay here, okay?” she begged him, though there was really no need. He didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere. “I love you, stay here,” which was such an odd combo of requests and phrases but they flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Then she was off, breaking into the nearest house to get what she needed - kitchen towels and a jug of water from the fridge, she was in and out, rushing back to help do what she could for those burns. At least she’d had some training, in her line of work.
“I called the paramedics, you’re going to the hospital,” she informed him, running cold water over the burns and wiping gently elsewhere to clean the soot off. Cool water was always a good first attempt at treatment - it drew the heat out. The glass shards in him would come out too but she’d feel better once he wasn’t looking so scorched.
There was something he was about to say right when she jolted into the house (he hoped the neighbors weren’t home), and then was left to sit there and blink the bleariness from his eyes. Ears still kind of rung, vision was blurry, but he certainly heard that particular blurt from her mouth. Didn’t he just have a conversation with Neal about this exact scenario?
On the bright side, he wasn’t on the verge of dying, so there goes a potentially cliche confession of love.
Garrus was up though, sitting and taking in his surroundings (as much as he could with currently crippled senses). Because that sure as fuck happened - someone had rigged the house to blow, and him entering must have triggered it. Crafty bastards. “I’m not against that,” he admitted, another hack, another cough. He wasn’t going to up the testosterone level needlessly and deny appropriate medical attention - only a dumbass would do that, and Garrus didn’t particularly like the condition he was stuck in.
Cold water gave that conflicting mix of sting and relief all in one, and he didn’t know whether to sigh or cringe. His hand went to grab her wrist, just to...stop her for a second. “Hey. I’m okay.”
Cindy’s eyes were still glistening bright blue and everything just shook when Garrus went for her wrist - she shuddered, letting out a quiet sob, as if the action of him touching her had wrenched her back to reality and she realized what had just happened. Movements not so methodical, determination rattled - she wanted to throw her arms around him but was afraid it would cause too much pain, or something would jostle. He looked a lot worse off than she did, and she’d be glad when he was safe in a hospital bed although the paranoia about someone sneaking him poison in the IV drip or something crept in and god, she just wanted to violently maim and kill the ones making their lives hell.
“You’re okay,” she repeated, voice shaky as she felt. Then she did hug him, on the lawn, trying to be gentle about it when she tossed her arms around his neck and leaned in. “You can’t leave me. Not yet...” She pulled back slightly, cupping his cheek in her hand. “We still have all that shit we have to do.” Which wasn’t specific, but he’d get the picture. No dying allowed.
Arms took her in and pulled her close, despite the ache of burns, the scrapes and cuts from pieces of glass. Garrus had no clue how he looked, was almost afraid to get a mirror, but some of it almost resonated with what happened in Omega - the missile scarred his face to the point that half of it was fucked, but now wasn’t the right time to think about what scars he’d glean from this.
Maybe he wasn’t completely okay, but he was alive, mostly lucid, and a hand went to the back of her head to cradle so he could kiss her cheek and ear. He’d deal with the clusterfuck of paramedics later - right now this is all he wanted, all he needed. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said in attempt to reassure. She was indestructible. He wasn’t. It was a heavy promise, but he’d keep it as long as he could.
We still have shit we have to do.
Another cough rattled his chest and he turned his head from her, letting it run its course before his body finally relaxed some. He had to smile though. She was a sight for sore eyes. “Yeah. By the way, I love you too. Sorry for the supportive hip comments.”
Sometimes, Cindy wondered what would be the thing to do her in. She warded off disease pretty easily, poisons didn’t really affect her either (as evidenced by her recklessly fucking her alien boyfriend when his semen had taken a turn toward deadly), and she would recover from broken bones, gunshots (being riddled like Swiss cheese in her dreams had shown her that), burns, puncture wounds, and whatever the hell else could harm a normal person. Decapitation was probably the way to go. Not many things could survive without a head. Or maybe drowning - she couldn’t survive indefinitely without oxygen either.
But that was morbid, and she wasn’t going to be concerned with it. Her concern was Garrus, and reveling in the fact that he survived her house being blown to kingdom come. She actually laughed, a little frantic and surprised, at his swoon-worthy words. “It’s okay, I sort of figured out what you meant...in your language,” she teased him, gently running her fingers through his hair. “I love you so much, you big dork.”
The sounds of sirens in the distance began to draw nearer, and she exhaled another sigh of relief. They’d gotten here quickly, and she’d feel more weight lifted from her shoulders as soon as Garrus was given proper medical attention.
This kind of stepping-stone in their relationship would - should - be the kind of thing celebrated, usually but throwing her onto the bed and, well, having his way with her in about five different positions. But there wasn’t a bed anymore; her room was set on fire like the rest of the cottage, and while he logically knew it wasn’t his fault...the guilt festered, without his consent. “This wasn’t how I wanted to say it,” he admitted, pulling her in for another squeeze, and he stopped his scorched fingers from going through her hair after he got a good glimpse of them now. “But...at least it’s said.”
Fresh air was godsent, a medication he so desperately needed to at least stay awake, and he forced himself up on his feet. It was then he was able to assess his own physical situation - nothing was broken. Nothing felt twisted or sprained, though his body ached and burned and stung and on the bright fucking side (which, again, was Cindy’s house consumed in scintillating fire), that was the extent of his wounds.
Garrus had gotten lucky.
“There was a bag of McDonald’s in the trash.” A random thing to bring up, but it was relevant. His eyes still stung, and he looked at her with a squint. “That’s how I knew someone had gotten in.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Cindy said, though the look of worry in her eye didn’t abate at the mention of McDonald’s in the trash. How far was this all going to go? It seemed like such a stupid mistake to make, but she was extremely glad that the bad guys never covered all their bases. Because while the bombers had gotten in, past all the security, and had successfully rigged something up, they’d screwed themselves with their fake meat.
Clearly the intent was to ensure that both Cindy and Garrus were blown into pieces, or at the very least the first. Maybe they were still waiting, planning something big for their main target.
She shuddered, wanting the day to just end already - the visuals were tiring and consumed her, firetrucks on her lawn and paramedics tending to her scorched boyfriend; he’d probably need to stay at least overnight in the hospital, and she didn’t plan to leave him alone much there either.
Probably better to talk about it later, yeah - he had quite the close brush with death in the sense of almost being blown to bits and pieces, yet it hadn’t exactly phased him much. He’d had enough close calls and had been keen enough to get out at the nick of time, and technically there’d been one or two times where he was in relatively worse condition than this.
Except those times he didn’t necessarily have someone this close to him that concerned themselves so much over their well-being. Didn’t have anyone concerned over his mortality in a place where odd things and ‘close calls’ were now and every day kind of thing.
So while the sirens got closer, firetrucks about to turn the very corner, Garrus was going to pull her in again, close and tight. Burns and aches and other uncomfortable conditions be damned, and wrapping his arms around her had caused his bones to scream a bit in pain, but it was worth it.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, but then it was followed by another uncomfortable cough. It made his voice scratchy and much too rugged. “I know it’s not my fault. I know it’s--I can’t control anything these assholes do, but it’s not fixing the feeling of that it is my fault. Especially now that your house got blown to fucking pieces.”
He needed to work harder, look harder, because while he managed to survive - someone else might not.
“Don’t do this, Garrus,” Cindy begged him, her voice muffled because she had her face buried against the crook of his neck. She worried it was painful for him, worried that he’d be ripped away from her and she worried she’d never see him again - that was the most salient one, it was real, it ached behind her eyes and within the confines of her heart every day. And it had ever since she found out all this was happening.
But he couldn’t blame himself. She knew that he would, though. Didn’t mean she had to agree with him.
“We’re all going to fix it, okay?” Pulling back slightly, she held his face in between her hands to make him lock eyes with her. “It’s not on you to fix it all on your own, just because these assholes all got together and decided that they wanted to get you back for doing your job. People are all going to bat for you. No one’s expecting you to fix it single-handedly, because no one could do it. Not even Superman.” That asshole with his ‘faster than a speeding bullet’ crap. Unless someone could snap their fingers and make the scum go away, then it was going to take effort.
She kissed him, a desperate press of lips; it tasted like smoke and ash. “I’ll find a new house. Probably move in with you,” she joked lightly. “It’s just a house. I don’t care. As long as I have you...it’s going to be fine.”
He knew the words she told him like the back of his hand - he’s heard it from her before, heard it from Shepard, Neal, Laura, Pete. And maybe he needed to hear it more to get through this, otherwise the guilt would grow like a black mold and consume him.
There was a sigh that escaped him, exhausted and almost defeated, and he took one last glance at the house in shambles before bobbing his head into a nod. “You’re right.”
They all were. Garrus knew that.
And then she kissed him, lips marked by the taste of fire, and he didn’t skip a beat in returning it, the desperation matched. “I love you,” he repeated, because he could. And it wasn’t a ‘too late’ scenario, thankfully - even though it could have been. Close to it, honestly. They could hear the arrival of firetrucks and other vehicles, the sirens sounding farther away to him than they were. “Next time we take another step in this relationship, it won’t be a life or death situation. Unless it’s necessary.”
“I love you too,” Cindy replied, quiet but determined, and she knew that the coming weeks would kind of be even messier - dealing with insurance paperwork and replacing all her shit, things like that - but she would handle it. “And that sounds good to me. I think we’re pretty good at taking it as it comes.”
She kissed his forehead, relief spilling over in the gesture, then insisted, “Now go get in the ambulance before I break your legs.” That was all out of care and concern, really. It was what you did, for someone you loved more than life itself and all of those other delightfully sappy cliches.
“I’d like to politely point out that breaking my legs is actually counterproductive,” Garrus quipped hoarsely, but her suggestion wasn’t about to get fussed against. He’d get medical attention, maybe get someone of the magically inclined nature to feed him something that would fix him up more later (magical mushrooms, magical teas, whatever that was about), since Garrus had no plans in allowing this entire fucked up situation hinder him from getting back into the fray of things.
An arm wrapped around her shoulders to keep her close. Another kiss went to her temple, and he left his lips there for a second before another sigh came through, and he led them to the view of the medical professionals.
Today needed to be over. Because they had a lot of shit to do after this.