Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Birthday gift fic for MizDirected. Features Mackenzie Shepard from my series "Sheparding Men", but can be read as a stand-alone.

No Scar Worse

"He is silent for a long moment, his touch ghosting over her skin, and then he is looking into her eyes, his voice a low hum in his throat. 'And I wasn't there.' He says it with the weight of guilt she cannot fathom."

"That's got nothing on this one." Shepard barks a laugh as she draws the strap of her tank top down over her shoulder and bares her back to Garrus, exposing the stretch of burned skin over her shoulder blade. "Thresher maw acid. Straight through the armor."

"Akuze?" Garrus asks, brow plates rising with his question.

"Yep," she answers, smirking as she turns back in her seat to face forward. She and Garrus sit along the back of the couch in the observation deck of the Normandy, boots resting on the cushions, backs leaning up against the wide pane of glass stretching along the wall. Stars sail past them as they race through space.

Garrus lets out a confident chuckle as he takes a swig of his turian brandy and reaches a talon up to his collar, pulling the material down to reveal a long gash stretching from the junction of his shoulder to the center of his chest, the rough skin a thin, white line along the grey plates of his carapace. "Garm. Split me open with a Reave when my shields went down. Barely got out alive." He releases the collar and cocks his head toward Shepard in a challenging manner.

She makes an exaggerated grimace and hops off the couch to saunter over to the bartop, pulling her bottle of scotch from the rack below and refilling her glass. "Sure looks nasty, Vakarian. But you're going to have to do better than that."

Garrus chuckles, dropping down from the couch himself to join her at the bar. "The face wasn't enough to win me this one?" he laughs as he points a talon to his scarred jaw.

Shepard narrows her eyes at him and wags a finger in his face. "Uh uh," she answers. "We decided on scars neither of us were there for."

"Of course, because I would win in a landslide."

Shepard leans her elbows back on the bar and cocks a brow his way. "How's that?"

Garrus flexes his mandibles as a rumble of laughter leaves him, leaning his side against the counter and watching her. "Because you're a horrible shot. And I have the scars to prove it."

Shepard scoffs, one hand hitting his arm playfully. "I am hardly at fault for all the times your ass got shot at."

"I beg to differ." His smile breaks across his mouth slowly, teasingly. "I owe every near-death experience and hospital visit to you."

Shepard takes a sip of scotch and places her glass back on the counter, turning to mimic his sideways lean, facing him. "Maybe you should work on your combat skills there, Vakarian. Pretty sure I recall you crying to Chakwas just the other day."

"Pretty sure I recall you dying," he counters, and then stops, his smile faltering.

Shepard's eyes dim, but her smile stays shakily put.

Garrus' head dips low as he takes a step back, his voice catching. "Shepard, I'm sorry, I didn't –" His words are cut off by her fingers on his mouth as she steps into him.

"No, Garrus, it's…" She stops, chuckling nervously, her fingers falling from his mouth and to his chest. She watches her hand resting against him and shrugs her shoulders in some attempt of nonchalance she still doesn't feel. "Guess you got me there."

Garrus wraps his talons around the hand along his chest and slides it over his heart, his other hand moving to rest along her neck. "And you've got me here," he whispers meaningfully.

She smiles, this time genuinely, shaking her head at his words. "God, you're such a fucking mush."

"You love it," he chuckles, the tension in his shoulders slowly leaving.

Shepard leans her forehead against his a moment. For just a beat. Enough to listen to the calming sound of his breath leaving him. Enough to curl her fingers against his chest and feel his heartbeat.

Steady. Constant.

Hers.

She pulls her head back and clears her throat, her hand slipping from his chest as he releases her reluctantly. She lets out a long, heavy sigh and reaches for her scotch once more, downing the last of the glass with a smack of her lips and a sharp intake of breath. "I've got this round though, Vakarian," she croaks confidently, the scotch still lingering in her throat. She pulls up the bottom of her tank top to just below her breasts, revealing the rough patch of skin over her ribs where debris had collapsed on her, crushing her ribcage and near puncturing a lung. "Ever been touched by a Reaper?" she laughs.

Garrus looks down at the scar, his brow plates furrowing over his eyes in confusion.

Shepard smirks triumphantly. "Battle of the Citadel. Some piece of Sovereign that crashed through the Tower and collapsed the building on top of us, just after killing Saren," she provides in answer to his unspoken question.

Garrus lifts a talon and traces the flesh softly, his eyes fixed on the scar.

Shepard shivers unexpectedly at the touch, her hand stilling with the shirt in her grip.

He is silent for a long moment, his touch ghosting over her skin, and then he is looking into her eyes, his voice a low hum in his throat. "And I wasn't there." He says it with the weight of guilt she cannot fathom.

Her eyes soften, her hand lowering the shirt as his talons move around her waist and anchor at the small of her back, holding her to him. She winds her hands around the back of his neck, her fingers resting at the base of his fringe. He lets out a soft rumble at the touch, his eyes sliding closed.

She smiles at his reaction, her fingertips reflexively skimming over the back of his neck. "And without you, I wouldn't have been either," she whispers between them.

His eyes open at her words, shifting between her own in question.

She sighs, gaze falling to the familiar dip of his collarbone. "I might not have chosen you for the Ilos team but you're part of the reason I even got that far. I hope you know that." She looks back up into his eyes and swallows thickly. "I wouldn't be the woman I am today if you weren't the turian I came home to."

Garrus' mandibles flex once, swiftly, a short jerk of emotion that stays tight in his jaw. "I would have followed you anywhere," he breathes lowly, the soft hint of regret lining his voice.

"I know," she answers haltingly, her voice cracking as she nods, eyes suddenly moist.

"I still would," he finishes, one hand moving from her waist into the thickness of her hair, threading softly through it and then bracing along her cheek. She leans into the touch unconsciously, eyes fluttering closed.

Garrus leans forward and plants his cheek against hers, so that his mouth hovers just beside her ear and she can feel the vibrations of his voice sliding over her skin. "There is no scar worse than your absence," he breathes along her cheek.

Her fingers flex against his neck and grip him tighter to her, her throat tight with words she thinks could never be enough. Never carry the weight of her heart. Never express the absolute and utter completion she feels when his hand is in hers. When his gaze keeps her steady. When his voice anchors her to this thrilling, brutal galaxy she has learned to keep fighting for.

If only because he is in it.

So she doesn't speak. She holds him to her. She breathes with him. She feels his heart thudding against her own and smiles at the constancy.

At the reassurance that it has always beat for her.

And when he moves his mouth against hers, she smiles into the kiss.

She has no scars his touch cannot heal.