"We deserve it."
"What?"
"Death."
Garrus looked over at his commander, not sure how to respond to her cold proclamation. His mandibles twitched in confusion, but curiosity—and a desire to argue—compelled him forward.
"You can't mean that. Look at all the good we've done. What we're doing."
She replied with a mildly derisive chuckle, and for the life of him, Garrus couldn't figure out what she was trying to get at. There were times when Shepard was the Commander, the woman he'd met shortly after his investigation into Saren ended officially—the stoic, intense, and resourceful woman that refused to fail. And then there were times like this. She had never been this morbid before the… Well, before she did actually die.
"I guess it's hard to explain."
"You can try."
Her gaze became heavy, muted. The curl at the edge of her lips disappeared, and the turian was skilled enough at recognizing human facial features to know that he'd touched a nerve somehow. Pushing her wasn't going to get her to open up any more than she was, so he let the silence lie for awhile. He couldn't imagine what it was about dying that bothered—or was it fascinated?—her so much. Did she need to atone for something? No, Garrus thought to himself. She's the best of us. Her countenance begged to differ: the legendary exterior had cracked. Her eyes stared, adorned with dark circles, haunted and frustrated and cornered but trying so very hard to not be. Jokes were funny but hollow; he remembered his first day on the SR2 after recovering from his recruitment. It had felt good for both of them to find someone to trust, to really know, again, but there was always the mission, the impossible mission that no one cared about. Cerberus doesn't count—they forfeited whatever it was they stood for long ago. Then, she had fought it every step of the way. Now, the galaxy kept turning, kept hurtling toward the end—
And he could see that she didn't know how to fix herself, let alone the galaxy. He could almost see the weight pressing down on her slumped shoulders as he watched her bring a hand to her face to rearrange some unruly hair, her eyes moving from the floor to his face. Sitting across from her, there was nothing he could do.
Because he knew that, ultimately, the weight was hers to carry. He could not take it from her. Not entirely.
"I can't explain it. But feel free to come with me anyway."
"Is that an order?"
"It was more of a suggestion, but for you I'll make it an order. Turian discipline and all that."
"You know how horrible I am at being a Turian, Shepard. Although, I wouldn't have it any other way."
Silence. A smile, a small smile. There were other times when the Commander was not the Commander at all. She was Shepard, and she belonged with him. At the very least, he wanted to make sure she knew that.
"Do you remember on Ilium what you said about stupid orders—"
"Shut up, Garrus. We've gotta go. You've got ten minutes or you're not coming."
"Challenge accepted. I'll see you in five."
If there was more he could do, he would have done it.