#garrusxshepard

[kestrelsansjesses]

Stars for shakarian?

[SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT I WENT A LITTLE HOGWILD. AO3 too!] 

They broke through Palaven’s atmosphere in the early afternoon, shuttle glinting and casting long shadows against the rocks and debris.

Logically, Shrike Shepard knew that Palaven had been hit hard by the Reapers. Fuck, they all had taken a beating. But seeing it all spread out before her really brought the scale of the destruction home. “Shit, Garrus. Is there anything left?”

Leaning and looking was not especially conducive to driving a shuttle. As she craned her neck to try and see a small city that now lay in partial ruins, Garrus grabbed the wheel from her hands. “Shepard, please don’t crash and kill us after we survived this much.” Right. Some things never changed, and that included her driving. Factor in two prosthetic legs and it may have gotten worse, if anything.

The journey passed by in silence, Shepard trying to catch sight of things through the windscreen without sending them into a fiery death spiral. She couldn’t drive with music on; something in those faint strains brought back memories both good and bad, pulling her into them until she couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

“It’s not bad. Compared to Earth, I mean. We’ll rebuild. If the hierarchy is good at anything, it’s bureaucratic bullshit that’s going to mobilize everyone left to rebuild.” Maybe Garrus had a point. It wasn’t as if Shepard had much of a point of comparison; she hadn’t seen Palaven before the war. Maybe it was always this… rocky. Maybe that wasn’t rubble, but just a cluster of natural landscape that happened to look slightly like something that was man made. Or turian made, such as it was. “Looks prettier than London.” Fair point.

With skill that would have made Joker proud, Shepard piloted the shuttle past the ruins onto a series of vast plains, for lack of a better word. It was relatively untouched out here; what little towns there were hadn’t been large enough for the Reapers to truly target. Some showed bullet holes and burnt battle scars, but they had suffered few casualties. Life here was moving on, even it was slowly. There was even tourism again, though travel had become almost impossible for most residents of the galaxy. At least it made it easier to book a place for a good rate, a thought that she immediately berated herself for. So many deaths and at least half of them her fault and she was making jokes?

“Hey, Shepard? Come back to me.” Garrus’ voice brought her back. She was still sitting in the driver’s seat, fingers clutched around the wheel, eyes sliding off the burnt remains of some small building. Back. Right. Palaven. That’s where they were.

Garrus could step free of the shuttle and take a deep breath of home air, something like relief coming over his face, shoulders sagging slightly forward. It wasn’t so easy for Shepard; Palaven’s natural radiation would shred through her skin in no time, leaving her stuck in a suit until they were safely inside. The layer against the world  made it feel less real, more isolated; if only she could have a barrier with her at all times.

Before them lay a series of glass geodesic domes, made of reinforced steel and something that prevented harmful rays from soaking through. There were eight of them neatly lined up, all unoccupied. Shepard and Garrus would be the only visitors for quite some time.

There were some privileges saving the galaxy granted you, one of which was automatic check-in through a VI, rather than having to deal with any officious hotel staff whose eyes tended to roam from her face down to her legs, twin, gently curved carbon-fiber limbs that held very little resemblance to the more typical flesh and blood appendages. There was no one here but them, and when Garrus held his palm up to a scanner, the door to a metal tube that connected to the first of the domes opened with a green light and a pleasant chime. Home sweet home, at least for tonight.

It was a relief to take her helmet off when the decontamination procedures were through. The place prided itself on cleanliness- ‘so pure that a quarian could visit!’ But the sun had sunk even lower, the first hints of something more appearing on the horizon. It would give Shepard enough time to strip off her armor, back to Garrus, refusing his help as her fingers went through buckles and straps with practiced ease, eyes resting on the N7 logo for a minute.

“Hurry up Shepard, or you’re going to miss the show.” As before, Garrus dragged her back to reality, already resting on a couch clearly designed more for turians than for anything else, the cushions slightly swayed to accomodate a carapace, so high off the ground that her feet were dangling almost comically.

Within the crux of Garrus’ arm, Shepard felt comfortable. “Do you think we deserve this?” she asked as she settled in, his warmth and his scent, gunmetal and some spice she couldn’t name, settling over her.

“I can’t think of anyone who deserves this more than you. Besides, it sure beats elcor Shakespeare.” Ah, yes. A production they hadn’t yet managed to catch, thankfully.

Unlike the stage show, this was one purely natural. On the far north of Palaven’s surface, the radiation and the magnetic atmosphere combined in a way that was only a shallow echo elsewhere. First there was the briefest suggestion of something red to interrupt the blueish green of the sky, and then it spread and spread until it was almost like a dense fog. Orange shot throughout, and then purple and pink. It was like a sunset on Earth, if it had been dialed up to eleven and attained some kind of density that almost looked as if she could run her fingers through it. Together, the two sat rapt, like children in front of a nature vid.

“You ever seen this before?”

“We never had the time to visit. Not with boot camp and then mom, and then everything else,” Garrus answered, arm pulling her closer until Shepard’s head rested on his shoulder. “Always wanted to though. I think Solana did once, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was like. Said you had to experience it for yourself.”

Within the red fog, the first pinpricks of light appeared. The show was far from over, but Shepard’s eyes grew heavy and she found herself nodding off, feeling… safe. What a strange feeling.

When she woke up, it must have been a few hours later. The smell of something burning reached her nostrils and she jolted up, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. “Vakarian, status report!” The words were garbled from the haze of sleep.

“I, uh, may have burnt dinner Shepard. But look at the sky!” He was quick to distract her from the flames he was combatting on the stove and the… whatever it was he was scraping off a plate and dumping into a trash can. Only a turian could make an MRE look good.

Fires successfully fought, Garrus rejoined her on the couch, inviting Shepard to lay her head in his lap and simply stare upwards through the glass. There wasn’t a hint of red now, but a flicker of green and blue dancing and growing until the sky was streaked with it in a never-ending pattern that moved every time she blinked. Her hands found his, their fingers intertwining and resting on her chest. He wasn’t comfortable in a traditional sense, but there was nowhere in the galaxy she would rather be.

“It might have all been worth this,” Garrus said, and she found she couldn't’ argue with that.

[kestrelsansjesses]

Learning how to make traditional holiday foods for the other please!!

[[I had so much fun with this, thank you. <3 I have a Kandros/Ryder one coming somewhere down the line as well.]]

There were no secrets, even on a ship the size of the Normandy. If Shepard wanted something done in secret, she had to do it in her cabin or not at all, which may have explained her rather odd requests.

“You need an oven… in your cabin.” The ship’s cook blinked at her once and then twice, before shaking his head. “Fire regulations. It’s never going to happen. I’m sorry Commander.” And that was the end of that argument, over as quickly as it started.

“Kaidan, I need you to take Garrus out. Bring Grunt with you. Make it a boys’ day. Shoot guns. Do whatever alpha male shit you have to do. Just get off my ship for at least four hours.” Though he was confused, Kaidan saluted, sending off a series of quick messages using his omni-tool and a tablet, trying not to look bemused and utterly failing.

All this was to explain what Commander Shepard, recently reinstated back to her beloved Normandy, Hero of Akuze, was stuck in the ship’s kitchen, the sounds of her cursing filling the air. There was a distinct scent floating through the ship as well, air purifying system struggling to purge it and evidently giving up entirely. Spices, at first, pleasant and almost heady, but later on it became something briney and rapidly burning, the peak of it setting off a fire alarm and almost causing EDI to lock down the ship entirely, threatening an evacuation.

In the midst of enough pots and pans to cook enough food for a small army, Shepard stood, looking utterly dwarfed by her failure, sweat matting red hair to her brow, chewing on her lip in frustration and concentration. “I brined the god damn bird for at least thirty minutes. What the hell is wrong?” The cook opened his mouth but very wisely shut it before he could actually voice a single word, shaking his head at what his beloved domain had become.

“Shepard, I’ve just looked up a recipe online. Would you like me to correct your mistakes for you?” EDI’s enhanced mobility meant she could pop up at unnerving times, gleaming silver right behind your shoulder.

“Great. Sure. Do that. Read all my mistakes, EDI. I love that.”

Oblivious, EDI spoke. “You are supposed to wrap the turkey in foil to prevent moisture from evaporating. I see you’ve also forgotten to season the potato pancakes. From my readings, these are not common mistakes.”

With a groan, Shepard sunk her head into her hands, resting it there for a moment until running her fingers through her hair. Right. Okay. How much time did she have?

None at all, if the voices now echoing through the open space was any indication.

“Shepard, we’re back early. Grunt decided to try and eat some fish out of a fountain. Long story short, I don’t think we’re going to be allowed back on this planet for a while.” A rather nonchalant Garrus was followed by a disheveled Kaidan and a contrite Grunt, staring down at his feet and trying to appear as small as possible- no easy feat when you were a krogan. All three stopped abruptly to sniff the air, glancing at each other before Garrus spoke up again, saying, “Shepard, why does it smell like you lit the Normandy on fire?”

If there had been something at hand to throw, Shepard might have done it. Instead, she settled for slowly slumping against the wall, collapsing downwards until she was sitting, staring out into nothing. “Well, Garrus. Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. I’ve prepared a real feast.” If Garrus squinted, he could almost see where Shepard’s handiwork may have, at one point in time, resembled a turkey and latkes. Now everything was charred and shriveled. “They say I’m the galaxy’s next top chef.”

Given his armor and his anatomy, Garrus was able to sit down to join her with surprising ease, shooting a look that managed to clear out the immediate area, at least in a six foot radius. “I’m sure it tastes fantastic,” he said while reaching up to tear off a strip of turkey with considerable difficulty, the tough skin refusing to yield. Popping it in his mouth, he managed to offer a smile and a thumbs up for all of a few seconds before coughing it back up in his hands. “You know, turians can’t eat this human shit anyway.”

“I just wanted to give you a slice of human holidays,” Shepard mumbled into Garrus’ shoulder, giving up all pretense of looking okay with the situation.

If she was searching for sympathy, she certainly found it. “We can go get one of those trees you humans are so crazy about. Throw some ornaments on it, wrap some weapons up for the crew. It’ll be a Normandy holiday. Who needs normal?”

He had a point. Normal was not the way Shepard operated, and as she lifted her face to look at him, she offered the smallest of smiles. “You know, I think we could fit a few lights in your carapace…”

“Don’t stretch your luck.” Shoving her gently, Garrus stood, offering Shepard a hand.

Their moment now deemed over, people drifted over, a few of them giving the food a game nibble before throwing it out (and on one occasion, throwing a piece at Shepard herself, which she gamely threw back.) Drawn by the scent, Grunt drifted over, taking first one bite of the turkey and the burnt mat that had been latkes and then another. “Is anyone else going to finish this? No?” And with that, he took his newly acquired food off to a quiet corner to enjoy his feast.

[kestrelsansjesses]

Spirits

[[Did someone say Halloween Shakarian angst? No? Well, too bad. This is for the Mass Effect Halloween hosted over here . I accidentally followed an art prompt- whoops! As it’s now the 24th in at least one of their time zones, I can post this. :p]]  

The veil grew thin.

This time of year was always difficult. The days grew longer, and Shepard longed for the strictly regimented cycles of the Citadel. It rose above them, the largest skeleton of all, obscuring every paper figure stuck on London’s many doors. One day it would be habitable again, but for now it was still a work in progress, visible only when the moon was heavy and full.

It was not the only thing under construction. Shepard swung herself out of her wheelchair with practised, false ease. It still hurt her legs to even put the slightest weight on them, but to feel them respond was something she was supposed to appreciate, even as every footfall sent a lance of fire down her. This had to be done though. This couldn’t happen from the chair, where she felt so confined.

The row of candles sat on the small seat of the bay window, overlooking a quiet square that could have been five hundred years in the past, careful, curated plants and historical white trim. It was only when you looked closer that you saw the lamps were solar powered, that people buzzed to and fro checking omni-tools and tablets.

Garrus didn’t break Shepard’s silence, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing once, lightly before pulling her chair back and tucking it into an alcove where it couldn’t be seen. They might have trick or treaters tonight, a custom that had taken curiously long to come to this part of the world but had returned with a vengeance over the past year, where parents clung to anything that would make their children’s lives easier, more normal.

The first candle lit, flame flickering once before going strong. Before it, Shepard placed a single shell.Garrus was behind her still, head bowed. “The Jurassic Coast. You would have liked it, Mordin.” There was no time to pause and reflect on him; if Shepard stayed her hand, she wouldn’t be able to continue.

The next one smelled faintly of the sea, of salt and something left by the high tide. There was little Shepard could say. “I miss you. You would have made sense of this.” She wasn’t religious, had never found much comfort in it, but through Thane, she perhaps understood it a little better. He wasn’t alone, however, another candle pushed next to his own. “And if he didn’t, you would. You’d make me see.” A fond smile down at what remained of Ashley, distant memories of a life burnt out too soon.

Three wicks on a single, large wax cylinder, meant to symbolize so many lives lost when Shepard had made her choice. She hesitated, hand holding a match and shaking slightly. “You made the right choice,” Garrus said from over her shoulder, the lightest of touches letting her know she wasn’t alone.

“I’ll bring you back one day. All of you.” EDI. Legion. The geth. They all had souls, as far as she was concerned, and they were clamoring to press through just as much as all the rest.

The last one was the hardest of all. No words could sum up Anderson, and Shepard kept silent, jaw squared, eyes refusing to blink, staring into the flame as it caught, burning merrily. The window was lit up now, enough that it would attract curious eyes if she didn’t draw the curtains.

Every death pressed towards her now, beckoning her to join them. Shepard had come so close not just once, but twice. She didn’t belong here, had no right to be so vibrantly, painfully alive when they were gone. It would be so easy to slip through and follow them, especially tonight. They would welcome her with open arms and tell her there was no more pain left.

“Shepard, come back to me.” But there was Garrus. He was always there, always had been there even from the very beginning. If she slipped away, where would that leave him? He was her constant and her anchor, and she dragged her eyes away from every tiny flicker, from the hands that could puncture through that last barrier between life and death and bring her through.

“I’m here, Garrus, I’m here.” It was a reassurance not only for him, but for herself. It was time to be Commander Shepard again, the sound of giggling children sweeping in from the street outside. Soon there would be a knock on the door, a demand for tricks or treats and she had so much work yet to do.

The candles would be lit next year, and with Garrus hand pressed against her cheek, Shepard said goodbye once again.

[kestrelsansjesses]

To Have and to Hold

[[So I’ve had this personal headcanon for a while that Shepard and Garrus get married aboard the Normandy, right before Priority: Earth in ME3. After sitting on it for literally months, I wrote a short little drabble about it, hopefully to expand at a later date. Let me know what you think!

AO3] ]

Every part of Shepard’s body was in pain, and she had never been happier. Beneath their feet, the Earth spun still, as if nothing had happened, but inside they prepared for war. But not quite yet. First, there was a celebration.

“Is that really what you want to wear, Shepard?” Tali held the offending garment between two fingers, arm as straight and as far away from her body as she could make it.

Snatching her clothing back, Shepard held the tunic close to her chest. “What’s wrong with this? It’s what I wear every day.”

Tali threw her arms up in the air. “That’s exactly the problem, Shepard! Even quarians have more fashion sense than you do.”

“I’m wearing it, and that’s final.” With a Commander’s resolve, Shepard shooed Tali from her quarters, shaking her head. It was something old, after all. Liara, as their officiant, was something blue, a fact that made her smile even now, despite her nerves and her worry over the Reapers. And her something new? Her entire body, Cerberus branded and rebuilt, foreign to her and riddled with imperfections and pain.

It took only minutes for Shepard to be ready, her daily wear close-fitting and comfortable, hair down, straight and red, feeling uncomfortably free. She had debated wearing her dress blues, but only for a moment; the Alliance had already been too much a part of her life, and today was for her, for Garrus, and for the whole Normandy crew.

With no parents alive to walk her down the aisle, Shepard walked herself (not that they had much of an aisle in the first place.) There were friends enough, as much as she could gather here on such short notice, others on vidcom. She would see them all on Earth soon, but there would be no time for celebration there. Such grim thoughts didn’t fit the day or the mood and Shepard tried her best to quell them, the smile that stretched across her face uneasy, as if she didn’t deserve to feel so happy when so much had gone wrong and could still collapse.

Seeing Garrus put all her fears to rest. It was rare to see him out of armor, even for Shepard, and he stood uncomfortably in what must have been the turian version of a tuxedo, hastily tailored from someone else, still too large on him in some places, too tight in others. Forsaking whatever convention she had still adhered to, Shepard ran the rest of the way, throwing her arms around his neck, feeling him lift her just once so they could see eye to eye before she was placed carefully down today.

Liara began, her words on on a datapad, carefully typed out. “The Protheans had a wedding custom that dictated-”

“Liara,” Shepard warned. “We have an hour.” Even that hour had been hard won, seemingly a waste of time that could be spent making further preparations, checking and re-checking weapons until they were one hundred percent certain.

Hastily scrolling through her notes, Liara obeyed. “Do you, Shrike Shepard, take Garrus Vakarian to be your lawfully wedded husband? In peace and in war, during Reapers and Geth, until you meet at the bar?” She frowned, those last words obviously unfamiliar to her, but when she stopped, a sharp look from Shepard was enough to propel the asari forward.

“I do.” Those may have been the two most important words Shepard had ever spoken. No, not the most important- her warnings about the Reapers had been that- but this came pretty damn close.

“Do you, Garrus Vakarian, take Shrike Shepard to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to be… goddess’ sake… to be as supportive as her waist?” From the small assembled audience, Joker whooped and Garrus had the grace to look mildly embarrassed.

“I do.” None of the ceremony was turian, but they had plans for another one, plans made in yearning voices, knowing it may not ever come, a future where everyone could attend, where everyone survived and Shepard wore a ridiculous white dress, flowers in her hair.

“I had something more than this, but I now pronounce you husband and wife… But you may now kiss the bride.” For all that she was put out by not being able to do her whole speech, a smile graced Liara’s face, and when Shepard and Garrus leaned forward, foreheads touching before her lips met his mandibles, there was a tear in the asari’s eyes.

It was not a dream wedding. It was a ceremony over in minutes, no alcohol to cloud their minds as they headed into battle. But it was the promise of something more, a future to hold onto, and that would have to be enough.

[kestrelsansjesses]

Writing prompt #63 - Shakarian (please :) )

[[Whoo. :D I ended up doing something deeply silly for @masseffectwritercircle I’m not drunk like the others, unless you count drunk on endorphins. Oh my god what am I talking about. ANYWAY thanks for the ask. <3]] 

Geth units dropped from the sky, diving perfectly and landing with a thud that made dust rise into the air. They seemed to be never ending, two coming to replace every downed comrade, bullets doing little except making them angry. Take out the arms and legs and they would simply press onward; the only solution was to destroy their head or their core so utterly that essential machinery simply stopped functioning.

It was time to bring out the big guns.

“Garrus, I need you to take the turret, NOW!” Despite their relationship off the battlefield, or perhaps because of it, Garrus listened when Shepard yelled, obeying her with something long-ingrained, something so uniquely turian in his movements. He trusted her, knew she would make the right calls. Probably. Hopefully.

She couldn’t deny her faint concern at the almost maniacally joyful look in Garrus’ eyes as he climbed up the platform to mount the turret, fingers swiping through a screen that had been set up by the colonists, most of whom had safely evacuated. This thing was never supposed to be used, yet here they were. Paranoia paid off. “I’ve never calibrated something this big before!” he shouted down to her.

“Garrus, hurry your ass up! Are you seriously doing this right now?” Frustration tinged her voice and Shepard’s scars gave a sharp twinge, just to remind her who was in charge.

“What do you mean? It’s exciting!” But whatever Garrus was doing to tune the gun in on the geth dropships was evidently done; with a resounding boom, it went off once, then twice, the first ship sending shrapnel in all directions as the main bulk of it fell onto its own geth forces. Ears ringing, Shepard could hear a faint, “Fuck, yes!” from above.

Battle swept her away. It was only hours later that she managed to get the time to get a few breaths in, dragging herself up the stairs to lean against the turret, the sharp ion smell of its ammo tinting everything. It was only a small consolation that he looked as exhausted as she did, his sniper rifle entirely spent, still faintly smoking.

“All calibrated to your heart’s content, Vakarian?” At Shepard’s words, he pushed away from where he slumped against a wall, a hand snaking around her waist, pulling her close.

“I could calibrate a few more things.”

“In public?”

“Well, this gun has me a little heated.” With a laugh, Shepard moved away, still moving lightly despite her fatigue. Every man deserved his fantasy.

[kestrelsansjesses]

#79 for Shakarian :)

[Whoo, finished this in just about the knick of time. This is for my friend @stormcallart, whose birthday I very nearly missed thanks to my chaotic schedule. This is her Reyna Shepard. <3] 

Morning coffee, Reyna Shepard’s eyes bleary and half-lidded as she tried to wake up. It was the instant shit, not anything good, but it got the job done if she could just make herself swallow it down.

A hand landed lightly on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You were yelling in your sleep,” Garrus said as he slid into the chair next to her, nursing his own turian concoction, a mixture of caffeine and something that smelled vaguely like cinnamon to Shepard, but also a little bit like toothpaste. It made instant coffee that much more appealing.

“Shit, again? Was I… upset?” She didn’t remember any particular nightmares from the night before, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. They always were, lurking, waiting to take her off guard. It was usually that same little kid, always out of reach, but there were other faces sometimes too. Even sleep wasn’t safe, but that was what made coffee that much more brilliant.

To her relief, Garrus chuckled and shook her head. “You were pissed as hell, Shepard. Something about Reapers and your space hamster.”

Vague memories drifted back into her head. “They made a husk out of him! Those bastards.” Slamming her fist into her palm, she took her final sip of cup one before pouring another, watching the sludge fall to the bottom. Delicious.

“So did you get those Reapers in the end?” Always invested in her stories, even when they were half-baked dreams, Garrus leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee under the table, running his hand up and down the cloth of her pants.

“Oh, I got them, and I got my revenge. I mean, I don’t remember what that was, but I’m pretty sure I got it,” she continued, looking up at the ceiling in an effort to try to recall the exact details. The harder she tried, the more they seemed to slip away. “You know, my therapist once told me that I have this obsession with seeking revenge… We’ll see about that.”

A moment of silence descended over their morning contemplations before Garrus broke off into laughter until he couldn’t breathe, wheezing slightly and mandibles flaring outward, twitching even after he had managed to gather himself back together. “You saw a therapist, Shepard? You? Ms. Emotional Openness of a Krogan?”

“Laugh it up, Vakarian. I was a kid.” A teenager, actually. “We moved around a lot, and my parents were worried about my stability.”

“Your stability? No, never.”

Grumbling, Shepard threatened to throw her coffee at Garrus, making him push his chair back hastily and jump up, sending a smile spreading across her face, deep into her different colored eyes. “Guess I never changed.” That same therapist would have something to say about it, but they had left his station behind when she was fifteen and she never saw another one again. Probably for the best.

“Coffee burns, Shepard! Burns are bad.” Still standing a safe distance away, Garrus edged closer to her, reaching for his own mug and taking a cautious sip, shuffling slowly until he was by her again.

“Thank you, Doctor Vakarian. I had no idea.” Her second cup was drained and gone, which meant it was time for the day to start. She stood with a sigh, body unfolding itself slowly. As she did so, Garrus pulled her close, resting his head on top of hers, brushing a kiss right on the crown of red hair at the top.

“Glad I’m not on the bad side of your revenge,” he murmured into her hair, and she couldn’t help but find herself agreeing.

[kestrelsansjesses]

A Proposition/Free Fall 5

[Summary: Shepard finally works up the courage to talk to Garrus again, taking a leap she didn't expect, pushing their relationship a step forward. But will he reciprocate? Aka I rewrote the Shepard initially romances Garrus scene to better fit my Shep. Can be read as a standalone.

AO3]]

It was impossible to delay talking to Garrus any longer. He had been by her side as they baked in their armor, dodging deadly lances of sunlight to rescue and recruit Tali, but he had been relatively silent the whole time. Late one evening, Shrike Shepard caught Garrus and Tali speaking, voices low, and when Tali placed a hand on Garrus’ knee she didn’t like the spasm of jealousy that ran through herself. It was irrational, but it made it that much easier to avoid him.

Now she stood near the entrance to the main battery, stomach somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. “Got a minute, Garrus?” She knew damn well that he did, but the last real thing she had said to him was ‘I’m with you.’

He turned away from his work (calibrations, maybe) and looked her up and down before shrugging and saying, “Sure. I’ve been meaning to thank you anyway.” It wasn’t exactly the most ringing endorsement, and there was a tension in their friendship that there hadn’t been before, all resting on Sidonis, on how Shepard had stopped Garrus from taking that last shot.

“It wasn’t a big deal, Garrus. Not for an old friend.” She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling so utterly out of her element, longing to have a gun in her hand and an army of husks charging at her rather than this. Anything but this.

“Maybe not to you, Shepard.” Fair point. “But it means that whatever we face, I know you’ll get the job done.” For the first time in a few days, Garrus smiled at her, and Shepard forgot what she was saying entirely, train of thought trickling out her ears. Should she mention Sidonis again? Should she apologize for intervening? For all the things she had learned on the battlefield, how to handle her own crewmembers was not one of them. They’d just been handed to her, first on the original Normandy and now on the SR2, her own fragmented mind trying to remember everything they had been through together.

Into the silence, Garrus said, “You seem… stressed, Shepard. Anything I can do?” The offer was a tenuous reach towards what they once had.

With a sigh and a faint hint of a smile, Shepard perched on a nearby bulkhead, legs dangling, not quite tall enough to touch the floor. “What do turians do to let off stress?” Though she had intended her question to be completely innocent, Shepard’s tone came out saucier than she intended, falling back into their previous conversational rhythms, a hint of flirtation just below the surface. Roll with it, she told herself. He won’t notice anyway.

It was the right question to ask. Garrus rolled into his story with considerable enthusiasm, and Shepard could feel herself fully relaxing, shoulders rolling forward, elbow on her knee and chin on her fist, raising her eyebrows where appropriate and laughing at the conclusion of the story, a tale of lovers past that she was relieved to find left no jealousy whatsoever. Maybe she could be cured of… whatever this was. Her brain’s obsession. Some artifact, something that hadn’t knit together correctly when Cerberus woke her too soon. Maybe all it would take was some tension-relief of their own.

“We could test your reach… and my flexibility.” The words spilled from her mouth before Shepard had a chance to really consider, the grin that spread across her face crooked and slightly leering. What was she doing? Enjoying herself. Hoping to get rid of her complicated feelings towards Garrus, to bring things back to normal.

He was taken aback, staring at her with mandibles slightly open and Shepard found herself shrugging. It was strange how death made you re-prioritize everything, take risks you never would have before.

“Shepard, I’d break you!” he finally exclaimed, not looking her in the eye.

The laugh started somewhere low in her belly, building up in her chest and her throat until she couldn’t keep it in anymore, and though it hurt Shepard’s facial scars, she laughed until tears streamed out of her eyes, bent double and wheezing, only doubling Garrus’ concern until he went over by her side, patting her back hesitantly and looking utterly lost. “Garrus, you’re not going to break me,” she choked out, standing up until she could breathe properly again. “So, is that a no?” If it was… Well. Shepard wasn’t sure what she would do if it was a no.

Silence, and then Garrus gave a goofy grin. “Why the hell not?” The logistics of it were something they would both have to figure out; no one could deny that turian and human anatomy left something to be denied in the compatibility department, but he was willing to try if she was. There was no one Garrus respected more than her, or so he claimed, and while respect wasn’t attraction, wasn’t that four letter word Shepard wouldn’t even think about, it was a start.

Okay. She should leave instead of just lingering, wanting to kiss him, wondering if turian mouths would even handle it. It wasn’t like he had lips. Well, at least the research would be interesting. “I should go. I’ll talk to you later, Garrus?” It wasn’t intended to be a question, but the upward inflection in Shepard’s voice came out, unbidden.

“I’d like that.” He still looked slightly goofy, watching every step as she walked towards the door, making Shepard aware of her limp, of every scar that riddled her body. Half of her thought this was a terrible mistake; she was barely a woman at all, after what Cerberus had did to her, and she certainly wasn’t the same person Garrus had known before. But the other half of her had faint goosebumps, not unpleasant, at the thought, not sure what drew her to him but drawn nonetheless.

All she had proposed was a roll in the sheets, and Shepard was still half-convinced it would clear the confusion in her mind.

If that was the case, why did she want so much more?

[kestrelsansjesses]

Loyalties/Free Fall 4

[[Summary: It's clear that Garrus is no longer who he was two years ago, but is Shepard? Can she convince him not to kill, or will she ruin whatever is blooming between them? Feedback always appreciated. <3 Shout out to my beta readers for this chapter!

Previous

AO3]]

To the people on the Citadel, Commander Shepard was a legend and a ghost. How had she not come back before now? With all the other shit on her plate, it had just escaped her mind, and if she was going to be honest with herself (it had to happen some time) she didn’t want anyone to see her like this. Scars, a slight limp, those few seconds of lag that the left side of her body presented. It all added up; maybe she wasn’t recognizable as who she had been before at all, and maybe that was a good thing. Certainly no one seemed to give her a second glance as she walked out from the Normandy, flanked by Garrus and Thane. Bored eyes slid off them, people more concerned with trying to get into the Citadel than with dealing with newcomers.

Her anonymity continued as they pressed through the crowds trying to get past security, granting them the kind of wide berth only given to the heavily armed. It might have continued of the turian guarding the entrance to the Citadel proper hadn’t stopped her, looking at his omni-tool with a puzzled expression, finally saying, “According to this you’re dead.”

Shooting a glance at Garrus (who offered only a shrug in return,) Shepard gave a false chuckle. “I was, but I got better.”

The guard gave her the once over and gestured her through to his immediate superior with a look that said dealing with a resurrected ex-Spectre was far beyond his pay grade. It was better for all of them involved- this Captain Bailey could know where the supposed ‘Fade’ was, another step closer to Sidonis. That Bailey could wave her through, let everyone know that she was, technically, not dead anymore was another nice bonus.

“You ready to do this, Garrus?” They had a warehouse location for their contact, just off some of the main shops in the Citadel. The day had become real in a way it wasn’t before, Sidonis no longer an abstract notion of revenge but within Garrus’ grasp.

One hand reached back to touch the butt of his sniper rifle and he nodded, eyes hard even beneath his visor. “Never been more ready, Shepard.” His conviction was impossible to argue with, but Shepard continued to lead the way, glancing back now and then as she did so.

Thane looked as troubled as she felt, finally pausing to tap her on the shoulder, pulling her aside. “This is not my fight. This is not my vengeance.” His brows were furrowed, as much as possible, and his hand squeezed her shoulder once. Shepard knew that Thane would stay if she asked him to, and she couldn’t say she wasn’t tempted.

“Go enjoy the Citadel. You haven’t been here in ten years. Have fun.” What Thane would do for fun she didn’t know, but his obvious relief made her feel slightly lighter. What remained was between Garrus, herself, and Sidonis. Anyone else was just an extra complication that no one needed. Hurrying to catch back up to Garrus, she spared one more glance over the shoulder to Thane’s retreating figure before steeling herself. It was time.

****

Of the supposed Fade there was little to say. Exhausted from a fight spanning a long warehouse, culminating in twin mechs, Shepard could only lean against a wall and pant, trying to hide how much her left leg was paining her, how exhausted her left arm was, as if it didn’t even want to hold up the weight of a gun anymore. With glazed eyes, she watched Garrus’ interrogation reach a fever pitch, punches and kicks, shoving Harkin against the wall. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised he had showed up again. He was a rat and had always been one.

Then Garrus reached for his pistol, and Shepard pushed herself away from the wall, taking one shaking step and then another, pulling his gun hand down quickly and efficiently, feeling him first resist and then yield. “You don’t need to shoot him. He won’t be able to hide from C-sec now. Sometimes you just have to let things go, Garrus,” Shepard said, hypocritical as ever. He shot her a look that sent something cold through her insides, something that didn’t bare considering.

“I guess it’s your lucky day,” Garrus finally said, breaking the silence.

Wiping sweat and blood from his eyes, Harkin replied, “Yah, let’s do it again real soon.” Trash. Shaking her head, Shepard turned her back on the man, walking out of the room. They knew where Sidonis would be now, and she didn’t need to see what happened next. The crunch of flesh and bone meeting hard turian plates was enough. Sometimes you just had to let the anger out. Sometimes you wanted to see a face punched in. Nothing was ever enough to let that rage flow.

****

The shuttle ride back from the warehouse was mostly silent, Garrus staring straight forward, Shepard looking at him from the corner of her eyes, watching as his hands twisted and turned, unable to hold still. It wasn’t until the car was settling in on a soft puff of air that he bothered to speak, still not looking at her.

“Harkin’s a bloody menace. We shouldn’t have let him go. He deserved to be punished.”

This wasn’t the Garrus she had known two years ago, the one she had gotten so close to. This was someone new, but wasn’t she also something different? More serious, less likely to laugh. Still… “I’m getting a little worried about you, Garrus. You were pretty hard on Harkin.” The point seemed to hit home; Garrus looked at her once, but their exchange was devolving into something else, an exchange of hurt that only drove her former point further into the heart-he had changed. No one went through two years of hell and came out unscathed.

Garrus was so hard now though. They had barely laughed together since she had found him again, it felt like they wouldn’t again. If he wasn’t the same person, who was she? Not even the same body anymore, the flesh not belonging to herself anymore. But part of her missed the old Garrus, even mourned him. Two years of time had been suspended for her, but for him they had pressed onward, changing him. What she felt for him though… That remained the same. Even the new Garrus.

Resignation. Exhaustion. “What do you want from me, Shepard? What would you do if someone betrayed you?” Questions she wasn’t equipped to answer.

“I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t let it change me. I miss you, Garrus.” It was the closest she had come to discussing her emotions since she had been brought back, and it was only met with another long silence before Garrus moved straight into the plan.

****

“Don’t move.” Shepard’s head bobbed back and forth, trying to keep in front of where she knew Garrus was sitting and waiting, scope primed. Even if he shot her in the back of the hea; so what? She had died once and found her attitude varied wildly between shivering fear and a kind of laissez-faire that now suffused her.

Grabbing Sidonis’ shoulder, she felt the turian tear away from her. “Get off me!” From the start, it had been clear he wanted nothing to do with her. At least he didn’t recognize her. Small blessings.

She couldn’t let Garrus take the shot; that much was clear. As long as she kept Sidonis talking, as long as she kept stepping in front of the gun, she could delay it a few moments more. “Don’t do it Garrus. Please.” And then the gun was lowered, Garrus turning away. She had managed to talk him down, but at what cost? This was far from over.