A/N Bioware owns all, I just like to play in the sandbox. Beta-d by my best friend Em who forgave me for ruining her life with ME/DA and is therefore deserving of all praise.
Missing you
She misses him.
She misses him enough that it hurts.
It's been four days since Horizon and she's somehow managed to keep it all locked away inside. She managed not to scream at The Illusive Man in the way her heart and soul had wanted to for daringto use him as bait. She managed to keep her face mostly straight as she smoothly lied to Kelly about how she felt. She hadn't even batted an eyelid when Joker had hesitantly asked her how it went. She managed neither to throw his picture biotically across the loft and smash it into the wall, nor to sit staring into his holographic eyes wistfully for hours on end. (She's still not completely sure which of those actions she would have taken if had she been free from Cerberus' ever present eyes.)
But she still misses him.
She misses hearing his quiet but assured 'All clear, Commander' as her breathing and heart rate returned to their normal levels and the adrenaline from the fight dissipated.
She misses seeing that weary look in his eyes as she proposed her latest scheme or battle plan. The dawning realisation that once again she was going to do something completely batshit insane, the weary acceptance that he'd never be able to convince her not to, the resigned sigh as he smoothly checked his pistol and moved to position.
She misses the small smile and warmth that spread across his face as he looked at her when no-one else could see. She still cherished it. The change in his expression was small, small enough that she was certain that no-one else had ever seen it. It had been all the more precious for that.
She misses just knowing that he was there. Always. Just off her right shoulder and two steps behind. She misses knowing that he had her back.
She misses the way he would draw his forearm across his forehead while he worked, both to remove the sweat that had accumulated and to ease the tension there.
She misses the obvious things too, the way he held her, kissed her, loved her. She misses the murmured confessions and whispered words freely given in the privacy of her cabin.
She misses him.
She misses him so much it hurts.
And she thinks about him a lot. All the time, really.
Sometimes, out in the field with Jacob, she sees him out of the corner of her eye. Just enough to clock the human male shape. She feels the tingle of his biotics just before the field whistles past her and, just for asecond, she thinks it's him.
Sometimes, when she walks into engineering and Daniels and Donnelly are being uncharacteristically quiet, she looks over at Tali's work station and half expects to see him and Adams and Tali stood in a little conclave, heads bowed over the console while they murmur excitedly.
Sometimes, she spins around after the fiery orange of her latest explosion has cleared, grinning from ear to ear and expects to see him smiling at her in that way that was part appreciative of the destruction and part pleasure at her own happiness, and always always feels that sinking feeling in her gut when it's just Garrus.
She always feels a little pang when she rounds the corner on Deck 3 and sees the kitchen in place of his duty station. She still hasn't actually managed to bring herself to stand in the spot behind the kitchen counter. She doubts she ever will.
She doubts her eyes will ever stop gravitating towards the picture frame each time she enters the loft. Even if she isn't close enough to activate it, she hasn't yet been able to leave her cabin without seeing him, at least once. She doubts that will change any time soon.
She just...
She misses him, that's all.
Ha!
'All'.
He misses her.
He misses her enough that it hurts.
But that's nothing new. After two years it's become an old pain, one he's learned how to carry, to accept. Sometimes he misses her and the feeling in his gut is just a small pang. Sometimes he misses her and it's a vast gaping cavern. In the early days he'd spent months being angry at her, really angry. Angry that she died, angry that she'd ordered him away, angry that he hadn't died too. After two years, he's finally learned to stop expecting to see her; in front of him in the field, beside him in his bunk, wherever. He's learned to stop expecting that. She was never there. Until she was, and then he was angry all over again for an entirely different reason.
But he still misses her.
He misses hearing her firm, resolute 'Move out' order as he sucked in a single breath, checked his pistol and brought his senses to the fore, ready for the fight.
He misses seeing that sparkle in her eyes as she proposed her latest scheme or battle plan. The excited twinkle that meant she was probably thinking about blowing things up. The smirk that told you everything was going to be ok, that she'd make sure they'd make it through. The ease and grace with which she checked her assault rifle and moved to position.
He misses the sideways looks she'd given him when no-one else could see. The ones where, though her outward expression didn't change by much, something in her demeanour softened. He still cherished it. The change in her expression was small enough that he was certain that no-one else had ever seen it. It had been all the more precious for that.
He misses just knowing that she was there. Always. Just to the left of him and two steps in front. He misses knowing that he could, and would, follow her anywhere.
He misses the way she would rotate her right shoulder both to soothe the twinge she sometimes felt as a result of having half the presidium fall on her, and to soothe the tension he knew she carried in her shoulders.
He misses the obvious things too, the way she held him, kissed him, loved him. He misses the murmured confessions and whispered words freely given in the privacy of her cabin.
He misses her.
He misses her so much it hurts.
And he thinks about her a lot. All the time, really.
Sometimes, out in the field, someone he's with will propose something incredibly risky and dangerous which, against all odds, will somehow work, and he remembers how she always seemed to manage the same feat. Just for a moment, he remembers the lookof fierce, victorious joy that would appear on her face when one of her batshit insane plans came off without a hitch.
Sometimes, while he's upgrading his omni-tool he remembers how he used to fix hers for her. He remembers the patient, indulgent look she always gave him as he tried to explain what he was doing, and how they both knew the information was going over her head. Neither of them had wanted her to fix it for herself and she never had.
Sometimes, something will be blown up before, on or around him and he remembers the way she used to spin around to grin at him, the utter delight she always found in being the cause of total mayhem, and how good she'd been at it. He always always feels that sinking feeling in his gut when the knowledge that he might never again see that smile rises to the forefront of his mind.
He always feels a little pang when he wakes up in the morning and she isn't there. He still hasn't actually managed to bring himself to sleep in the middle of the bed, or on her side. He doubts he ever will.
He doubts his fingers will ever stop gravitating towards his omni-tool in order to bring up the file when he's alone. Even if he never looks all the way through it, he's never yet been able to leave his apartment without seeing her, at least once. He doubts that will change any time soon.
He just...
He misses her, that's all.
Ha!
'All'.