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The celebration returning from the Omega 4 relay is just a soft breath of relief. There are no raucous parties, no bottles popped. Jack and Thane are getting patched up in the med bay, roughed up but not concerningly wounded, and between that, the betrayal of the Illusive Man, and the noticeable quiet of missing crew members, the mood is somber in spite of victory.
For all intents and purposes, they should be dead. Perhaps Shepard should’ve known better, as a dead woman walking, to assume they’d be taken down by something so trivial as a suicide mission. In the aftermath, she is simply relieved, flitting around the ghost-crew of the Normandy, making sure injuries are attended to and essential stations are manned.
“Shepard,” EDI’s voice rings through the empty hall. “Admiral Hackett wants to speak to you. He says it is urgent - something sensitive.”
She sighs, an expression of annoyance she’d usually swallow back. Clearly the mission has taken its toll.
“I’ll take it in my quarters,” she says, instead of telling him to fuck right off. She’d just done that to the Illusive Man, after all. It probably isn’t best form to piss off all her allies in one day. She trudges back to her quarters, wondering what Hackett could possibly require from her. Perhaps he’s already heard that she’s parting with Cerberus, is calling to reinstate her to the Alliance Navy.
“Admiral,” she greets as his face fills the screen, standing with her hands folded behind her back, falls into a soldier’s posture even out of uniform. “What do you need?”
The call wipes away every bit of relief she’d felt taking down the Collectors. An Alliance scientist imprisoned in batarian space, the threat of a Reaper invasion incoming. He requests that she go in alone and she nods, keeps her responses short, pushes down all of the ways her body is begging her to rest.
“I’ll head there tomorrow,” she says, granting herself one night of peace. Her muscles are aching anyways, if she rushes right to the prison she’d likely just get them both killed. The call ends, the screen goes dark and she slumps into her chair, rubbing her face.
“EDI, tell Joker to set a course for Aratoht,” she calls out, biting her cheek before adding, “and update the rest of the crew on the plan.”
She doesn’t have it in her to hide this. Every person on board has proved their loyalty in pounds of flesh, following her into hell, holding steady so they made it through the flames. Many of them are likely eager to get back to their lives, now that they actually have the chance to live. They deserve to know where the ship is heading next, why shore leave isn’t imminent.
“On it, Shepard,” the AI replies, and Shepard lets out another weary breath before making for the shower. When she flops into bed, hair damp and body heavy, she’s asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.
The next morning, she makes the rounds before prepping to head out. She’s relieved to see that Jack and Thane are on the mend, and Miranda is taking her departure from Cerberus rather well.
“Are you sure about this?” Tali is the first to question the mission at hand, a quiet hesitancy ringing in her voice. “Going alone into a batarian prison - it seems dangerous, even for you.”
Shepard only shrugs, forcing a smirk across her face. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but dangerous is just about all I do.”
She keeps her posture straight in front of her friend, doesn’t let a shred of doubt slip in. This is who she has to be. Confident, steady, larger than life, so that no one will worry, so their faith will never waver.
Tali doesn’t seem entirely convinced. She places a soft hand on her shoulder, replying, “If you say so, Shepard. Just be careful down there. If you make it through the Omega 4 relay, just to get yourself killed running errands for the Alliance, I will be very cross.”
It’s concern wrapped up in a joke. Shepard smiles, nods, and walks away from the encounter with a lump in her throat.
The battery is her final stop. Garrus hadn’t stopped by her quarters last night, and the absence of any word from him leaves her unsteady. She isn’t sure what she’d expected, what exactly this thing between them is - they’d finally slept together before hurtling into the relay, and god, if that had truly been her final night, it’d be a good way to go out. But when you’re staring death in the face, bullets raining down, there really isn’t time to turn to your best friend and ask, “So, what are we?”
She’d thought, just maybe, that it was more to him than simply blowing off steam, that his care for her wasn’t simply friendly. But without hearing from him all night - no visit to her cabin, not so much as a quick message - that hope is starting to taste bitter.
The doors to the battery open with a hiss of air and her chest lightens stepping through, just seeing the back of him as he taps away at the console. God, a heart is a hopeless thing for a soldier to have.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Got a second to talk?”
“Shepard,” he greets. He doesn’t turn towards her immediately, and that unfamiliar pause makes her uneasy.
“I know you’ve never been particularly humble, but I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad. Tell me, are you getting an inflated ego from all the tall tales of your own heroics?”
It could almost be a joke, but there’s a steel edge to his voice, and she realizes with a flash of shock that he’s angry with her. She hasn’t felt his fury in some time, not since she stopped him from gunning down Sidonis. The weight of it sucks the oxygen out of the room.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she asks, crossing her arms, unable to meet him with the same anger. More than anything, she’s confused, unsure what she’s done to evoke this reaction.
Finally, he turns, and his jaw is fixed tight, eyes burning.
“Don’t play coy with me,” he says, tone low, simmering. “What the hell are you thinking, agreeing to this? Infiltrating a batarian prison all on your own - really, Shepard, the first suicide mission wasn’t enough? You’ve got to go looking for more?”
“I have my orders. Hackett isn’t Cerberus - he wouldn’t ask me to do something that would definitely get me killed,” she replies firmly, feels uneasy as her voice slips into the stern lilt of the Commander. Aren’t we friends? Her mind fills in pleadingly, and she bites her lip to hold the question back. Aren’t we more than that? Why are you fighting with me now, when I just need someone to hold me steady, tell me this will all work out fine?
But Garrus only shakes his head in response, subvocals hissing. “No, fuck that. You’ve turned down bad orders before, I’ve seen you do it a dozen times. Why bend to this? Risk your life after your Alliance hung us out to dry with the Collectors? You’re taking this reckless mission from Hackett, and for what - to prove that you aren’t some Cerberus dog?”
Shepard grits her teeth to keep from snarling. There’s a glimmer of truth in his words, a thing he only sees from knowing her too well, and it stings.
“You’re out of line,” she reverts to authority, because she can’t handle this right now, can’t listen to him sidestep rank to deliver the truth. Bad turian that he is, though, he only takes a step forward, the space between them dwindling, so she can feel the heat radiating off his chest.
“No, I don’t think I am,” he shakes his head again, a sharp jerk of motion. “Someone has to tell you this is bullshit. It doesn’t even have to be me down there with you - you could take Kasumi with you and no one would even know she was there. Spirits, you do realize you’re not actually unkillable, don’t you? Cerberus isn’t around to patch you together another time, if it all goes to hell.”
It strikes her with no small amount of guilt that he’s worried, that all of this fury is born from concern for her. That this is a thing she’d never allow him to do, and she’d be equally furious if he insisted on it. She wishes the knowledge would soften her, that she had it in her to place a hand on his arm, reassure him that she’ll be okay.
But his anger stirs something deep inside her, unlatches the box where she shoves down the knowledge of the unfairness of it all. That she is asked for so much, again and again, and given so very little in return. When he pulls her apart like she’s something human, she isn’t strong enough to push those feelings down again. Unfortunately for Garrus, he’s the only target in sight.
“You think I asked for any of this?” she exclaims, hands flying up, voice precariously close to shouting. “I have my orders, and I’m going to follow them. I can’t sit by and let the Reapers invade, not after what I’ve been told. If I have to go alone to prevent a galactic incident, that’s what I’ll do. It’s what I have to do. God, Garrus, it’ll be fine - I’m always fine.”
A growl lifts from his chest. His expression only grows more stormy as he rumbles, voice low and heavy, “No, Shepard. You aren’t always fine. I know you don’t remember, since you weren’t really there, but I went to your memorial.”
She freezes, all of her anger goes up in smoke. Something in her chest twists, painful, and she’s horrified to feel her eyes burn.
You’re the commander of the ship, she reminds herself, as she blinks the tears back. Everyone on board is counting on you - everyone in the fucking galaxy is counting on you. You cannot fall apart in front of your crew, not when the stakes are this high.
Something in her face seems to soften him, ever so slightly, and his next words are quieter. “It’s not a thing I’ll ever forget. Forgive me if I’d rather not attend it a second time.”
Guilt hits her in a wash, and she drops her head. “I’m sorry,” she says. The words come out low, hoarse, more softly than she’d intended. “I wish the situation was different. But objectively, this is the best plan we’ve got.”
She catches when he breaks, the tension slipping from his body as a low, crooning keen leaves his throat. Garrus slumps so his crest presses against her forehead, hands coming to her waist, and she’s startled, but draws her arms around him in return.
“Why does it always, always have to be you?” he exhales, an admission that escapes in a whisper, like he didn’t mean to set it loose. Despite the lump in her throat, Shepard chuckles.
“I’ve been asking myself that since Eden Prime,” she replies with a smirk, and when he laughs alongside her, a quiet sound that buzzes on her skin, some of the ache in her chest unfurls. She lifts a hand up, caresses down the side of his face, and he leans into her touch.
“I’ll be careful,” she says softly, looking into his steel blue eyes. The fury is gone from them now, all she can see the worry, so much worry. “I promise. Nothing reckless, just grab the scientist and run like hell. I’ll be in and out before you even have time to miss me.”
Garrus doesn’t laugh. He blinks, and she can see him struggling with this still, how he doesn’t like it in the slightest.
“I’ll hold you to that,” finally, he says, and it’s as close to a concession as she’ll get.
—
Garrus doesn’t see her off. He stays in the battery as the ship dips to make the drop, knows he doesn’t have it in him to say goodbye easily, to not stop and shake her, insist she reconsider taking somebody, anybody, down to watch her back.
Nothing reckless, he hears her voice again, trying to focus on plugging in numbers, fiddling with calibrations on the screen. Usually, the action of calibration is soothing, a healthy distraction. Right now, it feels like a rather hopeless endeavour.
For the first few hours, he tries to lose himself in his work. Tells himself that the weapons should be at full capacity in case they have to make a hot exit, that he’s being as useful as he can be from a distance. Time dwindles on, and he ignores the voice in his head counting those minutes, whispering that if things had gone smoothly, she’d be back by now.
After the day passes, he makes his way to the cockpit, where Joker mans the idle ship.
“Any word?” he asks, and he tries to sound casual, but his voice comes out stiff. Joker smiles, as he always does, but his forehead is marred by a slight, worried crinkle.
“Not yet,” he shakes his head. The absence of one of his typical quips feels heavy. They exchange a weighted look, information passing that doesn’t need to be said aloud.
It’s a simple extraction mission, only requires her to get in, find the prisoner, and get out. If she isn’t back after ten hours, and they haven’t heard news, something has gone very wrong.
Garrus doesn’t return to the battery. He descends to engineering instead, takes to pacing in front of the ship core while Tali leans on the railing, letting him vent.
“She’s too damned stubborn,” he says as he marches across the room. “If she would’ve just listened, taken one of us down there with her - “
“There’s no way to know that wouldn’t make things worse,” Tali says softly, trying to talk him off the ledge. “We need to trust her.”
“I do. Of course I do,” his response is quick, sharp, because as muddled as his feelings for Shepard are - as much as something is blooming for her in his chest, something he can’t bear to put a name to, not when it seems so likely, all the time, that he will lose her again - his trust in her is unquestionable, unyielding.
But Spirits, he hates this. Because regardless of how strong she is, how intelligent, ruthless, capable, he has run his talons over her human skin, knows her flesh is so soft, and in this moment all he can think about is how easy it would be to cause a tear with a simple slip of the hand -
He lets out a ragged exhale. Places his back against the cold metal wall and allows himself to slide down it, coming to rest on the ground.
“All it takes is one bullet,” he admits in a tremble, letting the very darkest of his thoughts slip out. The faces of his old squad flash before his eyes - laughing at their old hideout, a brief moment of joy, their broken bodies in the aftermath of betrayal. “Just one to hit to the right spot, and no one’s there to watch her back. Just one bullet, and she’s - “
He cuts off with a solemn trill, his face falling into his hands. He hears a whisper of Tali’s suit against metal, hears her lower down to sit beside him.
“Hey,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You know those are the stakes even when we’re with her. I hate being up here as much as - “ he shoots a glare at her, and she amends the statement. “Fine, almost as much as you do. But until we know better, she wouldn’t want us to lose hope.” She pauses, before adding, “Odds are, Shepard will be back before we know it, and when I tell her that you doubted her, she’s going to totally kick your ass.”
He chuckles at that, and lets the statement hang, refrains from adding anything more dismal to the conversation. They sit together like that a while longer, silent but companionable, misery more manageable with a friend next to him.
And he tries, he really does, not to think the worst. But when a full cycle passes, and there’s still no word, Garrus feels frantic, panicked, worse than useless, hopes he never has this feeling again. Eventually he gives up all hope in pretending to work, parks himself in the cockpit beside Joker. At least here he has company - Joker tries to distract them both with horrible jokes, and the rest of the crew amble by to check in, all with matching expressions of concern.
“Any word?” they’ll ask, faces dropping when Joker shakes his head with that tight-lipped smile. There will be a sigh, or a nod, and then they’ll retreat, returning to their own quarters to fret. Garrus is reminded, over and over again, that he isn’t alone in his worry for her. He finds little solace in that - finds that, in all of this agony, there is an unearned streak of possessiveness in him when it comes to Jane Shepard. On occasion he wants to gnash his teeth, growl, how dare you pretend to worry, while I’m losing my mind, how dare you show your face and try to convince me that what you and I feel is the same.
He never gives into that, though, knows it’s completely unreasonable. He tells his friends to keep their chins up, that everyone who’s ever counted Shepard out has found out better in time.
It would be nice, if he could take his own advice.
Garrus is nodding off - he’s hardly slept since she left the ship - when the comms crackle to life, and he shoots upright, heart pattering with an aching, desperate hope. When he hears her voice, his heart swells.
“Normandy, this is Commander Shepard. Do you copy?”
“Loud and clear,” Joker responds, hands flying as he brings the ship to life, grinning for the first time in two days. “Boy is it good to hear you.”
Nothing their pilot has said has ever felt truer. Garrus has to bite back a giddy laugh, his relief is so palpable - even if she’s not out of danger yet, she’s alive.
“I need an evac. Sending the coordinates over. And if it takes too long - Joker, we need to get the hell out of here now.”
—
Shepard is all too familiar with exhaustion. It seems, sometimes, as though all the sleep in the world can’t shake weariness from her bones, that she’s run herself too hard for too long for her body to ever recover. Typically she works through it, tunnels ahead even when all she wants to do is rest.
Not tonight, though. Tonight, she gives in.
Hackett is on board, and she gives him the shortest report of her life, relaying the details of what has passed in quick, hollow words, as she’s slumped into a chair. She doesn’t have it in her to soften the blow, to watch how his face moves and guess how he’ll react.
He says there will be consequences. She closes her eyes, head pounding, and doesn’t argue. Three hundred thousand people are dead, a number of living beings that is impossible to conceptualize. When she tries to imagine the scale of it, all she can picture is a sea of bodies, a faceless mass that stretches as far as the eye can see. Even if she made the call to save billions more, she pushed a button and now three hundred thousand people are gone. Punishment feels deserved.
She’s lying on the couch in her cabin now, relishing in the silence, the quiet before the storm. Her skin is sticky, layered with two day’s worth of sweat and dust, but she has yet to gather the strength to move towards the shower.
The knock at the door startles her, and she just barely slits her eyes open to call out, “What do you want?”
And she knows, even before he answers, that it will be Garrus who responds, “Just wanted to check in. I can come back later, if it’s a bad time.”
She sighs, but is glad he came, that she’ll have a chance to talk to him before she addresses the rest of the crew. Instead of responding, she taps a couple buttons on her omnitool, and the door flies open. Garrus steps through cautiously, treads towards her like she might snap.
“If you came to say you told me so, you can shove it,” she says, lip twitching up, but her voice lacks any humor. She tilts her head into the cushion, stares up at the ceiling as she lets out a weary breath.
“No, Shepard,” he replies, and sounds every bit as tired as she is. “Just glad to see you made it back in one piece.”
And she can’t respond to this. Something in her chest twists sharply, and she sucks in air through her nose. Because she knows, if the group had wanted to kill her, she most certainly would be dead. It’s difficult to swallow that perhaps he’d been right, and things could be different if she’d had someone watching her back. The thought sends a wave of nausea over her, her stomach lurches.
After a pause, Garrus moves to sit next to her - not too close, as he might’ve before they fought, he keeps a healthy distance between their bodies. A moment passes, and he sniffs.
“No offense, but you reek.”
She barks out a laugh, a sharp, hoarse sound.
“I’ve been knocked out for two days. Sorry if I don’t smell like fucking roses,” she murmurs, glancing over at him, before daring to add, “If you’d warned me you were coming in advance, I promise I would’ve cleaned up nice.”
He chuckles, and the sound shouldn’t soothe her so. “It’s kind of hot, believe it or not. Probably a turian thing, but all your human soaps and perfumes are a bit chemical for my taste.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she tilts her chin towards him, knows the grin on her face is stupid, tired, and yet she is so glad when he returns it. For one, small moment, his eyes are bright, gleaming, and the rest of the galaxy falls quiet.
“What the hell happened down there, Shepard?” he says, and it’s a swift drop back to reality. She sighs, sitting up, presses her elbows against her knees.
“The project down there learned about a Reaper invasion. But they got indoctrinated, and I was caught off guard. When I came to, we were out of time, and - I had to blow up the mass relay in order to keep the Reapers out. Took out a whole colony in the process. I think,” and she bites her lip, because she hasn’t told any of the crew this part yet, knows none of them will like it. “Hackett told me to report to Earth as soon as possible. I’m not sure what the punishment is for killing a relay full of Batarians, but I’m not holding my breath.”
Beside her, Garrus is silent, completely still for a moment.
“You mean to tell me,” he says slowly, and all the levity is gone from his voice. “Hackett convinced you to take this mission as a favor to him. Something that he knew was precarious, ordered you to go in alone. And now that you’ve done it - done the best you fucking can, given the circumstances, risked your life and bought us all a little more time - they’re going to punish you for it?”
It’s impossible to miss the tremble of anger in his tone. Shepard reaches out, takes his three-taloned hand and squeezes it.
“It doesn’t feel that great,” she admits, a thing she wouldn’t say to anyone else. And then, even more softly, she says, “But still. Three hundred thousand people are dead. Even if I know it was the right call, they deserve justice.”
He growls at that, a low rumble of sound that sends a thread of electricity down her spine.
“You can’t believe that,” he says sharply. For a second, she is sure he will continue, that she’ll have to talk him into accepting this, but he catches himself in a jerk. He looks at her, really looks, and she wonders what he see there. She’s a mess of fresh cuts and bruises, tired in body, sure, but something in her soul, the very marrow of her bones, is even heavier. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - Shepard, are you okay?”
She sucks in a breath. Pushes up against the urge to immediately soothe him, to wipe the worry off his face.
“Honestly? No,” she shrugs, and it feels good to admit her weakness out loud. “You know, maybe better than anyone, that I do all of this to help people. To keep shit like what happened to me on Mindoir from happening to anyone else. I have to believe I’m doing the right thing, all the time, in order to keep pushing forward but - when shit like this happens, it’s really hard to believe I’m still the good guy.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Tentatively, he moves to wrap an arm around her, and that’s all it takes for her to collapse against his chest, folding her head into the hard plate of shoulder. She takes in a breath, the gunpowder smell of him soothing.
“Would it be to much to ask,” she murmurs hoarsely, eyes pressed closed, tears burning against her lids. “For you to tell me I’m not a monster?”
She feels him hum against her cheek, a quiet, mournful sound unfurling from him.
“Shepard,” he exhales, low emotion rumbling in his voice. “You already know what I think of you. All the shit you’ve seen in this galaxy, everything you’ve gone through - I don’t know how you manage to take it all in and still end up searching for the goodness in people. How you can look someone evil right in the face, and tell me not to pull the trigger.”
“Too much death in this world already,” she mumbles, before lifting her face. His steel blue eyes are watching her, careful and so gentle her heart aches. “I don’t like to add to it, if I can. Although I upped my numbers quite a bit today.”
“Saved even more,” his response is quick, doesn’t give her room for wallowing. He strokes a talon down her face, and she leans into the warmth of him.
“Of course you’re not a monster,” he says, and she thinks, not for the first time, that she couldn’t do this without him, that she'd lose her sanity without him here. “You got dealt a bad hand, and did the best you could with it. If it wasn’t for you, we’d all be dead a dozen times over.”
His hand moves, so he pulls his talons through her hair, and she hums as the pleasant sensation tingles through her. It’s quiet, for a moment, all she can hear is her soft breaths, his steady heartbeat under her ear.
“So,” he says, after a second. “You’re going back to Earth.”
Her breath catches in her throat. She can hear the words that are unspoken in the rumble of his subvocals, and is grateful for that, can’t bear to be the one to say it aloud. It is hard enough, not knowing what is in store, for her to have to utter, I don’t know when I’ll see you again.
“Yeah,” she nods. “I’ll drop everyone off at the Citadel, and then me and Joker will report back.”
“I can come with you, you know. If that’s something you’d want.”
“No,” she says quickly, and her heart stumbles when his face drops. “Oh shit - it’s not that I don’t want you with me, Garrus, I just can’t have you tangled up in Alliance politics. We don’t know how much time we have before the Reapers get here, but we know that they’re coming. I need you to be somewhere you can actually help.”
“I understand,” his brow plates are drawn, his jaw tight. “I don’t like it. But I understand.”
She exhales, traces her palms up the warmth of his chest. God, does she wish she was selfish enough to keep him with her, that they had more time. Under her touch, he is entirely still, letting her drag whatever comfort she needs from his body.
“Garrus,” she says more softly, her throat tight. “I want you to know - I can’t tell you what’s going to happen next. But in case I don’t see you again for a while - I want you to know I care about you. Not just like a friend, or friends who fuck - although I do, it’s just,” her voice breaks for just a moment, and she feels his talons flex against her hips. “For me, there’s something here more than just friendship.”
He makes a soft, purring sound, pulls her closer to him, so their bodies are flush. Looking up at him, his eyes seem to gleam.
“You don’t have to say anything else,” his reply is quiet but sure. “I feel the same way. And Shepard - I know we can’t make promises in all this, I wouldn’t dare to try. But if it’s up to me, we won’t be apart for long.”
A small smile breaks across her lips, despite it all, some soft feeling in her chest swells.
“I wouldn’t want to face the end of the world with anyone else,” she says, and he chuckles lowly. Then he dips his head and kisses her gently, as if they have the space to take things slow, as if they don’t have to wring perfection out of a single night once again. She melts into his touch, pushes her doubts away. Lets herself believe, for one night, that they have all the time in the world.